Christmas in Paris

Jane followed with a small pep in her step, stopping just short as the bellhop appeared. The small exchange drew a sheepish smile from her lips. She didn't quite like the sound of that. Did they stand out that much? Suddenly, she was all that more conscious of her wallet inside her coat pocket. Trying her best to look oblivious to the half-concealed smugness in the bellhop's voice, she laid her bags onto the cart. Jane supposed he could smirk all he liked. He was the one who had to push their luggage around for snotty tourists day in and day out. "Thank you, sir," she said with a small flutter of her eyelashes. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of her half-assed French.

With her hands free, she slipped her arms in Logan's. "Shall we?"

Logan welcomed her, even raising his arm in a curve to take her. "We shall." He smiled confidently and looked back, giving a small wave to the bellhop as they walked down the road. The hotel employee did not seem too pleased.

Logan kept his phone close to his chest, glaring upward from time to time as he directed them towards the Eiffel Tower. It wasn't too far. He tried to look casual, every now and again tapping and enlarging the map as if he were texting or doing something different. Something normal people did on the street. When it appeared on the horizon was when he put the phone away. "I can take it from here," he said with an overly-sly voice.

The structure tapped the sky like a finger to an aquarium, and the clouds floated by as pearly goldfish. Logan couldn't help but look at it. It obstructed the sun at a perfect angle, eclipsing it as the rays bordered it in an orange gradient. "'spretty cool," Logan remarked.

Walking arm-in-arm with a boy through Paris on Christmas Eve, with a honeymoon suite waiting for her right in the heart of the city. Her eyes lingered on the Eiffel Tower as it rose closer and closer. It felt like something that only happened in her daydreams, but it was happening. She smiled at the little comment. Pretty cool... well, you could put it like that. Only one of the most iconic structures ever built. "Yeah, it's pretty alright," she murmured back with a small lilting breath of laughter. "Another one off the bucket list."

Bucket list. Right. Logan shut his eyes for a moment, half to the words and half to a sudden winter breeze, and rushed forward. "Here," he said. "Take a picture of the tallest, most breathtaking creation of the modern world--...next to the Eiffel Tower." He considered a picture for his obituary, and decided this would be a wonderful place to take it. He went to the most beautiful city in the world, they'd remark. With a beautiful girl. Then they would click away and he'd be nothing furthermore. The past didn't exist. He'd no longer exist.

He smiled, putting his hands in his pockets as he estimated where to stand so he would not obstruct it.

Jane let out a chuckle, slipping a slim phone out of her jacket. "Oh, is that so?" she asked as she held up the camera. "Well, alright Mr. Perfect, smile. You'll dazzle everyone on Esper." Snap. Snap. Snap. The camera shuttered, and there was Logan on her phone, with the Eiffel Tower framed over his shoulder. "Alright, now just stay there."

She strode over with a grin, threw her arm around his shoulders, and leaned her head against his, holding the camera over the both of them. "Say fromage."

Snap.

He smiled, hoping she didn't actually want him to say fromage. Snap. He found himself holding in a cough, and when the picture was taken, he took a moment to expel it into his arm. "Let's get closer," Logan said as the last one shook him. "Maybe we'll be able to touch it. And I heard there's an ice cream shoppe--" As he said this, a strong wind whipped against them. "--If you're into that right now." She'd be crazy if she was, but it wouldn't surprise him. He took her arm in his once more. As they walked closer, a few tourist traps presented themselves. A heavily-coated man in a cheap beret waltzed over with an assortment of plastic knickknacks and post cards. He had to wave him off a few times with dry smiles. No thank you, no thank you.

Jane shrunk against the wind, pulling her coat up against the biting chill. Ice cream. That sounded perfect right now. "I'm always into that," she replied, gaze scanning over him as his shoulders shook from the cough racking his body. She let him take the lead, following him through the throngs of tourist traps as they approached the base of the tower. They really did stick out like sore thumbs. Maybe they needed tighter pants if they wanted to blend in with the native Parisians. "No beret?" she asked teasingly as he shooed some peddler off. "Maybe you should grow out a little wispy mustache. Some stubble. Start carrying a baguette around." They could use it like a sword to ward off all the scammers swarming in like vultures. They must've looked like prime pickings.

"A baguette would make it easier to fend these hasslers off." He made a whacking motion in front of him, with a small pow, a grin. This grin stayed through their approach to the tower, when it grew to meet them. He was right; there was a little restaurant at the bottom. The line was lone anyway; he'd rather take her to a fancy cafe.

"Here." He bounded up. The metal was perched on concrete, but it wasn't too tall. The boy whispered as he spoke. "I'll give you a lift, and you can say you touched the Tour Eiffel." He looked around. Winter slackened the security, and the only policeman he saw was speaking with some obese tourist. It obviously looked like it would take a while. Logan put his hands out in front of him, as if inviting her to get between them so he could boost her.

