“I think I might have some idea,” I said. “And it’s mutual.”
He kissed the inside of my wrist, running his tongue up my forearm and lifting me up with his other hand. I wrapped my legs around his muscular hips and ran my hands through his hair, leaning down to meet his lips again.
“You take my breath away,” he whispered, taking his time to kiss me slower, more deeply this time. I held his face in mine and forgot about all the missed opportunities in our past. Maybe they were necessary, part of a better plan.
“Amazing,” he said, loosening his grip and letting me slide down his front side, holding me close and reaching down to move a strand of hair that had come loose from my ponytail. Then he reached behind and pulled the rest of my hair free of the rubber band, so it fell around my face. “Better. So pretty.”
I smiled, feeling like after all these years, we’d figured out what we meant to each other.
We stood there for a few minutes, looking out over the city lights, which were twinkling through nighttime fog, neither of us saying anything. I leaned against Maddox, who wrapped his arms around me. It felt familiar and at the same time strange to be standing with him like this. I knew him so well, but not at all.
His voice was a quiet rumble. “I kinda want to flip you onto one of those tables and tear every stitch of clothing off you,” he said, a seductive gleam in his eye.
“Not as comfortable as maybe I’d like. But convince me,” I said. I wasn’t ruling anything out. Now that we’d finally gotten ourselves there, I wanted to keep going.
I wanted him. Finally.
“But how about we do it the right way, give ourselves something to look forward to. Let’s meet up in Paris, and not just for wine and sunsets. Let’s fall in love.”
“Wait, what?” I was having trouble processing what he was saying, my body still lurching forward into wanting to kiss him for hours on the roof. I’d waited for him for so long already.
“Think about it,” he said.
But I couldn’t. I didn’t want to stop what we were doing to think about being in another country. I wasn’t even sure Paris would be on my itinerary. The plan felt strangely vintage Maddox. Fall in love?
He concocted things that sounded great, but I couldn’t help wondering if he was putting too much pressure on me—and on us. I worried that he was setting too high a bar for how it would be for us together.
I worried about everything. I always worried. Maybe, for once, I should put those fears from my mind. Because what he was describing sounded incredible.
“Imagine a five-course meal with wine pairings and cheese plates and fancy desserts and a ride up the escalators at the Pompidou Center, overlooking the city, and kissing on the riverbank and falling into the high thread-count sheets at the end of the night and staying up until morning.”
He was suggesting an international rendezvous to begin our story together. And the romantic in me wanted nothing more than a fantastical kiss with the Eiffel Tower sparkling behind us, leading to a night together in a French hotel room. He was painting a picture I hadn’t even considered when I’d booked my ticket. But now that we’d taken the first step, I wanted it all. I wanted to meet him in Paris.
“Under the Eiffel Tower,” he said. “That’s where we’ll meet. It will be amazing.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’m in.”