9. Will
Chapter nine
Will
Mia picks me up in an Uber on the way to the airport. We’ve each only brought carry-on bags, so when we arrive at the airport, we head straight to a cafe.
She slumps in her chair, hand wrapped around a coffee. “Thank god. The traffic was so bad I thought we might miss out on a coffee before we boarded.” We take healthy sips. “Oof, that’s hot. Okay, I’ve got a surprise for you.” She pulls out boarding passes and hands them to me.
I lock eyes with her. “You got business class?” She nods. “I thought you thought it was a scam for short-haul flights?” I narrow my eyes, suspicious. What sparked this change?
“It is. Consider it a thank you for coming with me.” She reaches out to touch my arm. My suspicion turns to a grin as I re-read the boarding pass.
Mia and I have flown together quite a few times before, but other than flying back from Bern a few weeks ago, this is only the second time it will just be us. Most often, we travel in a group with the rest of our friends. We chat the entire flight about our plans in Grenoble. We’ve both been to France before, but only to the main touristy places like Paris and Marseille. I’ve printed some activities I thought might be interesting. I want to make sure we have enough to do if Mia finds the weekend upsetting. I don’t usually plan this much, but I know Mia likes to imagine she’s spontaneous, right up until the point where she has to be spontaneous.
I pass her the stack I’ve printed. “You’ll have a better time if we do stuff, but I knew you wouldn’t have time to do the research yourself. I want this to be a good trip for you.”
“I’m sure it will be. I’ll probably pop into the hospital a couple of times to visit Craig, but other than that, I’m all yours,” Mia says. ‘I’m all yours’. It lodges a little something in my chest. I squint into the bright cloud out of the window, ignoring the pang of want that has settled in my gut since our kiss. Or more honestly, the pang that has never gone away since our first kiss, years ago.
“It’ll be nice to hang out just the two of us. Without the others, I mean,” I amend.
“It’s always nice to hang out with just us.” Her smile sends a burn climbing up my chest. I can vividly remember what happened last time we were alone together. I can still feel her lips on mine, her body pressed against mine. Mia not meeting my eye is a pretty good sign that she’s remembering the exact same thing I am. I don’t want to ruin the moment by raising it, so instead, I savor the memory.
Flying into Grenoble Airport is stunning. We fly into a valley with rolling green hills on one side, and steep mountains on the other. The mountains in the distance are massive, topped with a light dusting of powdered snow.
The airport is small compared to most airports I’ve been to. Tiny compared to Heathrow, where we had just left. Despite being small, there are plenty of taxis waiting outside—a sign it’s a touristy town, I suppose. We brave the crisp September air and head into the city.
After dropping our bags at the hotel Mia booked, not far from Grenoble Hospital, we head out to check out the city and find somewhere for lunch.
We marvel over the old buildings down winding streets and settle on a rustic French cafe near the river. The menu seems to have a good selection of things that Mia will hopefully eat. Despite the chill in the air, when I suggest we sit outside, Mia readily agrees.
As Mia finishes her omelet (her go-to cafe meal when we’re out and about), I clear my throat. “That lady, the one with that gray coat and the collar sticking up? She’s getting lunch at work, hating her life. Look at how pissed she looks. She suspects her husband is having an affair. He’s not, he just quit his job and didn’t tell her, and now every morning he gets up and pretends to leave for work, but really, he waits until she leaves, then he goes home. He doesn’t know how to tell her he’s unemployed now.”
She loves this game, where we make up fake lives for the people we watch.
“Her husband wants to become an artist, it’s his only dream. But now he’s so stressed that his lovely wife will hate him for quitting his job that he’s lost his artistic mojo,” she says, leaning into the story like she always does. “He’s desperate to do right by his wife but not sell himself short.”
She starts to look a bit morose, so I grab her hand. “Come on, let’s go before you sign these poor people’s divorce papers.”
Despite the chill in the air, we spend the early afternoon wandering, getting our bearings. Everything is beautiful, with a fantastic view of the mountain, and no matter which direction we head in, we find something interesting.
Later in the afternoon, we decide to take the cable car to the top of La Bastille, where we will be able to look down on the entire city. The cable cars are almost like bubbles, and I’m quietly thrilled when we get one to ourselves.
I sit, tapping the seat beside me for Mia. We’re looking down the hill, so as we get higher and higher we can see further across the city. Mia snuggles herself into the corner, arms wrapped around her, her hands pulled into her sleeves.
“Cold?” She nods. “Come ‘ere.” I wrap my arm around her shoulder, pulling her into my side. She takes a deep breath as she snuggles into me. “This—” I gesture down between us, her thigh pressed tight against mine. “—is why I call you Limpet, you know.”
She grins up at me, a slight blush marking her cheeks. A sense of warm satisfaction spreads through me.
We gaze out across the beautiful old city full of warm yellows and terracotta roofs, and I say nothing. I don’t want to burst the bubble of our moment. I can’t mistake her stealing glances at me. I can feel her eyes on me—I always know when she’s looking at me. It’s like my body is attuned to her attention.
When the cable car slows coming into the platform at the top and levels out, our little, comfortable bubble bursts. I duck out of the chairlift the second the doors open, and help her step down.
I let my hand linger, sliding it down to her hip before dropping it completely.
After some exploring, we grab another coffee and head to the edge to look out over the town. The view is stunning as we wander the edge. We can see mountains, capped with fluffy clouds in the far distance, and the specks of buildings far below us. For such a short trip up the hill, it manages to give a spectacular view.
“How are you feeling about visiting Craig?” We haven’t spoken about the actual visit to Craig since we first planned the trip.
I watch her swallow, and try to read her face. I’ve never been good at that. “I’ve felt weird about going to see him, and I don’t know if I would’ve come if you didn’t come with me. When everything’s changing, it’s so good to have such a good friend here as a constant.”
I pick up my coffee to try to hide my disappointment. ‘Friend’? Was that her version of a gentle rejection?