Christmas in Paris

The cafe was bright with the yellow flames of candles perched around the small enclosure, flickering, causing the light to wave across the light-colored wood that made up its walls. "Bonjour," said a girl, and in precaution, as if noticing their cluelessness, said, "American?" Logan replied with a nod, and the girl smiled brighter. The boy didn't expect much kindness toward tourists, but here it was. The girl half-ran to them with small menus, laced menus. She brushed hair from her face, and looking to the ground rather nervously, said, "Ah, um, here are a menus!" She gave it to them. "I will be back cleaning, will be there when I'm ready." As Logan said thank you, she walked away with a kind smile.

"That was strange," remarked Logan. The girl seemed their age, almost as if she was the only staff left for Christmas Eve. The cafe was decorated with the occasional holly wreath. Logan picked one of the many empty tables, only one group of boys in the corner making up the customers, and sat down on the old chairs. His squeaked as he sat down, almost as if it were ready to cave. Logan gave a thin smile. "I'm not that fat, I promise." He shifted, and it sighed again.

There it was again. Did she have the star-spangled banner tattooed on her forehead the night before? At least now, they were approached with trepidation instead of barely concealed contempt. She gave a light giggle at the waitress' nervousness and took a seat across from Logan, her eyes sweeping over the cafe. It was a neat little place, wasn't it? It had a cozy atmosphere, despite the busy, bustling world right outside. She loosened up her coat as she sat down. "Excuses, excuses," she said. "Loosen up on the scones this time. Just coffee for you."

"Please!" He grinned widely, spreading his arms. "We're on vacation, I'll eat all the scones in Paris." Just to show this, he jabbed a finger to the scones on the menu, and when the girl returned after a moment, he announced, "I wouldn't like this, please." He also ordered a tea that was a category above it, something that sounded particularly good that he'd never tried before. Thankfully, the french options were subtitled with italicized English translations.

"Good, good," she said, almost unconfident with the word she used. She appeared to be overthinking it. "And, uh, yooou madam." She turned slightly to face Jane, pen raised.

That was the kind of attitude that made your chairs creak. She skimmed her eyes over the menu as the girl returned, picking out the first thing that stood out to her. Something light to hold her over after the long flight over, but if the idea of something hot didn't catch her interest after ten hours on a plane sipping on juice boxes... "I'll have what he's having, thank you," she said, shooting the waitress her best smile. "I can't let him have it all."

Logan watched her order with a raised eyebrow, much open in a smile. "Well, I'm not paying for a buffet," he said, and handing back the menu, murmured a thank you. It was there that they ate and they talked for a few moments. He told her more about Seattle. He avoided his illness as much as he could. Conversation like this carried on until he took and paid for the bill, and only when they had been walking back to the hotel had he realized a number was on there. He smiled down at it. Above it read; 'If some chance you don't date that girl.' It was surely flattering, and he shoved it in his pocket.

The hotel lobby was promising. Classical-inspired furniture and drapings adorned the candlelit room, and a man stood at a darkwood desk. He nodded as they passes. Logan nodded back, not sure if it was what he was supposed to do. A short ride up an elevator to the top floor, a rather low floor thanks to Paris' mandate on skyscrapers. Not before long, and thankfully to Logan's exhaustion, they arrived at the door. A slip of the key, a turn of the knob, and he pushed it in.

The room had an old-fashioned quaintness to it, the door looking about fifty years old, but it was beautiful. Each corner was embroidered with a column-like design, the walls a decorated white. Paintings hung on the walls, and Logan wondered how famous they were. He felt like he recognized them, though he knew they were replicas. He was never much of an art buff.

There was a single bed, a huge bed, along the foot a small futon. Above it was some weird vine display, with some fake grapes and other fruit. A balcony was across the room from them. Two doorways were on either side of it; the one with the door seemed to be the bathroom, the one without the door being the kitchen.

For someone on the brink of death, he surely felt happy about his situation. He walked in, dropping the keys on a nightstand by the door. He made his way into the kitchen, the room he couldn't see from the entrance, and upon opening the refrigerator, shouted, "You think they'd add this alcohol to the tab!?"

Not a buffet? Maybe not for him, but she'd been told before that she could afford to pack on a few pounds. And a gentleman always pays, doesn't he?

It might've been a romantic cafe in the heart of Paris, but the conversation felt surprisingly normal, like they were right back at home chatting in the cafeteria about everything and nothing. Seattle, Portland. Gray and rainy, gray and snowy. They might have come from opposite ends of the continent, and they might have been born with opposite gifts, but their backgrounds weren't all that different when it came down to it. They shared more than maybe he, or she, realized.

A night on the town in Europe sounded like her life's dream, but she couldn't help but feel glad once they walked through the doors back into the richly furnished hotel lobby. She could use a night of relaxation, just to acclimate. They had the rest of the trip for all the rest. And there was so much... Jane found herself fantasizing about the suite bed as they made their way up the elevator, her thoughts enveloped in a thin cloud of fatigue. No, she wasn't about to just pass out on the floor, but it'd be nice to kick off her shoes and just sit back for awhile.

He opened the door.

This was better than all of Dorm 406 put together. It was better than the room in her house. If she really thought about it, it was better than almost any room she'd ever slept in. Maybe that was to be expected. And for her, it was completely cost-free. She didn't want to think about what the bill would look like. She didn't want her first reaction to the room to come out as a wince.

She plopped down on the futon with a thousand watt smile as Logan slipped off to the kitchen. "So I call dibs on the bed, yeah?" she teased, when she heard the refrigerator open. Jane perked straight up. "You're not messing with me, are you? I'll be mad if you are."

