12. A Blue Moon

Of course Sebastien has taken me to La Lune Bleue.

It’s a rising star in the culinary world, I hear. Only this summer did it get rated three stars by the Michelin Guide. The resulting business boom was so big that it ended up making an expansion in order to keep up with demand. Even still, the waitlist lasts months.

Somehow, though, Sebastien has managed to get a reservation at half past seven—the absolute height of dinnertime rush—with only a two-day notice. Half an hour ago, I’d have said that was impossible.

“I’d have worn something nicer if I’d known we were coming here,” I say, fussing. I’d dressed up a little today, of course—dress pants and a nice blouse that, in combination, manages to make me look barely of age. I even pulled out the single pair of high heels I own and changed into them in time for Sebastien to pick me up.

“You’re perfect,” Sebastien reassures. “Do you mind if I go park the bike? I’ll just be one moment. Tell the girl at the door you’re here for the Thorn