“Is something wrong?” I asked, holding my thick nursing textbook close to my chest. While commuting to and from my clinicals this semester, I’d spent a lot of time daydreaming about what early summer would be like in Paris. I’d envisioned myself walking along the river, viewing artists busily painting on their canvases, while the sweet notes of a love song drifted through the air from a distant accordion.

  “I can’t go to Paris,” Maureen blurted out.

  “What?” Her words took my breath away. I was sure I’d heard her wrong.

  “I won’t be able to go to Paris the way we planned.”

  Dumbfounded, I stopped walking and stared at her. Our airline tickets had been purchased, our hotel reservations were made, our itinerary was in writing and on our phones—every last detail had been finalized.

  Maureen lowered her eyes. “I’m pregnant. Peter and I have decided to get married as soon as we graduate.”

  I knew she’d been seeing a lot of Peter Zelinski but had no idea their relationship was this serious. Maureen had taken on the role of tutoring students as a means of earning extra money for our Paris trip. Peter had been one of her calculus students.

  I was dating, too. Kyle Boltz was a first-year medical student and I was beginning to hope we would have a future together. Kyle had a lot of schooling ahead of him, and I would soon be graduating with a nursing degree. We’d met at a party and we had clicked.

  “Say something,” Maureen pleaded.

  That was the problem. I didn’t know what to say. I hadn’t fully processed that everything—all our plans, our prep work, the anticipation—had changed in an instant. And my best friend was pregnant. This changed everything.

  “You should still go,” Maureen added.

  “Not without you.” I refused to entertain the thought. It wouldn’t be the same without my best friend.

  “I’ve ruined everything,” Maureen said, biting into her lower lip.

  Giving her a big hug, I did my best to comfort her. “You didn’t ruin anything. A baby is far more important than a trip to Paris. We’ll get there one day.”

  Maureen’s mouth wobbled with the effort to smile.

  “And I get to be in your wedding.”

  “Maid of honor,” Maureen said. “I wouldn’t have anyone else.”

  “Deal.”

  Yes, I was disappointed, but we had our whole lives ahead of us. Paris would have to wait.

  Chapter 1

  Jenna

  I’d waited for this for a long time.

  I sat in the small nook with the padded seat in my upstairs bedroom, gazing out the window. The view of Elliott Bay stretched before me. I loved this spot, my contemplation area. I leaned my back against the wall, my knees drawn up, as I gazed out over the panorama. The gray skies had threatened rain earlier in the day. Despite popular opinion, Seattle wasn’t drenched in drizzle all twelve months of the year. No matter what the weather, my window on the bay never failed to soothe me. By contrast, this afternoon the sky was blue and bright in the late summer, and the waters of Puget Sound as green as an emerald lawn. The waterfront area of Seattle was filled with tourists, the streets busy with those either departing or returning from Alaskan cruises.

  My mind was spinning with the changes about to take place in my life. The day before I’d been with Allie to help her settle into her dorm room. My daughter was about to spread her wings at college, just as I’d done all those years ago. Although I’d been looking forward to this day, I worried. Allie was nothing like her older brother, Paul. My son had been the man of the house and was more mature than his years, especially after his father left us. Allie could be overly emotional at times, and I had to admit, I’d spoiled her, but not to the point where she was self-centered and irrational. I’d wanted her to commute from home the first couple of years of college, but she insisted that she wanted to live in the dorms. Eventually, I’d given in, remembering that my parents had given me that experience to let me soar on my own.

  This move was big for Allie and equally big for me.

  My nest was now empty.

  The silent house had never felt louder. It was as if I could hear the hollowness surround me. While I had been looking forward to this time, I wasn’t completely sure what I wanted to do with myself. I’d spent the last sixteen years as a single mom, dedicating my life, my resources, and my everything to my two children, all the while juggling a full-time career. It hadn’t been easy being both mother and father, but I was smarter and wiser, especially in the area of men. I could fix a leaky pipe, clean gutters, and assemble a chest of drawers with instructions written in a foreign language. I was woman—and I could pound my chest as hard as any man.

  And now, after years of attending sporting events, soccer games, baseball and basketball games, as well as swimming meets, I finally had time for myself. I thought of all the music lessons, the Girl Scout cookie drives I’d organized, and how I’d been class mother for both Paul and Allie in their grade-school years. The last year Paul was in junior high, I’d been president of the PTA. My kids’ teeth were straight, and they both were grounded and obtained above-average grades.

  As I looked out my window, I thought about the sense of elation mingled with worries and doubts that nearly overwhelmed me when I dropped Allie off at the college campus. I watched a green-and-white Washington State Ferry sail toward Bainbridge Island.

  I refused to let my concerns take away this special moment. I let the calming view settle my nerves, and I turned my focus onto what this new season of life meant for me.

  I’d raised my children, made sacrifices for them, stayed focused on their needs, but now I could look to the future and make plans of my own. Unlike their father, I’d taken my responsibility as a parent seriously. Kyle had proved to be a sorry disappointment as a husband, but especially as a father.

