Page 61 of Host for the Holidays
I laugh. “I just figured that, being a photographer yourself, you’d want a quality photo—one where you’re not tilted and falling out of the frame.”
She puts the phone back in the pocket of her camera bag. “I’m used to it. It’s the irony of being a photographer. You take beautiful photos of other people, but all the photos ofyouare blurry, out of focus, and usually covering the exact thing you wanted in the picture—if you evenhaveany photos of yourself.”
I look at her for a second as she does up one more button on her coat. It seems like a major oversight if the only pictures of Madi in existence are the way she’s described.
The lady we almost ran into brushes past us, giving us a look that tells us she hasn’t forgotten our offenses.
“Should we head down?” I ask.
Madi goes wide-eyed. “I had forgotten we have to do everything in reverse.”
“Good thing you’re a pro now.”
But the pro and I hold hands in the elevator anyway because even pros need a hand sometimes.
TWENTY-SIX
RÉMY
We’re walkingalong the Champs de Mars,the long lawns that stretch 2,500 feet in front of the Eiffel Tower.
“Look any different this time?” I ask, completely enamored of the way Madi’s turning around to check the view like she hasn’t already done it ten times.
“It really does. A bit of distance can make all the difference.”
I side-eye the two feet between us. Don’t I know it.
It’s dumb. I don’t even know what I want with Madi. It’s like I told Élise—even if Josh weren’t in the equation, Madi and I live on different continents, and she’s only here until the New Year. For anyone keeping tally, that’s not one buttwoticking timebombs on our friendship. But my body and spirit are adrenaline junkies. They couldn’t care less about getting blown to bits because they are attracted to her despite all that.
Maybe this is all just the issues with my dad coming out in a weird, twisted way. Madi is an American who seems to appreciate me, who wants to spend time with me, and that’s more than I can say for my dad. It’s been ten years since he left Paris and moved to Chicago. Since then, our relationship has dwindled to its current state: texts (initiated by me) every once in a while with surface-level responses from him.
When we reach the end of the Champs de Mars, we turn and walk a bit more so that we have a clear view of the tower in front of us.
“Would you mind if we stayed to see it sparkle again?” Madi asks.
It sparkled on our way down the stairs, but that experience was . . . well, different than seeing it from afar. A lot less awe-inspiring.
I thought Madi would be underwhelmed, but she took it in stride. “It’s kind of cool seeing it from this perspective. It’s good to see what it takes to make the magic a reality. Hundreds of single lights just doing their jobs. Really boring up close, but tie it all together, and it’s . . .”
“Better than Edward Cullen?”
She liked that response. And I liked the smile it earned me.
I agree to stay for the next sparkling that starts in fifteen minutes because I’m not a monster—and also because I’m up for delaying the end of my time with Madi as long as possible. I imagine Josh will be coming over later, and that’s a reality check I’m keeping on the edges of my consciousness.
Madi sighs as we stare at the tower. “Who’d have thought a hunk of iron could be so pretty?”
“Puddle iron,” I say, imitating the voice of the guy from the elevator.
“Right. Puddle iron. That must be the key. If it was any old type of iron, no one would take a second glance.” She’s got her eyes on the tower like it might disappear any second. It’s kind of wild how long she’s spent looking at it tonight.
I survey it myself. It’s such a fixture of life in Paris, I hardly notice it anymore. It really is unique and impressive, though. I pull out my phone and open the camera app. I never thought I’d be taking pictures of the Eiffel Tower like some fanny-pack-wearing tourist, but here we are.
Madi reaches over and puts a hand on mine, shifting the phone so that the photo is tilted and a third of the tower is out of the frame. “There.” She smiles at me like she’s the cleverest person in the world, and all I can do is stare down at her.
It makes it really hard to toe the line when Madi’s the one instigating. She hasn’t been the type to keep me at arm’s length, but I could still sense a barrier between us.
Tonight, though, it’s different. Every time I’ve bumped up against a wall, it’s not there. That’s confusing, exciting, and a bit nerve-wracking since it’s only a matter of time before I get too comfortable and run straight into one like a freshly cleaned glass door.
