Thank you. Signed, Mia Austen ?
“Did you find what you were looking for?” Daisy asked, coming out of the kitchen.
“We need to talk.”
“Yes! Finally.”
Daisy categorically refused to take part in Mia’s little scheme.
“Don’t you dare leave me in the lurch. I can’t possibly have him over here, just the two of us!”
“And why is that?”
“Because it might push us straight into one of those gray areas—into the danger zone!”
“You ask me, you’re already in the danger zone.”
“No, we’re not. He hasn’t said or done anything ambiguous.”
“I wasn’t talking about him. I meant you.”
“This is the beginning of a friendship, and that’s all. I’m not over David yet.”
“You don’t need to tell me that. I can see the look on your face whenever your phone starts vibrating. Still, you have to realize you’re playing a dangerous game.”
“I’m not playing any games at all, I’m living my life. He’s funny, and he’s not trying to get me into bed. He has a long-distance girlfriend. We’re just fighting off the loneliness.”
“Well, tomorrow, you continue your fight without me.”
“I don’t even know how to make a proper omelet!”
“Just break some eggs and beat them with a bit of cream.”
“There’s no need to be mean. I’m asking you for a favor, that’s all.”
“I’m not being mean. I just refuse to take part in this charade.”
“Why do you always assume the worst?”
“I can’t believe what you’re saying! You are planning on telling your friend the truth at some point, aren’t you? Have you immersed yourself so deeply in your role as a waitress that you’ve forgotten who you really are? What will you do when your film comes out—when you have to promote it with your husband?”
“Paul’s leaving for Korea soon. Probably for good. When the time comes, I’ll write to him and confess the truth. By then, he’ll be back with his translator and he’ll be happy.”
“Life isn’t a movie script, Mia.”
“Fine, then I guess I’ll have to cancel.”
“You’re not going to cancel anything—that would be rude. No, I imagine you’ll play your role to the end, no matter the consequences.”
“Why are you torturing me?”
“Because!” Daisy yelled before going out to meet some customers who had just entered the restaurant.
13
Mia had just thrown her third omelet in the trash. The first had burned, the second was too bland, and the third resembled a sorry attempt at scrambled eggs. How did the French do it?
At least the table looked good. It was set for three—Mia preferred pretending Daisy had stood them up at the last minute rather than having to explain her absence—with a bouquet of flowers in the center, along with a basket of pastries. So at least there would be something edible. Her phone buzzed. She washed the egg yolk from her hands and forearms, opened the refrigerator for the tenth time, and prayed that it was Paul telling her he couldn’t make it.
I’m downstairs.
Come on up!
She cast a last look around the room and ran over to crack open a window. The Bakelite handle of a saucepan she was using to warm some premade apple compote had burned slightly and was giving off an acrid stench.
The doorbell rang.
Paul came in, holding a small parcel.
“You shouldn’t have. What is it?” Mia asked.
“A scented candle.”
“Lovely. I’ll get a lighter,” she said, thinking venomously of Daisy.
“Sounds good. Wish I’d brought six more—smells like she’s cooking tires in here!”
“Did you say something?”
“No, I was just thinking how nice your place is. And what a wonderful view.” She seems nervous. I shouldn’t have invited myself. I should ask if she wants to head to a restaurant instead. Maybe we could sit outside, with the weather so nice and all. What am I saying? She’s probably been slaving away cooking all morning—that would make it even worse.
“Let’s start with some croissants.” Yes, excellent idea—I’ll stuff him full of croissants and pains au chocolat until he explodes, and then I’ll go round with the Hoover.
“You know what, I’m sorry. It’s your only day off all week, and I force you to cook and wait on me hand and foot. It was a selfish move, and I feel terrible about imposing. What would you say to a relaxed meal outside on a sunny terrace?”
“If that’s what you’d prefer . . .” Turns out there is a God! I’m sorry, Lord, for all the times I’ve doubted you. Tomorrow, I promise, I’ll go to church and light a candle.
“I know you’ve probably already gone to a lot of trouble, though, and I don’t want to offend you. In fact, the only reason I suggested going out to eat was to avoid being impolite.”
Ten candles! Twenty, if that’s what it takes!
“It’s your call, whatever you prefer,” Paul continued.
“The weather certainly is lovely today. I should have put the table on the balcony . . .” What is wrong with you? Why would you say something like that?
“You want me to set up the table outside?”
“Just, um, which café did you have in mind?” Mia asked feverishly.
“Any. I’m starving.”
Grab your purse before he changes his mind. Tell him it’s a brilliant idea and run down the stairs now!
Just then, the apartment door opened. Mia and Paul turned to see Daisy enter, carrying two large shopping bags.
“You could have at least helped me carry them,” she said, placing the bags on the island.
She took out three large plates covered in tinfoil.
“I’m Daisy, Mia’s business partner. You must be the Swedish writer?”
“Sort of. I’m actually American.”
“Of course. That’s what I meant.”
“What’s all that?” Paul asked, eyeing the food on the island.
“Brunch! Mia is a wonderful cook, but I’m the one who always gets stuck doing the serving. Even on Sundays. Disgraceful.”
“Oh, give me a break!” Mia protested. “It hadn’t finished cooking. And someone had to come up here and set the table.”
Daisy stepped on Mia’s foot as she walked past.
“Let’s see what you prepared for us, shall we?” Daisy said, removing the foil. “Caramelized onion tart, chard pie, and baked stuffed vegetables. If anyone’s still hungry after all this, you should think of a new line of work!”
“Smells amazing,” Paul said to Mia.
Daisy started sniffing the air—once, twice. After the third sniff, she advanced toward the table, spotted the scented candle, made a face, blew it out, and threw it straight in the trash, smiling as she noticed what else was in there.
“Um . . . all right, then,” Paul stammered, somewhat taken aback.