"Of course I'm not." He appeared back around the corner, holding a large bottle of wine, French wine, shaking it as if it would show if it was real or not. "It's a hotel room after all." He smiled thinly. "I could probably fill them with water and try my luck like that." If he had any left in the bank, those would probably drain it. But what was money anyway?
Over the bed, he eyed it, biting his cheek. "You don't even want to flip for it?" Logan disappeared around the corner, opening every cupboard he could find in search for glasses. "Or share it?" Of course, the glasses were behind one of the final doors. This room had too many bowls.

He poured himself a glass, and she the other.

Wine. French wine. Really? Seriously? That couldn't be legal. Jane stood up, kicking off her shoes and letting her coat slip from her shoulders to drape itself on the end of the futon. This was just their lucky day, wasn't it? Jane smiled. "Share a bed? With a lady? My, my, isn't that inappropriate?" She sat herself down on the bed this time, crossing her legs and leaning back on her palms. "Luring an innocent girl out to a hotel room, trying to cloud her judgment with wine. What a wolf. Shame on you, sir." Jane tilted her head. "I don't mind sharing, but I'm a blanket hog, and I roll around when I fall asleep drunk. Consider yourself warned."

Logan walked around the corner, shrugging with a smile, walking slowly as to not spill any wine on the carpet. Too many sitcom gags had arrived on spilling wine on expensive things. Apparently it stained awfully. "I guess I'll sleep on the floor, then," he told her, and handed her the glass. He stared at his own, examining it from all angles like an archaeologist examining a relic. "This," he said, "is gonna be the best wine you've ever tasted. If you don't like this, you don't like wine. Or kittens, or joy." He wasn't much of a cat person himself. Logan took a sip, and brightened. It was not half bad for wine from a hotel refrigerator! Almost too good. He was afraid he'd flip over the bottle and find a 3000 euro pricetag on the back.

She let out a light laugh. "I didn't take you for a wino," she replied, daintily taking the glass out of his hand. "Oh, sorry. A connoisseur." You couldn't forget the romantic, fancy setting. Jane swilled the liquid around in the glass, wondering just how they managed to luck out like this. "Well, here goes nothing." Jane threw it back, downing half the glass in a few gulps. Not very refined, or ladylike, but despite the romantic setting, she couldn't be bothered to keep up appearances. "Very nice. I guess kittens and joy aren't so bad, then."

Logan drank some more. And some more. There was a certain glum smile to him that grew apparent the more he put the wine to his lips. There was a nonchalance feeding him, And before he knew it, five minutes had passed and the wine in his glass was gone. He decided to flip on the television and pour himself some more. "I wonder what the view is like from here," he remarked, and bounded over to the sliding doors, the transparent barrier keeping the whipping wind outside. But despite the chilly, unfavorable dusk, he seemed eager to see it. "Come on," he beckoned her, finding the latch after longer than usual and pulling the door open.

Most cities prided themselves in their beautiful skylines, mainly the American cities Logan grew up around. It was cities like Paris that loved to display the opposite, the ancient flatness of classic buildings too old to reach the heavens. They told stories with marble and decorated stone, and Logan listened, leaning over the balcony railing. Damn, it was cold. The cold was a little different, however. It was the warmth-is-a-step-behind-you kind of cold, the flavor of frigid you chose to experience. It didn't hurt. If it hurt, he would have never stepped out there in the first place. The air felt weightless and soothing in his lungs, like an ice pack to a bruise.

She was already halfway through her second glass when he'd finished his first. Hey, she knew some good wine when she tasted it, and she wasn't about to waste any on a night like this. Jane watched him over the glass as she tipped it back again, an amused glint in her eye. Ah, right, the view. She set it down and stood up, lightly following after him as he slid the door open. Dusk filtered in through a winter sky, a crisp, refreshing cold that didn't bite like the winters back home. Jane came up behind him, leaning on the railing with a smile. "Pretty, huh?"

Logan gave one last look out, a thin lively smile on his mouth. The wind ruffled his hair, which was looking pretty disheveled from the long day. He blinked the tired from his eyes, and silently, peered at her. And he stopped. The wind seemed to stop along with him. Life was short. Life was too short. Whatever risk he took, whatever big move he made; repercussion was the least of his worries. He smiled wider, keeping his eyes on her. "Yeah..." he said quietly, and leaning toward her slowly, put his lips to hers.

She wasn't expecting it. Yeah, that much was true. But she didn't feel any surprise when he leaned forward, pressing his lips against hers. France. Hotel room. France. Romantic vacation. A boy and a girl. Obviously, something like this was going to happen. Jane had been teasing him about it before they even stepped on the plane. Still, she hadn't been expecting it right then, right there. He could be spontaneous when he wanted to be, couldn't he? It kept her on her toes. Some guys just got so predictable when they wanted something.

Jane broke apart for a moment, just a fleeting, brushing touch. She turned, one hand gliding over his shoulder, drifting up to cup his face, run through his hair. She pressed back into the kiss with a bit more ferocity, her eyes fluttering half shut. Fiery tendrils spread down her chest and coiled around her heart, an all-too-familiar rush. This was the part where they'd banter about something stupid, but there wasn't anything left to say, was there?

When they parted, Logan searched his mind for something to say. He was always good at saying something, anything, blurting out something funny or stupid or asininely funny. She pressed back into him, though, into the kiss, and he stepped back, unprepared to dive under the water again. He loved it, though. He'd wanted this for a while. He smiled as he took in her lips, breathing in, and parted. "We didn't even have to get drunk for that," he whispered, face still close to hers, eyes directly forward.