Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
A deep laugh rumbled from his chest just as the elevator stopped on the first floor. “How in the hell do you get yourself into these situations?”
“Because I’ve been cursed since birth.”
“There’s no such thing as being cursed, Blake.”
“Give it until the end of the week and see if you still believe that nonsense.”
The elevator shook when it resumed its ascent.
“Give it to the end of the week and see if you don’t,” I said.
I’d given it my whole life. A week wouldn’t change a thing. I stared out across the gray rooftops and candelabra-style lamppost-lined streets as we rose higher and higher. As much as I hated to admit it, I was really enjoying the banter with Vance.
We changed elevators on the second floor, taking a smaller one to the top. And when we stepped off, the view of Paris at night was breathtaking. The brightly lit lawn of the Champ de Mars seemed to stretch on forever. The well-known monuments of Notre Dame, Napoléon’s tomb, the Arc de Triomphe—all illuminated—stood out amongst the rest of the uniform city.
Vance stood beside me, phone in hand, as he panned the camera over the horizon. I’d fully expected to hear his Vagabond Vance introduction, so imagine my shock when I heard him follow up the statement of how beautiful Paris was with “Grandma, wish you were here.”
A warm breeze blew through my hair as an unsettling feeling budded in my chest, probably the same uncomfortably tight squeeze the Grinch felt when his heart grew ten times its size. Vance was making a video for his grandma. Biting the inside of my cheek, I made my way to the other side of the tower to avoid overhearing anything else that would make me a little weak in the knees.
Margot’s best friend instincts must have sensed my wavering hormones all the way in New York because the second I told myself maybe I’d been too quick to say a one-night stand was a no-go, the sci-fi sounding chime of her text notification came from my purse.
How are things with Cock-a-Doodle?
Questionably unstable.
We’re both still alive.
I’d decided against informing her that Vance evidently had a soul.
Alive after nearly twenty-four hours together. That’s promising.
Not even twenty-four hours. Reconfirmation of how screwed I was.
I feel like it’s already been three days.
Had it been three days, at least I would have felt a little better about myself.
Chapter Twelve
VANCE
“That was traumatizing,” Blake said, hand on her chest as she stared back at the open elevator.
“You’re over-exaggerating.”
“We got stuck in an elevator on the Eiffel Tower!”
“I’d barely call that stuck. It stopped for all of five minutes.” But that was just enough time for people, including Blake, to freak out.
Shaking her head, she made a beeline toward the brightly lit gift shop across the esplanade. “Cursed, I’m telling you.”
I followed her into the store. Mumbling about the elevator, she bypassed the trinkets and went straight to a drink cooler at the back of the shop.
She flattened her palms against the glass door and pressed her forehead to it. “How do they not have wine?”
“I thought you weren’t drinking?”
I’d offered to buy her a glass of champagne from the champagne bar on the top floor. She’d declined, saying she had sworn off alcohol for the next two weeks.
“That was before we got stuck. My nerves are rattled, Vance.”
“It’s a gift shop… they aren’t going to sell wine.”
“They have chocolate bars!” Blowing out a breath, she shook her head. “Just so you know, I Googled how likely those elevators were to get stuck. Google said it was practically impossible due to how often they’re serviced.”
“Again. It wasn’t really stuck. It had a hiccup.”
Blake lifted a brow before heading down an aisle filled with trinkets. “A hiccup…” she snorted. Then, like the magpie she was, something shiny caught her attention. “Oh, look at this!” Smiling, she held up an Eiffel Tower-shaped teaspoon and went straight to the register to pay.
“You’re going to buy a souvenir from every place you visit, aren’t you?”
“Of course. It’s what you’re supposed to do.”
It was obvious she believed that. At the Louvre, she’d bought a Mona Lisa apron, a Venus de Milo notebook, a magnet, and three T-shirts.
When the clerk behind the counter passed Blake’s bag over to her, I went to the door to hold it open.
“Let me guess,” she said, ducking underneath my arm. “You’re one of those people who doesn’t buy souvenirs.”
“They’re nothing but crap.”
“This—” she dug the spoon from the bag and wielded it in front of me—“is not crap.”
“You could find that on Amazon.”
“Pfft. From Amazon, he says.” She crammed it back into her purse. “It loses all meaning if I didn’t actually get it at the Eiffel Tower.”
I felt my brow lift. “A spoon has meaning?”
“This one does.”
The glow of the Eiffel Tower behind us highlighted the pure joy on her face. All it took to make the woman happy was a spoon? More people in life should take lessons from her—myself included.