Page 129 of One Wrong Move

I want her to have everything she wants.

“Oh my God,” she says. “Look at that. It’s so much taller than I thought!”

“Used to be the tallest structure in the world,” I say. “Before us New Yorkers ruined that with the Chrysler Building.”

“How rude,” she says softly.

“Well, the French sort of ruined it for us first, by building the Eiffel Tower and beating the Washington Monument.”

We come to a stop on the lawn. Around us, people are picnicking, sitting on the grass, drinking wine. Laughing.

Enjoying a summer day in Paris.

I wait until she’s looked her fill, until she turns back to me with excitement in her eyes. Then I pull her in close.

“Oh,” she breathes. Understanding fills her eyes, and her eyelashes flutter close.

I kiss her. Right there, beneath the Eiffel Tower in the late afternoon sun and with hundreds of people around us.

My lips ache from the sweetness of her kiss. The ache I’ve missed since our last kiss at the movie premiere. Since that hidden closet.

This kiss is new. In the open. But still as sweet.

I want to kiss her every day. Morning, noon, and night.

Harper’s hands glide up my shirt, finding the linen collar. She grabs a hold of it and tugs like she wants me even closer.

She tastes delicious. Like the white wine we shared at lunch and the mint from chewing gum. Her soft lips move over mine, and when I slide my tongue into the warmth of her mouth, she opens for me as if she’s been waiting for it.

“Another couple in Paris,” someone says nearby. It’s a British voice, and an exasperated one at that.

“It’s the city of love,” another one comments. “Don’t begrudge them.”

“Yes, but snogging in public?”

“They’re in love,” the second voice says. “Don’t be a grump.”

Harper pulls away, a laugh bubbling out of her. She buries her face against my neck, and her laughter tickles my skin.

I wrap my arms around her.

“Don’t be a grouch,” she murmurs against my neck.

The speakers in question are occupying a giant blanket a few feet away, enjoying the sunshine and a box of wine. Students, by looking at them.

They’re in love.

I smooth a hand over Harper’s back. “Don’t be embarrassed.”

“I’m not,” she murmurs and pulls back to meet my gaze. Her hands are still holding on tightly to the collar of my button-down, and there’s a beautiful flush spreading across her cheeks. She’s gotten a few new freckles over her nose from the day in the sun. “And Nate?”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to pay you back tonight,” she says, a smile curving her full lips. “For what you did to me at the movie premiere.”

Harper

I choose my outfit with care. A short red tweed skirt, a pair of loafers, and a silk dress shirt lazily tucked into my skirt.

---