Free A Sunset in Paris by Liz Langdon Page A

scone was delicious, warm and crumbly and Zoe tucked in eagerly. A few minutes later she raised her head, conscious that there was a smear of cream on her chin and a dollop of jam on her lip. She met the eyes of an older man, a waiter, who was watching her with great amusement. Seeing that he had been noticed he came over to speak to her.
    ' Mademoiselle , was the scone good?'
    His English was very good, but strongly accented. Embarrassed, Zoe raised her serviette, dabbing at the problem areas, and said coldly,
    'Very nice, thank you.'
    Unperturbed by her frosty tone, the waiter stepped a little closer and said,
    'Are you here alone? Because so pretty a young lady should not be alone on a day like today.'
    Zoe felt the tears rush back to her eyes, in response to hearing her inner thoughts voiced aloud. Mortified at the thought of crying in front of a waiter, she snatched up her purse and the hotel room key and raced off, running up the stairs two at a time. She heard a dismayed cry behind her,
    'Oh, no, mademoiselle, pardonnez-moi …' and then the door to the stairwell shut softly cutting him off.
    She burst into the room, barely noticing her parents jump apart as if they had been bitten, and rushed into her room to fling herself down on her bed, burying her hot clammy face in the cool plump pillow. She cried for a while, and gradually her tears gave way to sleep as she fell into an exhausted slumber.

Chapter 2
    She was woken an hour later, by her dad gently knocking on the door.
    'Zo… Zo… wake up, hon, we're going down for dinner now.'
    Groggily, Zoe went to wash her face, removing the ruined remains of her 'sultry, smoky eyes' and the last vestiges of the dark red lipstick she had applied. She thought about applying a fresh layer, but decided not to bother; most of it would come off as she ate anyway.
    Dinner was actually kind of fun. Her mum and dad treated her like an adult, asking if she would like a glass of wine and both laughing at the sight of her face.
    'Don't worry, we haven't gone mad! In France, sixteen year olds can drink alcohol, as long as their parents are with them!'
    Zoe brightened up and accepted the offer, feeling very grown-up as she sipped at the wine throughout the meal. They all chattered happily and Zoe felt her spirits rise as her dad cracked silly jokes and her mum made amusing comments and observations about their surrounding and their fellow diners, managing to be very funny without being cruel. The all had a sweet from the dessert menu and finished the meal with a small cup of strong dark coffee.
    Finally sated, they all pushed their chairs back and meandered back into the lobby to take the lift up to their room. As they waited for the lift to descend to their level Zoe looked around, feeling properly happy and 'on holiday' for the first time since Jeremy had casually dropped the bombshell that Zack and he would be going to a week-long music festival on the other side of the country and, therefore, would not be coming to France. She saw the waiter that had spoken to her earlier, dressed in civilian clothes and looking very tired and drained. He was obviously heading home after a long shift, and she felt a sudden wave of regret for the way she had run out on him. Impulsively, she told her parents that she would catch them up, and hurried over to him, hoping to catch him before he exited the hotel.
    She caught him, just as he went out onto the street, and he stopped when she called,
    'Oh, m'sieur , please wait!'
    He stopped, looking back with a wariness that might have been comical if she hadn't been formulating the words of here apology in her head. He recognised her and raised a questioning eyebrow,
    'Oh, mademoiselle , are you well now?'
    'Yes, very well, thank you.'
    She paused for a moment, then burst out with,
    'Listen, I wanted to apologise to you. You were so very kind to me, and I rushed off rudely – I was tired and a bit upset, will you please forgive me?'
    He smiled now, his face