Page 188 of The Vacation Mix-Up
“You’re right.” I blink back my tears, let go of the handle, and blot my cheeks. “I’m just…. I’m going to miss it. All of it. Mom included.”
He takes my hands in his. “Me too.”
“You’re going to miss my mom?” I ask with a cheeky grin.
“Of course.” He winks. “She was my roommate too.”
Taking another look around, melancholy flutters my heart. “Is it just me, or does it feel like a lifetime ago that we were standing right where we are, arguing over who this cabin belonged to?”
He chuckles. “You were so adorable. Majorly pissed and a little scary, but also adorable.”
“Hey! You were angry too.”
“Not at you, Riles. I was angry at life in general.”
I cup his cheek. “And you’re not anymore?”
“No. How can I be? I met you.”
My body hums with warmth. “And I met you.”
“Best vacation mix-up ever.”
I burst into laughter, drop my hand, and clasp the handle of my suitcase again. “We’re still getting that damn refund though.”
“Already have.”
“Really?”
“Yep. Mine landed in my account this morning.”
Rummaging through my handbag, I collect my cell and open the app for my bank as he holds the door for me to exit. “Will you look at that? Mine’s there too!” I internally clap with glee as I slide my cell back into my bag. “Now I have some spending money for when we hit the Champs-Élysées.”
“What’s a Shawns Elysay?”
I giggle at his pronunciation, which, to be honest, is nearly as bad as mine. “It’s where all the high-end and touristy stores are in Paris.”
“Greeeat!” he drawls, less enthusiastic. “So we’re going shopping?”
“Of course. Who goes to Paris and doesn’t go shopping?”
“I figured you’d want to visit museums.”
“Oh, I do. The Louvre is on my list.” I shove my case with my foot and roll it along the corridor. “And I want to climb the Eiffel Tower, and walk under the Arc de Triomphe, and climb the steps to Montmartre.” Pausing, I turn back to him. “Oh, oh, and let’s not forget Notre Dame and that bridge you put a padlock on.”
He smiles like my mother often did on Christmas morning and nods beyond my shoulder, gesturing that I keep walking, which I do, continuing to run through my Paris bucket list.
“I want to eat a big baguette with lots of cheese, and we should try escargot.” I stop and turn to face him again. “On second thought, I don’t think I can eat snails.”
Riley comes to an abrupt halt, his suitcase nearly crashing into my shins. “Riles, stop stopping!”
“Sorry! I’m just excited.”
“Yeah, I can see that.”
“There’s just so much I want to see and do.”
“Then keep walking, or we won’t have enough time to see and do it all.”
