Chapter Eight
Olivier finally spilled his guts at lunch. We found a little cafe a few blocks from our hotel—it was too early to check in, so we still had our bags with us—and I was currently stuffing my face with pastries and drinking two lattes in a row.
The city bustled around us: people walking and talking, cars going by, bicycles cycling past. The sound of French being spoken filled the air, although I heard a lot of English and other languages as well. Nearby was a couple sitting on a bench, both of whom were eating what looked like éclairs. Why hadn’t I ordered an éclair? I needed to do that ASAP.
I’d practically stuffed my face with food—a delicious chocolate croissant followed by two different flavored éclairs, coffee flowing freely, and then a platter of macarons and petit four
