Chapter 8 #2
He laughs harder, shifting his weight back, and the gondola tilts slightly.
The entire structure creaks, metal against metal, and my stomach drops with the lurch of the cabin.
Instinctively, I hold on to Baptiste for dear life, my hands practically grinding into his muscular arm.
Okay, maybe not grinding—but definitely clutching for dear life.
His bicep is solid. Warm.
“Sorry about that. I'm a big guy.” He winces.
“Um, yeah. I’ve noticed. Why did you think I was hesitant to come up here with you?”
“Ouch,” he says, his hand splaying dramatically over his chest. “So, that show of reluctance was all because of me.”
My body relaxes as a smile escapes me. “Nailed it.”
The gondola rises higher, and the breeze picks up, lifting a few strands of my hair. The city lights blur as we sway, and I realize I’m still holding onto him. I loosen my grip, but I don’t let go.
He shakes his head dramatically. “And here I thought you were finally starting to like me.”
Unrestrained laughter bursts out of my chest, the sound surprising even me. It feels easy. Too easy. “Nope,” I tease.
He chuckles, but there’s something softer in his eyes now. “I’ve really got to up my game.”
I nod, still chuckling. “You do.”
We finally reach the top, and the gondola pauses for a breathless second. From up here, the firework stands look like matchboxes, the people like moving dots of color. It’s beautiful.
And despite myself—despite the dizzying height, the creaking metal, the fact that I don’t trust anything that depends on bolts and gravity—I can’t hold back my smile.
The gondola begins its descent, and we bask in the silence, watching the sights.
It dips slightly as we pass the lowest point before starting the slow climb again.
The rhythm becomes almost soothing—rise, pause, sway.
The breeze is cooler now, brushing against my bare arms and carrying the faint traces of grilled food and sugar from the stalls below.
“So,” Baptiste says casually, leaning back. “On a scale of one to ten, how likely are we to ‘fall to our deaths’?”
“A solid eight,” I shoot back immediately.
“Eight?” He presses a hand to his chest again. “Have a little faith in our institutions. This is government-grade engineering we’re talking about.”
“That makes it even worse.”
He laughs, and this time, I don’t brace for the tilt. I’m starting to get used to the sway. Or maybe I’m just getting used to him.
“You’re not afraid of anything else, are you?” he asks after a beat. “Just heights and hockey players?”
“I’m not afraid of hockey players,” I retort. “Just overinflated egos.”
“Ah. So, I’m safe then.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Debatable.”
He grins, wide and unapologetic, and I hate how good it looks on him, his outline traced against the soft glow of the city lights. For a second, he looks less like Mr. Celebrity and more like… just a guy. A very massive, very attractive, slightly annoying guy.
The gondola sways again, more gently this time, and my knee bumps into his. Neither of us moves away.
“Admit it,” he says quietly. “You’re having a good time.”
“I’m tolerating it,” I correct with a faint grin.
He studies me, like he doesn’t believe that for a second. And maybe he shouldn’t.
Our gondola swings at the top again.
For the first time, I’m not tempted to make a dramatic comment about death. I just gaze through the glass, enjoying the view.
And maybe Baptiste notices, because he doesn’t say anything either.
When the gondola descends for the last time and slows near the platform, the attendant unlatches the door with a metallic click.
“See?” Baptiste says, stepping out first and offering me a hand. “Zero fatalities.”
I take it before I can overthink the gesture. His fingers close around mine—warm, steady—and for half a second, I forget to let go.
“Don’t get cocky,” I say, finally remembering to pull my hand back. “We’re not on the ground yet.”
He chuckles as we descend the aluminum steps, until our feet hit solid pavement. He stomps on the ground for good measure. “Voilà.”
I just shake my head, though a smile is tugging at my lips.
“So, how was it?” Caleb asks as we rejoin the group.
I release a dramatic sigh. “I survived.”
James bursts out laughing. “Wow, Froggy. You take your date on a romantic ride, and all she has to say is that she’s lucky to be alive? That’s some game you’ve got there.”
“Yeah,” Maxime says. “The whole ‘being single’ thing makes so much sense now.”
“She’s not my date,” Baptiste corrects them, shaking his head.
I snort. “Definitely not. We're not even friends.”
A collective “Ohhh” ripples through the group.
“Nope. Not even close,” Baptiste adds, flashing me a teasing smile.
“Okay. Why are you here with us, then?” James prods, his blue eyes set on me. “Are you crashing?”
I arch an eyebrow. “Baptiste invited me. Besides, it's a public festival—and a free country.”
“Yeah, you tell him, girl,” Marissa says with a firm nod.
“Hmm. Not buying it,” Aaron mumbles. “Why would you say yes if you’re not friends or dating?”
I just shrug. “I had nothing better to do.”
“Suuure,” James says, giving me an obvious wink that makes everyone laugh. “Let’s go with that.”
“Ignore them,” Baptiste says as we start walking away. “Now that they’re all married or engaged, they don’t understand single people.”
The others keep badgering us for a while, but it’s good-natured. I don’t really mind, honestly. It’s a nice night, and hanging out with Baptiste and his friends isn’t a bad way to spend it. I just wish I could get some ice cream—I’ve been craving it for a few days now.
We stumble on yet another ice cream parlor, but it’s just as packed as the last two we came across.
“Forget hockey,” Beth says. “We should just open a couple of ice cream shops and only work this festival. We’d be billionaires,” she jokes.
“The schedule would be less hectic,” Aria agrees.
“Seriously, though,” Maxime mutters. “This is wild. At least an hour wait too.”
I sigh. “Shoot. Looks like my ice cream dreams will go unfulfilled.”
“I can wait with you, if you want one,” Baptiste offers, and butterflies make their way to my stomach, fluttering like maniacs. If only I had some ice cream, I’d freeze them out in minutes.
“No, it’s okay. I don’t want to ruin your night by staying in line—or mine, for that matter. Thanks, though.”
“What should we do, then?” Hayley asks. “Now that our quest for ice cream has come to an end.”
“Carnival games?” James suggests. “We make two teams. Loser buys dinner tomorrow night?”
“How about men versus women?” Marissa says, and everyone nods.
“Let’s go, boys,” Aaron says, throwing an arm around Maxime and James.
Baptiste leans down toward me. “Don’t think I’ll go easy on you.”
I shoot him a challenging smile. “Right back at you.”