18
CLAD IN HIS chef whites, Lance removed his hat and took a break from the Paris competition, striding outside to gather his thoughts. Or get rid of them. The memory of Verena and their last night together had been running like a tragic movie through his mind.
Outside, horns blared, jolting him back to the present. Watching the traffic jam on the street, Lance thought that if he ever needed a cigarette, it was right now.
But he’d promised Verena.
Instead, he strode into a café and ordered an espresso. Not that it would calm his nerves, but he’d had restless nights since Verena left and was in dire need of caffeine.
The day after Verena had gone, Lance had thrown himself into the competition he’d come to Paris for. Though he’d taken time to have a hotel concierge arrange for a bouquet
