Again, But Better(94)

Pilot nudges me gently. “Ready to attempt to climb to the top and be turned away due to high winds?”

I snort. “Always.” We round the corner and start the second leg, hiking side by side up another collection of metal steps.

Did I really just say always?

“Pies, would you agree that we’re on a rom-com-esque date right now?” I start.

Pilot smiles at the steps, keeping his hands in his pockets. “Yeah.”

“Well, I just said always a second ago when you asked me a question, and I hated it,” I sass.

He scoffs, “Hated it? Like, hated the question?”

“Hated the word always.”

“Because?” he asks, humoring me.

My smile spreads. “Well, I’m glad you asked. See, all the famous book-slash-movie couples have these, like, deep, meaningful moments where they say always in response to some deep, meaningful, cute, adorable question. And then all the fans of said book-slash-movie couple get always tattooed on them as a nod to that couple or that moment, and the word always is so completely overused that, like, how am I even supposed to know what couple or moment they’re referring to in their meaningful tattoo, you know?” I drop my flailing hands back to my sides.

Pies pulls a goofy eh expression. “I guess,” he concedes.

“And then there was Okay, Okay in TFIOS, where they finally broke the mold, and it was beautiful,” I say, continuing my lecture as we circle around another landing and onto another flight of steps.

“What’s TFIOS?”

“A great book.”

“Okay,” he agrees automatically.

“Okay, so the point is: Since we’re in our own rom-com right now, we should have our own stupid, unique always, so people can make tattoos about us!”

He laughs. “What did you have in mind?”

“I don’t know. We don’t want to mess this up. We have to think it through, so we go down in history the right way.”

Pilot snorts.

“What was that laugh?” I accuse, trying not to laugh myself.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“This is deep, meaningful stuff, Pies.”

He smiles, hands still stuffed in his pockets. We climb in silence for a few moments, the metal reverberating under our feet.

“Any ideas?” I ask curiously.

He juts out his bottom lip. “Leather?”

“Leather? That sounds a little dirty.”

Another snort.

“What about lamppost?” I propose. “It’s innocent, catchy.”

“Lamppost?”

“Yeah, as in, lamppost will be our always.”

Pilot treats me to a deadpan glare.

“It’s gonna be great. Here, let’s test it out. Ask me a question.”

Pilot’s smiling at the air in front of us now. “What kind of question?”

“Anything! Just a tester question.”

He stops on the landing between staircases for a moment, so I come to a halt in front of him.

He clears his throat and puts on a funny romantic voice. “Shane.” He gazes into my eyes like a cartoon prince. “Are you Santa?”

I step up close to his face. “Lamppost.”

He turns away with an eye-roll-smile combo.

“That sounded nice, right?” I goad. He pulls his hand from his pocket and takes mine as we continue up.

When we reach the second tier, I hurry over to the edge, pushing my hand up against the metal cage around us. Pilot shuffles up next to me.

“Still incredible,” he says.

“Pies?” I ask, cheerily turning away from the view.

He turns to me abruptly. “Lamppost.”

“No!” I whack him in the arm, compressed laughter buzzing out of me. “That’s not how it works! I have to ask a question where the answer is—”

“Oh, that’s not how it works?” he interrupts, smirking. “This isn’t how it goes?” He closes the gap between us and catches my lips. I get lost in the glitter for a second.

I’m smiling and shaking my head as we break from the kiss. “I was setting up for the perfect lamppost question!” I protest.

“Ah, but it was time for me to clock in another move.”

“Time for you ‘to clock in another move’?” I mock him, crossing my arms. “Do you have a quota to hit or something?”

“Yeah,” he responds matter-of-factly. “Gotta keep on top of things if I want to maintain my Trip Advisor rating, Shane.”

I scoff.

We catch up with Babe and Chad back at the bottom. Pilot and I break physical contact as we come up behind them. The four of us walk along the Seine. As the sun’s setting Babe stops short and spins to look back at the Eiffel Tower.

“Wait! What time is it?”



* * *



“Bro, you pumped?” Chad wheels around to Pilot as we stroll toward the sounds of music in the Bastille.

“Toe, I’m so pumped,” Pilot replies enthusiastically.

“Bro, I bet it’s hype up in that one down there.” He points down the street to the bar we went to last time.

“So hype, Toe.”

Next to me Babe’s brow crinkles. “Are you saying Toe?” she asks loudly. I cackle.