He read her mind. Maybe, a little later in the night, they'd have to pop in to a grocery somewhere and take one. France was the birthplace of chivalry and the knights' code of honor. He could take up that mantle pretty easily here, couldn't he? Especially to defend such a fair lady. It wasn't long until they were at the base of the tower. Jane craned her neck to look up at it. Christ. The Eiffel Tower, the one and only (kinda). Right there in front of her.

She was staring at the cafe in the leg of the tower when he leaned in. "I didn't think there'd be a shop right inside the tower," she muttered to herself, when he whispered in her ear. Her eyes lit up as she turned to look at him. Jane stepped forward, guiding his hands to her hips. "Sounds like a plan. If we start getting chased, make sure you don't leave me behind." She smiled, stretching out her arms. "Hoist me up, cap'n."

Logan gave one last look behind himself, noticing the policeman was not paying attention, and hoping the passers-by would pay no heed. No one would rat them out, right? This wasn't an awful idea, right? It was certainly to late to turn back, and so Logan held onto her and hauled her up with as much strength as he could, not because she was heavy but because he was trying to work fast. He kept the noises of his labor under his throat, noises that threatened him, and he gave way to a small groan as he elevated her and promptly let her down. Hopefully she got it. He did not have the balls to do it again. The policeman was eyeing them anyway a second after he lowered her, and his suspicion was too real to gamble with again.

She strained up as far as she could as he lifted her up by the waist, scrabbling against the upper ledge for a moment, before finally, thankfully, mercifully, managing to brush her fingers against the metal base of the tower. Cold iron. It felt wonderful. That seemed just enough for Logan, because he let her down right after. Jane gave a small breath, grinning from ear to ear as she turned around. "Merci, monsieur," she said with a small teasing wink. "Is this the part where I lift you up now?"

"You might have an easier time." He gave a short, clueless tourist's smile to the cop, who passed them with a sideways glance. He returned the smile, but it was forced and sour. The man definitely suspected something, but didn't have anything to go off of. They were free. Logan shoved his hands in his pockets, straightening his arms and scanning the horizon. "I bet Parisian coffee isn't as good as Parisian tea." He puffed out a large cloud of breath. "Did you see any cafe on the way here?"

"You would say that." What kind of red-blooded American hated coffee that much? Tea was a sign of oppression, or something. She'd have to give him a swirlie in a Boston harbor when they stopped over on the flight back. "I don't remember any, but how hard could it to be to find one?" Jane glanced around. "At worst, you could ask a local. Have you been brushing up on your French?"

"In the hour-and-a-half from the airport to here?" Logan smirked. "Not really. Come on, let's walk back, and see if there is one on the way." It was already starting to get dark, the orange-yellow sky painting a deceptive illuminated view over the silhouetted land. It shared no light with them; it was almost a strange contrast as they had begun to be covered in a blue shadow. Logan was not the least but disheartened; in fact, he was the opposite. Where daytime Paris was beautiful, nighttime Paris was breathtaking. Lanterns decorated with the twirlings and dotted serenity of Christmas lights had begun to flicker to life, slightly at first, their age showing in the buzzing warmup they gave. A few flickers, however, and they came aglow, and their path did as well, the lamps seeming to resurrect when Logan and Jane walked by. Welcome to Paris, they cooed in their antique accents, and Logan grinned at their kindness.

The cafe had a redwood framing across the top of its structure, under the white-bricked apartments it carried, and on this, a sign spelled out some name. The only word Logan was concerned with was café, which affirmed itself in chalky cursive, chalkier and reiterated on the sign that stood propped at its entrance. There were outside seats, but only one was occupied, by a strange man, one who wore sunglasses in the coming night and read a paper with the coming wind, it flapping comically as he smoothed it out. Logan didn't dwell on him too long. He pointed it out and directed her to the small wooden frame door, its glass body light. Hung on it was a plastic black sign, flipped to what he assumed meant 'open'; ouvert. "After you," he said to her, holding it open to let Jane into its hearthful warmth.

Maybe that was for the best. Considering their track record so far, she didn't fancy speaking with the locals much either. Jane followed him with a nod and a sweet, high hum, almost childlike in its innocence as they strolled through the soft Paris dusk, as lanterns began to light up in their path. You could smell the history and culture in this place. It smelled like shit, and it was absolutely enchanting.

They'd found the cafe soon. Or, at least, it looked like a cafe. When you couldn't speak the language, every movement was an educated guess at best. She gave the guy with the newspaper a cursory smile, but didn't dwell on him too long. Either he had a hangover, or he was a bumbling spy from a kid's comedy flick. She entered through the doors with a grateful nod of her head as Logan opened the door open for her.