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Two days after the death of Hubert Verdier, Colette was sitting at her kitchen counter, staring off into space, when her doorbell rang.

Finding her sister’s likely murderer after all these years and then losing him before he could admit the truth made her feel as if she had failed Liliane anew, a sense that left her numb with grief.

She had shared a table with the man seventy years ago.

She’d had a chance for justice then, and she hadn’t realized it. How could she live with herself?

The doorbell rang again, and she got up slowly, tightened the tie of her robe, and shuffled to the door.

She was surprised to find Daniel Rosman there, dressed in khakis and a button-down shirt and looking perfectly normal—not like death warmed over, which was how she was certain she must have appeared to him.

It confused her for an instant to see him looking so well, but then she remembered that for him, there was no mystery to how his parents had been killed, no dangling threads that he had spent a lifetime trying in vain to weave back together.

“Colette,” he said, his deep voice warm and his expression full of concern as he gazed at her. She noticed dully that he was holding a small cardboard box and a carrier with two cups of coffee, steam still rising from the holes in the lids.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, surprised by the raspiness of her own voice. She had barely spoken since leaving the hospital.

“Aviva told me what happened to Hubert Verdier.” He held up the cardboard box. “I’ve brought croissants and coffee, and I have a proposal for you, if you have a moment.”

“A proposal?”

He nodded. “But first, my friend, you’ll have to let me in.”

There was something about the way he referred to her as his friend that cracked the shell of her grief. She turned away before he could see her tears. How could she explain them? They hardly made sense to her. “Make yourself comfortable,” she said over her shoulder. “I’ll just get dressed.”

Ten minutes later, when she walked into the kitchen, she was startled to see that he had taken the croissants out of the box and arranged them on a plate. “I hope you don’t mind that I went searching for dishware,” he said with a smile.

“Not at all.” She felt a strange swirling in her belly, a sense that this must be what it was like to be taken care of by someone who wanted to make her happy.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt that way; she had always stayed away from anyone who was too solicitous, too kind, feeling that she didn’t deserve it.

But with a plate of croissants in front of her, and a man smiling expectantly at her in her kitchen, she couldn’t quite recall why it had felt so repellant to be tended to. “This is very nice,” she admitted.

“I didn’t know how you took your coffee,” he said, “so I took a guess and got it black, the same way I take mine.”

“That was a good guess.” Was it her imagination, or did he sound a bit nervous, too?

Had he noticed that she had taken extra care with her makeup?

Why had she bothered with it? She couldn’t quite say—just that when he smiled at her, she was glad that she had.

For goodness’ sake, she was nearly ninety and acting like a teenager.

She shook her head and took a long, bracing sip of the coffee.

“This is very good,” she said, because it was easier to talk about coffee than to think about the butterflies in her stomach.

“I found a little French bakery in Brookline. The hotel concierge assured me it was the best in Boston.”

“You didn’t have to go to so much effort.” But she was glad he had. She took another sip. “I would have made you coffee myself.”

“Perhaps you will next time,” he said with a smile, and she found herself smiling back before she remembered that he didn’t live here, that whatever was fluttering inside her right now—even if it was just the small joy of a new friendship—was bound to be temporary.

“I imagine you’ll be returning to New York soon.

” Suddenly, she realized that his departure was probably imminent; he could hire an attorney there to stake his claim on the bracelet at the museum; there was no longer a reason for him to be in Boston.

“Is that why you’re here? Have you come to say goodbye?

” The instant the words were out of her mouth, she realized that they had probably made her sound needy.

“Of course you have,” she amended quickly.

“Actually,” he said, watching her closely, “I am headed home—but not to New York. I came to see you today because I have an invitation for you.”

“An… invitation?” She picked up a croissant and took a bite, just to have something to do. The moment the flaky pastry hit her tongue, she closed her eyes for a moment and resisted the urge to moan in pleasure. This was the best croissant she’d had in years. “This is quite good,” she said.

He chuckled. “I thought the same thing. Just like the ones I remember from Paris, before the war.” His expression turned serious. “That brings me, Colette, to what I wanted to ask you.” He hesitated, and she had the strangest sense he was nervous. “Would you like to go to Paris with me?”

