Page 43 of Playing Mr. Perfect

She studies me again, which she seems to do a lot, and I imagine her picking apart the things I say, dissecting their honesty.

I lift our joined hands and kiss the backs of hers as we stop at a busy corner, waiting to cross. “Think about how I see you every time you look in the mirror, and hopefully one day you’ll see what I see.”

Her cheeks pink up, and she steps closer, her voice hushed. “The image of us last night might render me unable to think at all when I look in the mirror.”

We both laugh, and I steal a kiss before we cross the street.

“Where are we going?” she asks.

I’m not about to tell her everything I have planned, but I can give her a taste. “I thought we’d start with some window-shopping on Champs-Élysées, and then I figured you’d get a kick out of seeing the largest science museum in Paris.”

She holds my hand a little tighter. “That’s really sweet, but would it be okay if we didn’t go to the museum?”

“Sure.” So much for my plan to impress her. “Did you have someplace else in mind?”

“No, but I saw a ton of museums the last few days with my family, and I’m kind of museumed out. Unless you really want to go?”

“No. I was only going so you could see it.”

“I appreciate the thought you put into it, but I’ve got one day of playing hooky with you, and I’d like to do things I wouldn’t normally do. Like not follow a plan.”

That’s it, baby. Break out of your shell with me. “I like this rebellious streak.”

“You should. You caused it.”

“I take great pride in that. What are you up for? Walking around and figuring out where to go along the way?”

“That sounds fun.”

“Want to really get risky and ask other people where we should go?”

Her eyes light up. “Yes! And we have to go wherever they say. No googling, either. We have to ask for directions, and let every place be a surprise.”

“I love it. I’m in.”

She beams at me. “But wait. There is one place I want to go.”

“Today’s your day, Reckless. I’ll go anywhere you want.”

“Last night at dinner, Brindle was bummed that she didn’t get to see a show at a place called Crazy Horse. Maybe we can get tickets and go.”

I have something special planned for later that I don’t want to give up, but I’ll find a way to work it in. “Crazy Horse, huh? What is that, a Western show or something?”

“I don’t know, but that’s the fun of it. Plus, my sisters always have great stories to tell about their adventures, and I never have adventures,” she says mischievously. “It would give me a feather in my cap.”

I wonder if that means she’s not going to keep today a secret from them, but I don’t ask, because I don’t want anything to change the direction we’re heading in. “You want to stick it to your sisters, don’t you? You want to one-up them.”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever tell them, but I love knowing I could.” She wrinkles her nose adorably. “Is that bad?”

I can’t help hoping one day she will. “No, I love it. I bet the concierge at the hotel can get us tickets.” I pull out my phone and call the hotel.

After securing tickets for a champagne dinner and show at the Crazy Horse, we spend the morning meandering the cobblestone streets of Paris hand in hand. We ask random strangers where to go and take their word as gold as we head out on each adventure. We take pictures of the places we’re sent as we explore interesting shops and check out cool galleries, showing each other things we like and things we don’t. We gorge ourselves on the sweetest chocolates I’ve ever eaten, and Pepper likes them so much, I buy extras for her to nibble on throughout the day. We people watch and make up stories about them, and we laugh more than I have in a long time. I have never done anything like this, and I can’t remember ever having so much fun.

As we leave a gallery, I pull Pepper into a kiss. Her cheeks and nose are cool, but her lips are warm. “Are you cold? Do you want to take a break?”

She shakes her head, her eyes glittering with excitement. “Who should we ask next?” She looks around and tugs me toward an older couple watching us from an outdoor table at a café. “Excuse me, do you speak English?”

“Yes, we do,” the portly man says with a French accent.