  I had an entire list of what I hoped to accomplish in the next few years. For a long time, I’d wanted to find a creative way to express myself. Zumba class, painting. I’d been toying with the idea of creating a bullet journal, too. The possibilities were endless. And trips. I longed to travel, to see the world, study new cultures, taste the local cuisines. With France, especially Paris, on the top of the page, of course. Between my work schedule at the hospital and all the kids’ activities and sporting events I’d never found time to fit any of these things into my life.

  But I could now.

  Paris. The more I thought about it, the more I longed to make that trip a possibility. Maureen and I had put off that dream for far too long. Like me, Maureen was divorced now. We’d been single moms together all these years and formed our own support group. Both of our marriages had gone down in flames and Paris was shoved into the black hole called “someday.” Well, “someday” was now, finally within reach.

  I dropped my legs from my perch and reached for the phone, calling Maureen to invite her over for a movie and some “girl” time together. She was quick to agree, eager to hear how Allie’s move-in at college went.

  Before she arrived, I had the popcorn popping, and for the fun of it, I’d downloaded Casablanca hoping to remind her of our long-ago dream.

  The doorbell rang, and I set aside the remote to answer the door.

  Maureen came into the house waving a grocery bag. “You’ll like what’s inside!” She was a petite brunette with deep brown eyes that revealed her subtle wit and intelligence. Her hair was the same shade as her eyes. She wore it shoulder length, and I envied how thick it was.

  Through the years I’d come to appreciate Maureen all the more. We talked often and supported each other through everything that life had thrown our way. She’d been the first person I called after Kyle left, and when Allie broke her arm, I couldn’t have asked for a better best friend.

  She pulled out a container from the bag, revealing my favorite flavor of ice cream: salted caramel, my weakness.

  “A perfect addition to a perfect afternoon.” I took it from her and headed into the kitchen to place it in the freezer.

  Maureen trailed behind me. “How was your hot date?”

  My hand paused on the freezer door as I thought back over my dinner with the insurance adjuster. It had been washed from my mind, an evening I was eager to forget. “A disappointment.”

  “Yellow light?”

  Maureen and I had devised our own grading system when it came to men and dating. A green light meant there was real potential. A yellow light meant we were waiting to learn more and would proceed with caution. A red light was a flat “NO,” no questions asked, not happening. No way. No how.

  “Red light?”

  I gave a sad nod.

  “After one date?”

  I expelled a lengthy sigh, letting it whistle through my teeth. What was it with men? “He thought a dinner at a cheap Mexican restaurant gave him a free license to spend the night.”

  “Give me a break,” Maureen said, shaking her head.

  I’d dated off and on since my divorce. My children had always been my priority. Still, there were times when I needed adult male companionship for my own mental health, yet in all the years since Kyle and I had split, I hadn’t met a man I felt deserved a green light. Several had looked promising in the beginning, but as we got to know each other better, something always seemed to be fundamentally lacking. I was beginning to think the lacking might be me—that I’d set my standards too high.

  My marriage to Kyle hadn’t helped matters. I’d come out of it with trust issues and with the fear of making yet another mistake. Now, with both kids in college, I’d hoped to seriously look at my relationships with men.

  “How frustrating,” Maureen said. Seeing the bowls of popcorn on the kitchen counter, she reached for them and led the way into the family room.

  I loved my Colonial-style house that was set on a hill overlooking Elliott Bay. Other than my children, it was the best thing I’d gotten out of my marriage. The family room off the kitchen was where we all gathered to watch television, or to sit by the fireplace on a cold, rainy Seattle day on the comfortable, oversized, well-loved leather furniture. One year for Christmas, my dad had a gas line installed to the fireplace, so I didn’t need to fuss with building a fire with wood any longer. All winter long, I had that fire going. It added a touch of warmth to those chilly nights while Paul and Allie sunk into the big chairs to do their homework.

  I had Casablanca primed and ready to play.

  Popcorn for dinner and ice cream for dessert. Now that was freedom.

  I reached for the remote. Maureen had her shoes off and her ankles crossed on the ottoman as she munched on the popcorn. “You picked the movie?”

  “Yup, and you’re going to love it.” I hit the remote and immediately the music leading up to Casablanca began to play.

  Maureen’s smile widened. “Is this what I think it is?”

  I couldn’t keep from smiling. “Yup, and that should tell you what I’m thinking.”

  “Paris,” Maureen cried. “You want to start planning for our trip to Paris.” Her eyes shone with enthusiasm.

  “At last, our someday is here.” I could already feel the excitement building inside of me. Over the years we’d never stopped talking about our trip to Paris, but the timing had never been right. “I’m thinking we can go next spring.”

  “Spring,” Maureen agreed with a single nod. She was the trip planner, Lonely Planet in human form. The woman was a hound dog when it came to research. She could find her way around the Internet the way some people could find their way around the Mall of America without a map. Being a librarian no doubt helped. Maureen had majored in library science, and that career was a natural for her. She’d worked for the last twenty years at the Seattle Public Library.

