Page 6 of Boarding Pass
“Yeah. People who create things.” My words roll off my tongue effortlessly. “We’re artists.”
My words linger in the air and I can’t help but realize I’ve never spoken my truth out loud. It’s both confusing and exhilarating. Sophie catches on because her expression thoroughly softens.
For the rest of the evening, our conversation flows easily. Like we’ve known each other our whole lives. We talk about New York and Seattle. Why we’re in Paris and about the strange pull of ambition and the toll it takes.
I tell her about how lost I am without my company and the loneliness I’m feeling because my sister is marrying my best friend. How I have no idea what my next step is. She confides the details of her devastating breakup and how she’s leaving in a couple days to visit her parents in Bordeaux—to complete her healing process in the care of the people who love her most.
Long ago, the hum of the bar faded into the background. It’s just the two of us now, leaning slightly toward each other, wine glasses in hand. The space between us grows smaller with every passing minute.
I can’t recall ever having a connection to someone so suddenly. So easily. Like fate guided us both to this strange little wine bar at the exact same time so we could meet.
When Magnum eventually closes, we walk slowly downRue Beautreillistoward the Seine. Sophie points out a building where Jim Morrison, the singer of the 60s band the Doors died. Apparently it’s a famous landmark, though I’ve never heard of him.
We turn ontoQuai des Célestins, falling into an easy rhythm as we continue our conversation. On our stroll, we continue to chat about everything and nothing. A discussion aboutStranger Thingsturns into a story about how she navigated straddling two cultures. I tell her about my twin sister and how difficult it was to be the quiet, shy computer nerd compared to the outgoing, opinionated beauty queen.
Sophie and I marvel at how similar our stories are. Both of us have cool careers most people only dream of—her capturing fleeting moments through a camera lens, me building a digital world pixel by pixel.
We stop at the railing for a moment. The river shimmers in the golden light of the overhead street lamps. I steal a glance as she gazes out at the water, her face serene and peaceful.
I know, with certainty, I don’t want this night to end.
“This has been…” I pause, searching for the suitable words. “I don’t know—one of those meetings you don’t ever plan for. But, uh…” I gesture vaguely behind me. “I just realized my hotel is a block away.”
She turns to face me, her lips curve up slightly. “Oh yeah?”
I kick the ground with my toe, feeling a little foolish. I hope she doesn’t think I’m a player. “I’m staying at—“
“Cheval Blanc,“ we both say at the exact time.
There’s a beat of silence, then she bursts out laughing. A rich, melodic sound making my chest feel lighter.
“You’re kidding.” I shake my head.
Sophie’s eyes sparkle with amusement. “What are the odds we’d booked the same five-star hotel.”
“Apparently, decent enough.” I chuckle. “I think Paris had some grand plan for us to meet.”
She tilts her head. “Or, maybe, we’re both ridiculously lucky.”
“Could be,” I admit with a smirk.
The coincidence settles between us, equal parts absurd and perfect.
And right. Oh, so right.
Chapter four
Myheartisn’tjustpounding—it’s tap dancing, leaping, spinning in ways both ridiculous and undeniable.
I can’t remember a time where I felt…this on edge.
It’s not just excitement; it’s like the second you step onto a tightrope, high above the city, knowing something extraordinary is waiting onthe other side. Though, to be fair, I haven’t walked on any tightropes lately.
Orever.
The night door man Lucien’s face lights up as we approach the doors ofCheval Blanc.
“Mademoiselle Dumond”,he greets me warmly, his French accent rich and familiar. “Bon retour, avez-vous passé une bonne soirée?”
