I feel like Wendy on my way to Neverland as we dip through neighborhoods and swoop through skyscrapers, fully giving in to the sensation of flying. The wind whips through my hair and as we fly over Lake Michigan. I even feel a mist on my face.
Every single second is a multisensory experience that shows me my new city from a completely different view.
There’s something about feeling weightless that’s equal parts exciting and peaceful, and as I listen to the narration, I decide I definitely need to get a Chicago-style hot dog, go to a Cubs game, see the river turn green on St. Patrick’s Day, and visit every single museum in the city.
It’s exhilarating, and it takes my breath away.
At the end of the ride, when my feet are back on the ground, I realize I smiled the entire time. The shoulder harness loosens, and we stand and look at each other.
“So?” Miles watches me.
“Can we do it again?”
He laughs. “We can do it as many times as you want. But... maybe dinner first?”
I nod. “Definitely.”
“Okay, good, because we’re moving into the non-touristy part of the night.”
“Ooh, I’m intrigued.” I loop my hand through Miles’s arm, and he pulls me close as we leave Navy Pier and pick up dinner at a small local market. He called ahead, and our order is waiting for us in two large brown paper bags.
We walk a few more blocks, then Miles stops in front of a tall, nondescript brick building that’s a little less sleek but far more charming than the ones surrounding it.
He walks up and rings a bell by the door, and a few seconds later, I hear the buzz letting us know the door is open. In the lobby, there’s a man at a counter who gives Miles a wide, conspiratorial smile, then tips his hat. “Good to see you again, Mr. Westbrook.”
“Good to see you, Charlie,” Miles says. “Everything good to go?”
“All ready and in working order.” Charlie tips his hat in my direction. “Ma’am.”
I smile, unsure what we’re walking into but oddly excited to find out. I follow Miles into the elevator, and as the doors close, he gives Charlie one more nod before turning to face me. “I wanted to show you a spot in the city that most people don’t know exists.”
“Hidden Chicago?” I say as the elevator dings with every passing floor. “Ooh. I like it.”
It all feels like a delicious secret, and when the doors open, I realize we’re on the roof. In a garden. Surrounded by plants and flowers and twinkle lights.
On one side is a seating area with velvet cushions and strands of white lights strung in swaths overhead. At the center of the seating area is a makeshift table, created out of empty crates that have been screwed together for an interesting, eclectic look. In the distance is the most stunning view of the Chicago skyline I’ve ever seen.
Miles walks over to the seating area and starts to unpack containers of food while I stand there gawking. It’s like we’ve entered a secret space, one where we’re really and truly alone while the city below buzzes and thousands of people move through their lives having no idea that we’re here.
“I know you’re all about trying new foods, but tonight we’re sticking with classic deli fare.” He glances up at me. “I know the owners of the deli, and I wanted to share some of my favorite things with you.”
I walk over to where he’s standing between the table and a stack of velvet floor cushions. “You designed this space, didn’t you?”
He kneels down beside the table, then looks at me. “Maybe.”
I take a long beat to appreciate it.
He continues, “The owners of the building are artists. And they wanted to create something warm and inviting right in the heart of the city. Like an escape from the madness.”
Chicago is all clean lines and crisp visuals, but this space—it’s entirely different. The opposite of neutral, it’s filled with rich jewel tones and contrasting pops of color.
“It’s amazing,” I say, still trying to take it all in.
He motions to a mustard-yellow cushion on the opposite side of the table. “Sit.”
When I do, I realize there’s a sheet strung up, creating what looks like an outdoor movie screen. “Are we going to watch a movie?”
“If you want to,” he says. “Or I have some favorites from my vinyl collection.” He nods over to a record player and a stack of records. “I wanted us to have options.”