  Next spring would be the perfect time to go. Paul was working year-round as a server in Pullman while going through college, and Allie was planning for an exchange program that would take her to Japan for six months, leaving the schedule next year wide open for this trip. Of course, I would need to get time off from the hospital, being certain to get the request in early for my vacation dates. Several months’ notice would guarantee there wouldn’t be a problem.

  “I’ll look for our planning notes from when we were in college,” Maureen said, showing her excitement.

  “You kept them?” That shouldn’t surprise me. Maureen was an organizational genius and always had been. She liked her life structured. Everything in its place, and a place for everything. She was a spotless housekeeper. Dust didn’t dare make a showing in her home.

  “Of course, I kept them. Why not? The Louvre is still waiting for us.”

  “And the Sainte-Chappelle.” I’d looked at breathtaking photos of the stained-glass windows of the chapel countless times, dreaming of the day I would be able to see it in person.

  “Shopping on Rue de Rivoli,” Maureen added dreamily.

  “Was that on day five?” I asked. If I remembered correctly, shopping had been reserved for later in our self-guided tour.

  “Day six.”

  Naturally, Maureen would remember the minute details. The woman’s mind was a steel trap. I sincerely doubted she would need those notes to recollect the details of our original plans. She probably remembered the flight numbers and our seat assignments if I were to ask. That was Maureen.

  She had never remarried after she and Peter split. Like me, she’d dated, too, but not often. Her marriage had only lasted five years. Peter and Maureen had never been a good mix, and they both knew it. To their credit, they stuck it out as long as they had for the sake of their daughter, Victoria, “Tori.” A couple of years following their divorce, Peter had remarried and had two additional children, both boys. He continued to be a good father to Tori and had remained an integral part of her life, unlike my ex had done with Paul and Allie.

  I’d always hoped Maureen would find happiness with another man. She deserved it, but I feared she’d lost something of herself in her failed marriage. I understood, as I feared I had, too.

  Settling back against the sofa, I brought my legs up under me and held the bowl of popcorn in my lap as the movie started. I’ll never forget the first time Maureen and I watched Casablanca in college. The movie had the same impact on Maureen as it’d done with me as a teen. We’d both cried and agreed it was the most romantic movie ever made.

  “I love the opening,” Maureen said with a sigh. “It’s the music.”

  Surprisingly, Maureen Zelinski had a romantic heart. I suspected she hid that fact from her peers at the library. Only those closest to her would suspect as much.

  I munched on my popcorn, relaxing as I got involved in the movie.

  “Was Allie able to connect with her dad before she left?” Maureen asked.

  I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “No.” It hurt me that Allie’s father had disappointed our daughter yet again. It demanded effort not to add a derogatory comment about my ex. Even before the ink on our divorce papers was dry, Kyle had basically abandoned the children and me. He’d left Seattle Central Hospital where we were both employed, him as a surgeon and me as a nurse. He’d promptly moved to another state. It wasn’t long before I learned he’d remarried, and shockingly, it wasn’t to the woman with whom he’d had the affair. In the years since, he’d divorced and married two more times. Paul and Allie were his only children.

  To be fair, Kyle had faithfully paid child support, and I was grateful he’d held up that portion of his responsibility. What hurt most, other than the fact he hadn’t been able to keep his pants zipped, was the way he’d treated our children as nonentities. He would send them birthday cards—if he remembered, that is—and send a check at Christmas. Basically, that was it.

  In the last year, Allie had tried to reestablish a relationship with her father. She reached out to him, seeking his advice regarding her choice of colleges. I didn’t discourage her and hoped Kyle would take an interest in our daughter. Thankfully, he’d responded, and she’d been thrilled. All the effort, however, had been on Allie’s part and continued to be so. She’d phoned him right before she left for school and was told he wasn’t available. I hated to see her disappointed yet again.

  “Allie has no real expectations when it comes to her father,” I said, feeling sad at how true that was.

  My phone rang, and I grabbed it off the coffee table to check caller ID. I didn’t recognize the number.

  “You going to answer that?” Maureen asked as the phone continued to ring.

  “Nope. I’ve been getting far too many solicitation calls.” The numbers that showed up were often local ones that made me think I might be missing a personal call. I’d fallen for that trick far too often.

  “I’ve been getting those calls, too,” Maureen said, and seemed as irritated as me with the interruption by robot calls. She leaned back against the sofa, munching popcorn.

  After five torturous rings, the phone went to voicemail, but whoever had called didn’t leave a message. I knew it. Another sales call. If I got one more call from that perky Elizabeth, I was going to scream.

  I was about to grab another handful of popcorn when it rang again.

  Same number.

  Maureen glanced at my phone and over to me. “Maybe you should answer that.”

  “Maybe I should.” I paused the movie and reached for my phone, getting it on the fifth ring just before it went to voicemail.

  “This is Jenna Boltz,” I stated matter-of-factly.

  “Jenna, oh Jenna,” an elderly woman’s voice returned breathlessly. “I’m so sorry to bother you…your mom gave me your number.”