The Eiffel Tower tonight glowed with the same reverence as the angled streams of morning light had done. The sunlight, with its motes drifting, fell onto the ancient stone floors of the Notre Dame Cathedral. There in that light, Leona heard the echoes of history's steps, she'd felt the love and tears of weddings and funerals and the heavyweight of two coronations, both Military men Henry the fifth and Napoleon. But tonight, here at the Eiffel Tower, there was a strength and caring she hadn't expected. Perhaps it was the iron. It seemed to pull her toward the structure to examine the design. The intersecting lines forming repeating shapes, an iron snowflake bathed in golden light stacked into ever-narrowing and rising levels. A lovely phallic symbol, she thought shyly, looking at Scott with a sly grin.
Never had Leona thought her first day in France would end this way. Scott stood close behind her as their eyes surveyed upward at the world wonder of iron. He placed his hands on her shoulders and leaned his face toward the smell of her perfumed hair.
"From here the narrowing gives the perspective that the tower goes on forever," Scott almost whispered. Her left arm goose-pimpled with the slow descent of his finger down her left bicep, around the elbow, along the forearm until his fingers intertwined tightly with hers. She let out a soft sigh and leaned back into the safety of his chest. She had known this man for less than forty hours. Somehow forty hours straight when traveling with someone created the same closeness as months of dating had created in her past relationships. The speed of her attachment to him surprised and frightened her. He seemed taken aback by it, too. Karma spun between them—magic knitted together by compressed time. It wasn't her falling or his clinging, but them building iron snowflakes of knowledge and trust out of invisible oxide. It had started on the plane and the serendipitous meeting. As partners in crime as they stole into first-class and grew as they discovered each other in the same hostel, both without a place to stay due to errors. Errors both had to admit they had done to others. Karma, they decided. Brilliant plans busted in two as they became bound closer and closer together. She never believed in love at first sight, but forty hours later she wondered. All they had to do was keep repeating the pattern, knit one, purl two.
She closed her eyes, and a royal purple color appeared. There in front of a stained-glass window at Notre Dame, the light shifted as they stood there and covered them in purple light. They'd laughed joking about being grapes and he leaned in and kissed her. The kind of kiss you never forget. She still felt the warmth of the sun on her cheek; her lip curled upward in remembrance of the softness turning to passion. Even now her breathing accelerated, and warmth flooded her. The rest of the afternoon was playful, fun, and calm conversation while sight-seeing, and not just the sights of Paris. This, however, was too fast. She'd wanted Paris memories filled with the freedom of single days, casual affairs, but now, as if out of the blue, she only wanted this to last. She took one more look at the tower the lights. The city behind twinkled in lights as the twilight sky turned a dark violet. Then she turned to her right wrapping their clasped left hands behind them she ran her hand up to his chest. They kissed in the style of the French for what seemed both like both seconds and hours. "Come with me," he said slinging the heavy book bag on his shoulder. "Hungry?" She nodded her head and tried to keep up with his quick gait, difficult in Stilettos. They stopped at a corner café. He ordered food, and she went next door to a tourist shop. She walked out with a crystal Eiffel Tower which, with the expensive battery, lit up. She laughed at herself as she walked up to where he waited at an outdoor table. He shook his head. "I've lots to teach you before I leave, my tourist girl."
"I'm sure you do."
They dined on hot dogs, crepes, and wine. A slight breeze blew on this beautiful night, rendering the temperatures for July cooler than usual. "Tomorrow is Bastille Day and since we both got kicked out of our reservations, with no hope of a hotel this late, I devised a plan."
"Good, because I eyed that park bench over there for the night." His laughter and shaking head said it all. "What's the plan?"
"Well, you got those red sneakers in that bottomless bag of yours?"
"Yes, you said comfort clothes, bikini, and overnight stuff."
"And PJ's," he reminded.
"All right here." She lifted a bottle of perfume and winked. He laughed and gave a wicked smile.
"Like Marilyn?"
"Yep," she smiled, changing into her red Keds and dropping the Eiffel Tower souvenir and perfume back in the bag. Then she wrapped up the uneaten macaroons and baguettes from the basket on the table and poured the rest of the wine into her water bottle.
