I took the mug from Emma, grateful for a caffeine fix. “Thanks, Em.”
She handed a second mug to Perrault, offering him an apologetic smile. “I wasn’t certain how you take your coffee, so I brought it with milk, but I’ve brought sweetener along in case you need it.” She reached into her pocket and withdrew a couple of sachets of sugar.
Perrault seemed touched by Emma’s thoughtfulness. “Tres bien, demoiselle. Coffee with milk is just perfect.” He sipped from the mug. “Oui, parfait, merci.”1
Emma offered him a bright smile and turned her attention back to me. “So,” she said casually, “how are things in here? Everything going okay?”
I slugged down a mouthful of the coffee and savored the bitter taste. French coffee was stronger than American coffee but I was rapidly developing a taste for
