Did not anticipate him to know anything about sunspots, okay.
ME: No, because you’d be a blight on an otherwise warm and happy sun.
LIAM: . . .
LIAM: Yeah, I’m going to go out on a limb and venture that was a “no” on the dinner invite.
I’d be an asshole to uninvite him, Maria said as much.
ME: You can come.
ME: But you owe me cheese.
LIAM: Why do I owe you cheese?
ME: I talked with Caroline.
LIAM: And that’s the sunspot’s fault because . . .
ME: She very intentionally didn’t know I was a bartender.
LIAM: Damn it. Do you want the fancy shit or that stuff in a can?
LIAM: Oh, maybe I’ll spring for two cans.
ME: You’re a terrible person. I hope you accidentally fall off a bridge.
ME: There are plenty to choose from.
LIAM: So I’ve read. Your blog article on them was interesting.
The train arrives.
Passengers load.
And unload.
Moving in a whir around me.
The train departs.
And I stand, feet planted on the platform.
He’s read my blog?
I blink. I don’t—
ME: Why are you reading my blog?
The dots dance on the screen and disappear. Then reappear. Then disappear. Then reappear. I hold my breath—what sick joke is he planning?
LIAM: Heading into a meeting. See you tonight.
That was weird.
ME: REMEMBER THE CHEESE!
Over thirty bridges rest within the city limits of Paris, each with its own unique personality and history. Pont Neuf, my favorite and current destination, is the oldest bridge in Paris, with construction on it beginning in the late 1500s. Ornately crafted mascarons—stone masks depicting mythological beings—adorn the beige side of the bridge, staring menacingly at passing travelers on the Seine.
