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The attendant at the elevator signals to a large group from the other line, and they excitedly head over to him. The guy then looks at Henn and me pointedly, like he’s going to wave us forward, too, but after glancing at the plastic passes around our necks, he instead holds up his palm, telling us to stay put. Shoot.
With an exhale, Henn looks at his watch, his body language conveying he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders. It’s so unlike him. Normally, a long line doesn’t bother him at all.
“It’s fine,” I say, patting Henn’s arm. “Our time will come soon enough. And in the meantime, the people-watching is elite.” To my surprise, when I smile at Henn, his return smile feels a bit stiff. Is there something going on with one of his jobs that’s weighing on him? I know he sometimes deals with some really dark stuff. Is he tracking a particularly abhorrent human and hasn’t told me about it because it’s my birthday? Or is he simply feeling anxious about our trip—wanting everything he’s planned to go off without a hitch? He’s the one who made every arrangement and reservation for all our travels, and now that we’re here, I’m realizing what a big job that was.
“Everything is perfect,” I say, this time squeezing Henn’s arm. “Just being in this city with you, all my dreams have already come true. Everything else from this moment on will be icing on le pâtisserie.” I kiss his shoulder. “You want to play Who’s European and Who’s American again?” We played that funny game regarding passers-by while taking a break on a bench in The Louvre and it was endless fun.
“Yeah, sure, let’s do it,” Henn replies. But he’s no sooner said the words than the Tower’s lights turn on, illuminating the entire structure, top to bottom, which makes everyone in line, including Henn and me, collectively gasp and talk about the pretty sight.
“It’s magic,” I say. “Le magie.”
“Actually, the lights are linked to sensors and programmed to turn on automatically at dusk.”
“Like I said, magic.” I tilt my head back and gaze up the full length of the Tower again, mesmerized by the illuminated structure. “I hope we’re up there when the top sparkles. I’d love to get a selfie with the sparkles going off behind us. Wouldn’t that be a spectacular photo?” I’m referring to the fact that, at the top of each hour, the Tower’s highest point glitters spectacularly against the Parisian night sky for a full five minutes. I’m sure Henn already knows I’m hoping to see the sparkles up close and personal, since he’s caught me viewing YouTube videos of the phenomenon, more than once.
“We’ll stay as long as needed to get that selfie for you, Birthday Girl.”
“There’s no time limit, once we get up there?”
“Nope. Once we’re there, the Tower is yours as long as you like.”
I squeal. “We should have brought snacks. I might want to stay till sunrise.”
Henn chuckles. “I should have more accurately said the Tower is yours till closing time at midnight.”
Henn still looks a bit stressed, so I put my cheek on his shoulder and say, “That’s more than enough time. I was being silly.”
He kisses the side of my head. “I know. We’ve actually got late-night dinner reservations, but I promise we’ll have plenty of time at the top.”
I lift my head and smile. “Thank you so much for everything. This trip has been incredible.”
“It’s only our first full day.”
“I could leave tomorrow and gush about the best vacation ever.”
“Nah. We’re only just getting started, baby.” Ain’t that the truth. From here, Henn is taking me to Italy and Spain. But he knows me well enough to have taken me to Paris first for my actual birthday—the top destination on my bucket list.
My phone pings, and when I look down, I blurt, “Maddy sent a photo from the set!” I tilt my screen toward Henn to show it to him, and he laughs along with me at the funny image. In the shot, my gleeful sister is surrounded by a group of handsome, muscular, shirtless men—actors portraying male strippers in the movie she’s currently observing being filmed in LA. One of the actors in the shot—the one standing immediately to Maddy’s left—is a huge movie star who requires no introduction. A few others in the group are also vaguely recognizable to me, though I couldn’t name them without peeking online. And last but not least, my sister’s gorgeous, silly, sweet boyfriend, Keane Morgan, is in the shot, standing to Maddy’s right with his arm around her shoulders and his dimpled cheek squashed against hers.
Keane’s smile radiates pure joy, the same as Maddy’s. And it’s no wonder. After Keane moved to LA to pursue both his acting dreams and his relationship with Maddy, he landed this, his first movie role—"a Magic Mike rip-off,” he keeps calling it—that’s helmed by a big-name director. Keane’s first-ever role is small, but he’s got a few lines and several scenes where he’ll be dancing in group numbers. Apparently, that’s quite a coup for a new actor’s first role in Hollywood.
