Chapter One
A year later
I ve been dreaming about this forever, but I m still a little stunned that it s happening. I m in New York. I live here now. This is real. This is weird. This is . . . amazing. 
The airport terminal looks like a city-­sized shopping mall, with everything from luxury brands to coffee shops lining the halls, and so many people. More people than I feel I ve seen in my entire life. In my earbuds, Taylor Swift sings an anthem I ve selected for this very moment, the upbeat melody drowning out the cacophony of the terminal. Welcome to New York! It s been waiting for you.
Not as much as I ve been waiting for it.
After going through customs, I m looking for the signs for baggage claim, when my heart stops. At the end of the conveyor belt, there s a tall guy with blond hair, square shoulders, and skinny legs. I immediately recognize him as the one. The one I ve been thinking about nonstop, the one I meet every night in my dreams, the one and only Zach.
Our meeting is in just two days, but right this minute I feel sweaty, my skin dried from the air-­conditioning on the plane, my breath stale from the gross industrial food. It s not at all how I hoped our reunion would go after a whole year of fantasizing about it, but I have no choice. Zach is here now. So.
I zigzag past the other passengers between us, and before the nerves get to me, I put on my best smile and tap him on the shoulder. He turns around. I stare at him, my brain a little slow to process reality. This is not Zach. In fact, he doesn t look anything like Zach. Up close, he s not even blond. I made this up in my head. Silently cursing, I blame the jet lag.
Um, yeah? He sounds annoyed.
I have to say something now. Hi! Do you know when our suitcases are coming out? My dad s waiting for me.
The guy opens his eyes wide and, without responding, points a finger at the screen above the conveyor belt. The one everyone has been looking at, which indicates the exact time ­four minutes from now ­when our luggage will start feeding out onto the belt. 
Perfect! I say extra-­cheerful. Deep down I m mortified. I m going to text him!
My cheeks burning, I fall back into the crowd. How many minutes is two days?
All is forgotten when I spot Papa s and Miguel s happy faces beaming back at me from just outside the sliding doors to the terminal. Papa throws his arms in the air in a motion that I think is supposed to be a wave but that actually makes him look like a blown-­up marionette shimmying in the wind, the kind you see outside used-­car dealerships on American TV.
As soon as I m within reach, we give each other la bise ­one kiss on each cheek, the French way. Then, he pulls me into an American hug. That s what he always told me as a child: when you have two cultures, you get to have the best of everything. Sometimes that means double of a good thing, like a toasted cheese sandwich on a baguette. Or tarte aux pommes with crust on top, which, yes, I know, is just apple pie.
Papa s boyfriend ­I mean, his fiancé, Miguel ­hugs and kisses me: he s learning fast. 
Papa has lived in Manhattan most of his life. He visits his company s headquarters ­a wine distributor ­in Paris several times a year for work, and spends most of his vacation time hanging out with us in France. Miguel has even tagged along a few times. I ve never had the opportunity to visit them in New York . . . until now.
Miguel hands me an oiled paper box marked DOUGH. Your dad wanted to bring welcome balloons, he says,

French author Anne-Sophie Jouhanneau's books have been translated into seven languages. KISSES AND CROISSANTS is her English-language debut. She is also the author of FRENCH KISSING IN NEW YORK. She lives in New York City with her Australian husband.