Bethany had reservations at a small French bistro in the theater district, someplace Dana would’ve never gone on her own simply because nothing on the menu was under thirty dollars. But it was Valentine’s, an evening to splurge, and the place was packed. When the server handed them menus, Bethany took Dana’s away and handed them back. “I’ll be ordering for the both of us,” she said with a smile. “I have something special planned.”
“Très bien,” the server replied. “Can I start you off with—”
But Bethany interrupted him in flawless French. He stared at her a moment, taken aback, before he scrambled for his pad and pen to jot down whatever it was she was saying. Raising her water glass to her lips, Dana snickered into it, amused. She’d never eaten anything French before that she could remem
