Page 56 of Host for the Holidays
“Well,Rémy,” she says, “five o’clock Madi didn’t buy these tickets. Midnight Last Night Madi bought these tickets. Plus, my wallet preferred the economical stair/elevator combination.”
We try to keep a conversation going, but it’s not long before we’re both huffing and puffing. I shed my scarf pretty quickly and drape my coat over my arm not long after. It doesnotfeel like the middle of December when you’re climbing flight after flight of stairs.
We reach another landing, and Madi grabs my arm, hanging on it and pulling me to the side to let people pass us. We’ve traded off demanding breaks, and each time, one of us comes up with an excuse other than being tired.
Last time I needed a rest, I insisted any trip up the Eiffel Tower wouldn’t be complete without a close inspection of the steel frame.
I raise a brow, waiting to hear her reason for this stop, even though I’m not about to complain. My thighs are burning with the fire of a thousand suns.
“They seemed like they were in a hurry,” Madi says breathlessly, jabbing a thumb at the people passing us.
I smile at her as they stop right next to us for a breather.
She glances at them like they’ve let her down, then reluctantly starts making her way to the next stairs.
“Madi, we can stop for a break, you know.”
“Onward and upward,” she says with effort, raising a tired fist in the air. Like me, she’s shed all her outerwear, but we still have at least a few flights of stairs before we reach the second floor, and neither of us has more clothes to—properly—take off. Not that I’m thinking about that.
I’m the one to stop us on the next landing, but this time I get a text notification at the perfect time to justify it.
André:Hey, Rémy. I don’t know how to say this except to just . . . say it. I wanted to make sure things are staying professional between you and the Airbnb guest.
I read the text a second time.Thanks a lot, Élise.
Rémy:Of course. I mean, I’m being a friend to her, but there’s nothing going on. She’s about to get engaged.
André:Okay, cool. I just don’t want a 2-star review because you’re breaking hearts. *wink face emoji*
I almost text Élise to call her out. If she’s messaged André about her assumptions, there’s a good chance she’ll mention it to her dad. Maybe giving him a reason not to hire me wouldn’t be so bad after all, though. The position at Bellevue is one Ishouldwant, and I know it would make my mom happy, but I really like the freedom I have at Lycée Michel Gontier, even if it’s not the most elite school in Paris by a long shot.
“672, 673, 674!” Madi says in a huffing attempt at a victorious voice as she sets a foot on the final step. She turns toward me as I join her on the second floor. “We did it!” She puts up a hand for a high five, and I oblige.
After discussing things for a minute, we opt not to walk around the observation deck so that we can save the views for the very top. We can walk around this deck on the way back down.
We barely miss the next elevator to the top, putting us right at the front of the line and giving us a minute to wait for the next one. It’s actually pretty calm up here for being Christmastime in Paris, and we’re the only ones in line for a couple of minutes.
When the elevator shows up, a few people start making their way toward us like they mean to join. The Eiffel Tower employee motions for us to step in, and I start to step forward, but Madi’s not moving. She’s staring at the elevator in a way that tells me she’s realizing thatit’s time.
“Madi?” I say gently.
She turns her head to look at me, the quintessential deer in the headlights.
“You sure you wanna do this?”
She blinks. “Yeah, yeah.” A nervous smile. “Of course. Sorry, I was spacing out.” It takes her a second, but she walks forward and right up to the edge of the elevator. She looks around it like she’s a certified elevator inspector who will know just by looking at the state of the buttons whether it’s sound.
She takes in a shaky breath and steps inside, and I follow after, watching her carefully for any signs that she needs me to make a last-minute excuse on her behalf. I want her to know we can leave, but if she wants to conquer this fear, I also want to support her in that.
Other people step in behind us, and the employee starts giving us the spiel first in French, then in heavily accented English, sprinkling in a few facts about the Eiffel Tower as we wait for more people to get on. It’s been a while since I’ve done this, and I’m more focused on Madi than on what the guide is actually saying. With each person who steps in, Madi and I are pushed farther into the corner. Is it wrong for me to want ten more people in here just so I have an excuse to be closer to her?
Stop it. Here I am, thinking about stuffing people into this elevator like sardines just so I can rub arms with Madi, while she’s looking through the windows next to us and up toward the ceiling for an escape hatch.
“You up for this, Stars and Stripes?”
At my nickname for her, Madi’s expression relaxes a bit. “Of course I am.” She shrugs like this is something she does all the time—like she’s not scared of the raised bed she sleeps in that’s five feet off the ground. “I’m totally cool. What’s scary about shooting a thousand feet up in a metal box with a bunch of other people?”
I pretend to consider it for a second, then shrug like I can’t think of a single thing wrong with it.
