Chapter 9
“Back to the hostel?” Tyler protests as we hurry out of the Louvre, exiting with all the other people who are leaving before midnight.
“Yes,” I say. “You said I could pick the next stop, and that’s my pick. It’s the safest thing to do.”
“It’s not even midnight!” Tyler exclaims.
We’ve emerged into the chilly night air, and I can see the beautiful Tuileries Garden in the dark.
The pristine rows of trees and the lit-up carousel are a little creepy but so gorgeous and still.
I think, not for the first time, about how romantic it would be if I was here with Lucas.
Paris seems like it was made for people to enjoy while holding hands.
I glance over at Tyler, who’s now looking at his phone.
He’s got nice hands, I’ll give him that. But whatever.
“So what?” I say to him. “I mean, I saw the Mona Lisa. I can cross that off my list, you know?”
Tyler arches an eyebrow. “Oh yeah. Your list. Let’s see it.”
“I don’t have an actual list,” I lie snappily. My heart picks up speed. “I meant list metaphorically.” My hand involuntarily clutches my tote bag.
I know Tyler doesn’t believe me. He smirks and crosses his arms—back to being smug again.
“Nneka mentioned an actual list,” he says, “and I know you have one. It’s exactly the type of thing you’d do.”
I scowl and cross my arms, too. “How would you know that? It’s not like you know me very well.”
“I’m good at reading people.”
I smirk. “I don’t think you’re as perceptive as you think you are,” I say, swallowing hard but not breaking eye contact. “Reading Proust doesn’t mean you can read people.”
“Au contraire,” says Tyler. “I bet just based on what I know about you, I can guess exactly what’s in your tote bag.”
I call his bluff. “Okay,” I say. “Go for it.”
Tyler grins. “Fine. So let’s see …” He strokes his chin and looks up at the sky. “First, you have a literal list of things you want to do. Printed out on like a nice piece of paper.”
I keep my eyes from bulging in surprise; I’ve never been known for my p-p-p-poker face. Anyway, that was probably a lucky guess.
“Interesting,” I say, gritting my teeth. “What else?”
He grins at me. “I’m sure you brought a book with you. I’m willing to bet it’s one of those historical romances that moms like.”
How did he know that? Do his icy gray eyes have X-ray vision?
! Also, moms are not a monolith—or a mom-o-lith.
My mom contains multitudes and loves to read more than one type of book.
And so do I. I’ll read anything and everything—from rom-com to nonfiction.
Books are the best. (Even if I haven’t read Proust yet.)
“What else?” I challenge Tyler.
He looks off into the distance and nods. “Ah. Well, of course you need a pen to check off the items on your list as you accomplish them—you strike me as fairly organized. And I bet the pen is one of those water-filled ones where the little Eiffel Tower—”
Outraged, I swing my tote at him.
“Ouch! Watch it,” he laughs.
“J’accuse!” I shout. “You cheated! There’s no way you could have guessed—”
“Fine, I peeked inside while we were in line for the Mona Lisa,” he admits, dodging my bag as I keep swinging it. “What’s the big deal?”
“I don’t like liars and cheaters,” I shout.
“It was just a joke, Ben,” says Tyler, his face going serious.
I take a bunch of deep breaths.
“Sorry,” I say. “I’m not sure why I overreacted like that.”
“No, I get it,” says Tyler. “Someone’s already stolen something from you today. I wasn’t thinking of that.”
“Oh,” I say, calming down. “Right. Yeah, that was messed up.”
“Je suis désolé,” he says. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay.”
To be honest, I wasn’t thinking of Clark the pickpocket, either. My overreaction was really about feeling manipulated—like Tyler was using our past friendship to trick me, while also refusing to acknowledge our history.
But something about his apology and the way his long eyelashes flutter as he gazes down at the sidewalk melts my heart a little bit.
“All right, you can see my list,” I say. My face is hot with embarrassment, but at this point—what do I have to lose?
Tyler looks up, intrigued.
I slowly pull the sheet of paper out of my bag. He reaches out to take it, but I hold on to it, covering up number seven—believe in love and enchantment again—with the length of my thumb.
“You’re not allowed to see the last one. It’s personal.”
Tyler rolls his eyes but smiles. “You’re so dramatic. Fine.”
I watch his face as he reads the list:
THE ULTIMATE PARIS TO-DO LIST (BEN’S VERSION)
1. Marvel at THE one and only Mona freaking Lisa.
2. Sit and read a book at a charming outdoor café.
3. See the Eiffel Tower at night from the Pont Alexandre III bridge.
4. Explore gay PAREEEEEEEE in the Marais.
5. Take a picture of the “prettiest street in Paris” (according to Emily in Paris).
6. Have a baguette-and-cheese picnic on the banks of the Seine River.
7. [Covered up by Ben’s thumb.]
“Nice,” Tyler says approvingly, and I’m stunned.
“Really?” I say. “You’re not going to mock the list?”
“Nope,” Tyler says. “It’s a solid list.”
“Thanks.” I shrug, feeling the teeniest bit flattered as I put my list back in my tote bag.
“In fact,” Tyler adds decisively. “I think we should use it as our guide to Paris for the night.”
What? My stomach twists at the thought. The activities on the list were meant just for me—I don’t want to have to share them with Tyler Travers, of all people.
But then again, we do have the time right now. And Tyler knows his way around the city … and has a phone.
But this is all risky anyway, and …
“I don’t know,” I say.
“Wait,” Tyler says, glancing at the time on his phone. “If we hurry, we can cross another item off your list right now. I’ll get an Uber.”