You smell just the way I wanted. I hope everyone around us appreciates it.”I blushed deep red, and nodded.“And here comes Anton. Good evening, mon...ami!” He stepped out from behind the table again and hugged and kissed both cheeks of the tall, slim man in the even taller chef’s hat. He returned the affection, then turned to me.Chef Anton bent over my hand and kissed it, sniffed at my fingers, then straightened up and let his gaze linger on my dog collar with a faint smile. I blushed, but held. I spent 20 consecutive 18-hour days reading about the horror and heroism.I don’t cry but I wiped away tears often in the first couple of days.As I pored over the details (again, some factual, others pure fantasy) of the attacks and the victims, I lost the ability to remain objective. Anger seeped through me. Then, I became desensitized to the stories.I had no more tears to offer when I read the true stories of heroism from New York City’s first responders and the brave men and woman that had. More

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