She was so surprised, she started choking on the croissant, which meant that the next moment was spent with Daniel rushing to her cabinet to locate a glass and pouring her some water, while she struggled to regain her composure.

It took her several seconds after she’d taken a drink to spit out, “Paris?”

“Yes. Tomorrow, in fact.”

“I’m sorry.” She barked out a laugh. “You’re inviting me to go to Paris with you tomorrow ?”

“I know it sounds quite mad. But Colette, I spoke by phone last night to the great-nephew of the jeweler who made the bracelet for my father. The jeweler died in Auschwitz, like my mother, but after the war, his brother took possession of his implements, receipts, and client roster, and tried to open his own jewelry shop in Paris. It was short-lived—but they kept the paperwork, even after the family relocated to Antwerp. I emailed the nephew a few days ago to ask him to search through his records for any proof that the bracelets were made for my parents, and just last night, he called to say he had found the original designs and the invoice his great-uncle had drawn up—and that he’s on his way to Paris today and could bring the documents with him but that he will only be there for the next two days.

He offered to scan the papers and then FedEx them to me, but a scan won’t be enough for an attorney here, and I couldn’t risk them getting lost in transit.

Colette, I’d like to go get them in person, and I’d like you to go with me. ”

She stared at him. “To Paris,” she repeated dully.

He smiled. “To Paris,” he echoed. “I mean, that is, I’m not certain whether you’ve kept your passport up to date, or—”

“I have,” she said, her mind spinning. “But Daniel, I haven’t been back to France since I left in 1945.

” Years had turned into decades, and here she was, more than seventy years removed from the place where she had last seen her mother and sister.

Then again, why had she continued to renew her passport for all these years if she didn’t plan to return at some point?

He nodded. “I thought that might be the case. For me, my last trip there was decades ago, and it was very difficult. I felt the ghosts of my parents everywhere. But lately I’ve been thinking that I’d like to go back before I die.

There’s something to be said for facing ghosts rather than running from them.

And now is as good a time as any. I can still get around pretty well, though I fear my marathon-running days are behind me. ”

She laughed. “As are mine.”

“Besides, I’ve been accumulating airline miles for decades.”

She blinked at him. “I can’t let you pay for my ticket to Paris.”

“Colette,” he said, suddenly serious, “it is the very least I can do. In giving your half of the bracelet back to me, you’ve given me a piece of my parents, my past. I couldn’t have imagined it after all this time.”

She stared at him for a long moment, her heart thudding.

He looked right back at her, his gaze steady.

She took a deep breath. “What about Hubert Verdier’s funeral?

I know it’s ridiculous, but I feel I should be there to see the man buried, if only to make sure he’s dead and gone.

It—it feels like one last thing I can do for my sister. ”

“It’s not ridiculous at all. When is the funeral?”

She had seen the obituary in the paper just this morning. It had made her blood boil to read of his long life, his successful accounting firm, his membership in the local chapter of the Shriners, as if he had a decent bone in his body. “Friday. Three days from now.”

“Then we’ll make it a quick trip. In fact, I’ll see if we can leave tonight.”

“Are you certain about this, Daniel?” she asked. “And certain you’d like to take me with you?”

“Colette,” he said, looking at her in a way that set her butterflies fluttering once more, “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”

She held his gaze. “Well, then,” she said, hardly believing that she was agreeing to such a thing. “I suppose I’d better go pack.”

Daniel left after booking their tickets with a promise to return in two hours to pick her up for their 5:15 flight. Colette packed an overnight bag and then called Aviva, who couldn’t believe that Colette had said yes.

“Are you sure this is safe?” Aviva asked. “I mean, Daniel Rosman seems like a nice man, but—”

“Darling,” Colette said, exasperated. “This isn’t a stranger.

This is someone with whom I have more in common than nearly anyone else on earth.

” She realized as she said the words how very true it was, on so many levels.

Being around Daniel Rosman felt like returning to a home she’d thought she’d lost forever.