Now she was sipping a wonderful Bordeaux while taking in the gorgeous lights of Paris.
This is facing one’s demons.
If Staci had stayed in Baltimore, she would have spent the evening curled on her sofa ripping through yet another box of tissues. At least in Paris, she could drown her sorrows in a breathtaking setting, with some lively music and great wine.
You will survive.
It was a motto she’d adopted long ago.
The downside was that three days had passed since she’d seen and spoken with Evan, and it felt like a goddamn eternity.
How could she miss someone so terribly? It was like she was missing a part of her soul or something.
Her head dipped, and she studied her cocktail napkin, not exactly up for making eye contact with the other patrons gathered around the bar. Most of them were on dates, though there were two or three single men sucking down wine and scotch.
Staci blinked. A tear fell from her eye and splashed onto the little burgundy square beneath her wineglass.
Oh, fuck.
She was going to have a “perfect-sister meltdown” right here at the bar in Le Jules Verne.
Come on, Stace. Pull it together.
Another tear splattered. Then another.
Her eyes squeezed shut.
No, no, no!
She sucked in a shaky breath.
Time to make a beeline for the ladies’ room and collect herself. Then call it an evening. To hell with the reservation Jean had scored for her.
“Excuse me, mademoiselle.” The bartender interrupted her meltdown. “I have a glass of champagne for you.”
Not daring to glance up because she couldn’t get the tears under control, Staci said, “I didn’t order champagne.”
“It’s from the gentleman at the end of the bar.”
Staci sat on the opposite end. She sniffled, sucked it up, and raised her head. “Please tell him thank you but, no tha—”
Her gaze landed on Evan.
Her breath caught. Her heart launched into her throat.
The bartender popped the cork on a bottle of private-reserve Dom Perignon and he poured a glass as Evan slid off his barstool and came around to join her.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her heart stammering as she kind of wondered if she was hallucinating, imagining that she was seeing the gorgeous, blue-eyed, dark-haired surgeon come her way.
“I heard the food is fantastic,” he said in his sexy bedroom voice. “That this is the most romantic city in the world. That a stunning redhead was having dinner here on Valentine’s Day. All alone. Couldn’t have that.”
More tears threatened her eyes and a lump of emotion swelled in her throat. Still, she managed to ask, “Who would tell you such a thing?”
“Your friend Maxi. Who is just as diligent about getting ahold of me as you were.”
“Goddamn her…” Staci muttered under her breath.
“Don’t be mad. I’m glad she called. And just in time so that I could fly over first thing this morning in order to make it here in time. While it’s still officially the most romantic day of the year.”