(Katie McCabe and Caitlin Foord)
Katie McCabe stood at the edge of the Seine, watching as the city of love shimmered beneath the golden glow of streetlights. The cool evening breeze played with her hair, but she barely noticed. Beside her, Caitlin Foord leaned on the stone railing, their shoulders brushing, the warmth of the moment sinking into her skin.
"Can you believe we're actually here?" Caitlin murmured, turning to Katie with a soft smile.
Katie chuckled, her Irish accent lilting through the night. "About time we had a proper weekend away, don't ya think? Just us. No training, no matches—just Paris."
Caitlin hummed in agreement, her fingers grazing Katie's in an unspoken request. Katie took the invitation, intertwining their hands, squeezing lightly. They had always been close—on the pitch, off the pitch—but in moments like this, there was no need for words.
The city seemed to glow around them as they walked along the river, past lovers dancing to the music of a street performer. A violinist played a melody that wrapped around them like a dream. Caitlin tugged Katie toward the musician, spinning her playfully. Katie laughed, her head thrown back, and Caitlin took in the sight, tucking it away in her heart.
"Come on, show me those Irish dance moves," Caitlin teased.
Katie rolled her eyes. "You'd be lucky if I danced for you."
Caitlin smirked. "I am lucky."
Katie's teasing expression softened, her fingers curling around Caitlin's wrist. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
They stood in silence for a beat, the world moving around them as if Paris itself was whispering their love story.
The next morning, they woke to sunlight spilling through the hotel window, tangled in sheets and limbs, the echoes of laughter from the night before still lingering in the air. Katie stretched lazily, propping herself up on an elbow to look at Caitlin, who was still dozing, her dark hair fanned across the pillow.
"Morning, sleepyhead," Katie whispered, pressing a kiss to Caitlin's shoulder.
Caitlin groaned in protest but turned her head slightly, cracking one eye open. "Morning. Do we have to get up?"
Katie grinned. "Not if you don't want to. But there are croissants with our names on them."
That got Caitlin to stir. "Alright, alright. You win. But only because of the croissants."
They took their time getting ready, strolling down to a café near Montmartre where they sipped coffee and shared flaky pastries, stealing bites from each other's plates like they had all the time in the world. The air was filled with the hum of French chatter, the occasional clatter of cups against saucers. Caitlin caught Katie watching her, a soft, almost shy look in her eyes.
"What?" Caitlin asked, grinning.
Katie shrugged. "Just thinkin' how nice this is."
"It really is," Caitlin agreed. "Maybe we should do this more often."
"Weekend getaways in random cities?"
"Yeah. But Paris will always be special."
Katie nodded, reaching for Caitlin's hand across the table. "Because it's our first?"
"Because it's where I realized that I love you."
Katie's breath hitched. Her heart, so used to racing on the pitch, stuttered for an entirely different reason now. A slow, breathtaking smile spread across her lips.
"Say that again?"
Caitlin exhaled a laugh, squeezing Katie's hand. "I love you."
Katie didn't hesitate. "I love you too."
The city of love had done its job, wrapping them in its magic. And as they sat there, fingers entwined, the whole world faded away—leaving only them, their love, and the promise of more weekends just like this one.
