Meet Me In The Pit

Chapter Three - Good Night, Strange Hot Guy

Keira

Score: Paris - Taylor Swift

We walk and walk, the cobblestone streets laid out in front of us like shiny ribbons under the streetlights. We walk past the Museum of Modern Art, stop by the Flame of Liberty, and cross the Seine at the Alma Bridge, heading towards the Eiffel Tower.

"I imagined it bigger, to be honest," he says, as we approach Paris's most visited landmark.

"I think it's beautiful," I sigh, my eyes fixed on the tons upon tons of metal ahead of us. "Did you know there's a restaurant at the top?" I say, cocking my chin in the direction of the tower. "Madame Brasserie."

"I have heard of it," he nods.

"It is my dream to have dinner there."

"Isn't it too crowded with all the tourists and shit?" He asks, crinkling his nose.

"Exactly. My dream is to have dinner there without all the tourists and shit. Like, for the restaurant to be reserved for me and me only. Well," I add, rolling my neck. "For me and a certain special someone. Someone I want there with me. No crowd. No tourists..."

"Is there someone special in your life?" He asks out of the blue and I shake my head slowly.

"No," I say. "No time for that. But, one day, there will be. And we're gonna have dinner up there," I let out a dreamy sigh.

"Wow," the stranger shakes his head. "Now, that's the cheesiest thing I've ever heard!"

I swat at his arm again.

"You are appalling."

"I've been called worse," he shrugs his shoulders.

I laugh and he joins in and that laugh of his is doing weird stuff to my skin. It's making it tingle. Sing.

We walk some more, and I tell him about my favourite places in Paris. I tell him about the little park behind Notre Dame that I first visited when I was fourteen and keep returning to every time I come to Paris. I tell him about my favourite alleyway in Mont Martre and the cafe that has the best tuna baguettes...

I can really talk a lot about Paris.

Lost in conversation, I realize how far we've wandered off only when I see the dome of the Pantheon looming ahead of us.

A chill has settled in the air and soon enough, I am very much aware I'm wearing just shorts and flip flops.

"You are shivering," the stranger says, and I don't deny it. "We should get back." He pulls out his phone and starts typing something on it. "I'm getting us an Uber," he says to my questioning look.

"Oh, come on," I say, rolling my eyes at him. "We can walk back the way we just came from."

"No," he frowns, shaking his head. "You're cold. We're getting an Uber."

I open my mouth with the intention to protest further, but then close it, deciding against it. It is freaking cold and I actually appreciate him calling a car.

"It should be here in four minutes," he says, turning the screen of his phone so that I can see it.

The ride back to the hotel takes us no more than ten minutes, during which I am trying to get him to agree that we split the Uber, to no avail. He's refusing to take cash from me, no matter how many times I try to explain to him that I want to give it to him.

In the end, I give up and just try and relax in the silence that settles in the small space of the car once we stop bickering. It is not a weird, awkward, or uncomfortable silence, though. It's that cozy, sleepy type of silence, when the both of you are utterly exhausted, the heating in the car is on and you can't wait to go to bed.