Chapter Four
Le Maison Grog was dead empty, and Russ Rodgers was worried.
Sure, they still did a brisk business each evening, but gone were the days when the bar was bustling at lunchtime, and he couldn’t help but wonder if it was a signal that the golden age of the Anglo pub was fading here in Paris.
When he and his best friend, Benji, had moved here from Sydney a decade and a half ago and had decided to buy a bar geared toward English-speaking expats, establishments like theirs were all the rage.
There was The Long Hop, the British pub a block over, and then there were all the Frog bars sprinkled throughout the city: The Frog The Frog he sounded like some sort of romantic sage instead of a bar owner who had never actually been in a long-term relationship. “But what do I know?” he added hastily.
But the man was nodding slowly, as if Russ had said something profound. “Sounds to me like you know more than you’re giving yourself credit for.” With that, he patted Russ on the shoulder and shuffled off toward the bathroom, leaving Russ feeling oddly bereft.
Russ turned to retrieve the drinks Benji had poured for the group, but at that moment, the front door opened, revealing a second group backlit by the early afternoon sunshine.
“G’day!” Russ called out his standard greeting, and when the door closed, he saw three women around his age, maybe a few years younger, giggling and looking around.
Already halfway to drunk, if he had to guess, which boded well for sales.
“Have a seat wherever you’d like,” he called. “I’ll be with you in just a moment.”
Two of them shuffled off obediently toward the bar, already appraising Benji, who had just perked up. But one of them stayed rooted to the spot for an extra moment, her gaze roaming the room.
She was the prettiest of the three, though not in an obvious way.
The other two were heavily made up, their hair fluffed and spritzed in that mysterious way that women had, which looked like it took some effort.
The one by the door, though, wore her wavy blond hair loose around her shoulders in a style that didn’t look deliberate, and she appeared to be wearing little makeup.
What struck Russ the most, though, was how sad she looked—and how he had a sudden, visceral urge to comfort her, even though he had no idea what was wrong.
He was jolted out of his staring by the reemergence of the man from the restroom. “Ah,” the man said, coming up beside him and taking in the scene. The girl with the wavy blond hair was moving toward Russ. “Maybe it’s time to take that shot.”
The man smiled as he headed back toward his table, and then, the girl was beside Russ. “Hi,” he said, because he couldn’t even muster a second obligatory G’day.
“Hi,” she said, and then, even though her eyes still looked sad, her lips parted in a small smile that lit up her whole face, and Russ felt the world shifting beneath his feet.
Piper’s mom was dying.