Two p.m.

What goes up, must come down.

At least that was the rule in Montmartre.

After climbing endless stairs to get to her beloved crêpes, Mira now found herself navigating a downward slope with no end in sight. She and Jake were walking along Rue Lepic, a historic street lined with charming shops and restaurants. She wasn't just there for the scenery, though; it was also where she'd find the next item on her Paris bucket list.

Mira had planned the navigation well, but what she hadn't planned for was the man who was tagging along on her solo day. She glanced over her shoulder, and like the last time she'd checked, he was right behind her on the narrow sidewalk that necessitated being single file.

She still couldn't believe she'd lied about having a dump-truck ass, when simply admitting she'd hired a personal trainer to fit into her wedding day lehenga would've been far less awkward. Except, that would've meant admitting that her wedding was no longer happening, an update she hadn't yet shared with anyone at the office.

And then there was the rooftop barbecue. She of course remembered it in vivid detail, along with Jake's effervescent charm, and how he was able to make each person in the circle laugh, no matter the demographic. She'd kept her own laughter under lock and key, and while she hadn't been able to grapple with the reason why at the time, it was now plainly obvious: he reminded her of the joy she was missing in her own relationship. If she kept avoiding him, she wouldn't have to face it, except eventually, it all caught up to her anyway.

Despite her random—and likely unconvincing—set of lies, Jake hadn't seemed disturbed enough to ditch her after lunch. Instead, here he was, perfectly eager to spend every spare minute following along with whatever she had in mind. And, if she was being honest with herself, she was perfectly fine with that. More than fine. She just wasn't ready to admit it out loud.

"Is it a museum?" he guessed, keeping up with her pace. "Or booze? Or a store? Or cheese?"

She glanced back at him. "You'll see."

They turned left onto a street that was somehow also called

Rue Lepic. It was strange, but not exactly unexpected for Paris, a city that was fine with being aloof whenever it felt like it.

With the time spent studying Paris's map, Mira had accounted for this geographic anomaly, so without any navigational delays, they arrived at Café des Deux Moulins a few minutes later.

"Here we are."

Jake seemed uncertain. "A café?"

"Not just any café. It's the one from Amélie."

"Is that a movie?"

She ignored him and made her way inside.

"This is definitely it," she said, studying her surroundings.

From the vintage overhead lighting to the patterned floor tiles, it was just as Mira had imagined. She gestured to an oval-framed poster of the film. "See?"

"I definitely see it."

"You should really watch the movie if you haven't," she said, before getting distracted by the floor tiles. "I think this is the spot where she melted into a puddle."

"Huh?"

Without a word she nabbed the last empty table. As he took a seat across from her, she wasted no time in ordering a round of café crème. Bucket list efficiency, and all.

Mira spent a few more minutes blathering on about the movie, her rambling description petering out when two cups of espresso topped with foamy milk arrived at their table.

"Okay," she said, giving herself a moment to take it all in. "Here goes." She held the cup in both hands and slowly brought it to her lips.

Jake seemed unimpressed. "Would you just drink it already?"

Blocking out his cynicism, she closed her eyes and officially took the first monumental sip. She let the hot espresso and frothy milk mingle on her tongue, hoping her taste buds would carry her away. A second later she opened her eyes. "Huh."

Jake's cup was raised to his lips but now he seemed uncertain. "Is the milk rotten or something?"

"No, nothing like that." She set the cup back down. "It's just . . . I guess . . ." She was struggling to articulate the feeling. "It basically tastes like your average run-of-the-mill café crème, like the one we had in the crowded square by La Comédie Française." She looked to him for confirmation. "Remember?"

"Not even one percent."

Mira should've known he wouldn't remember. He'd taken no less than three work calls while they'd been at that café, on what was supposed to have been a nice break between meetings. It seemed that when he wasn't busy being the star of every conversation, he was busy being an actual salesman. Frank had been thrilled by his dedication, but Mira had found it annoying. It was one thing to be on a business trip, but to be so oblivious to the beauty of Paris? It was criminal. There was the architecture, the charming little shops, the food—which incidentally made up half her bucket list—and he hadn't cared about any of it, until the crêpes, that is.

Mira stared into her café crème. "I just thought it would be better." She sighed. "Like this is the place where they filmed a cinematic classic." She gestured around to the bar top and the lighting and the patterned tiles. "Why doesn't the coffee reflect that?"

"Is that what happened in the scene?"

Mira barely heard his question; she was too distracted, willing her coffee to somehow taste better with the second sip. It didn't work. She finally noticed him staring. "What?"

"The scenes from the movie that were filmed here," he said. "Did the main character come here and have a cup of coffee that blew her mind? Is that why she melted into a puddle on the floor? Was she just so turned on by the espresso beans?"

As Mira watched him mime a person getting horny from coffee, she realized her problem was bordering on ridiculous. "Actually, the quality of the café crème never came up in the movie."

"Then everything's fine, don't you think?"

"It's true," she admitted. "Nothing's wrong at all. I guess I just thought that after hitting a home run with that amazing crêpe place, the hits would keep on coming." She studied his reaction. "You can laugh at me now."

"I'm not going to laugh at you. I save my laughter for things like Pack 'n' Go fanny packs." He started laughing. "Ah man, still so good."

She let him have his mockery; he'd made a good point after all. "Are you done?"

He switched gears to a solemn demeanor, joining his hands in a prayer pose. "First, let me give you my philosophical advice."

She couldn't help but feel a little intrigued. "Okay . . ."

"Even the best baseball player doesn't always hit home runs." His voice sounded weighty and significant. "Or even get hits at all, for that matter."

She scrunched her nose. "A baseball analogy? Really?"

"You were the one who started the baseball analogy."

"I guess I did." She quickly decided she hated when he was right.

"For your next lesson: Do you know that a really good batting average is only around three hundred?" She stared at him blankly. "That's like thirty percent."

"I know what that means. I used to go to Yankee games all the time with . . ." She stopped herself in the nick of time. "And yes, okay; I get what you're saying."

She could finally see how a curated bucket list made during the times when she'd been seeking out a fantasy, probably had no chance of living up to reality.

"Real life isn't just one home run after the next," he continued. "If that's what you're hoping for, you're setting yourself up for
disappointment."

Jake's last words hit harder than she'd expected. It wasn't just about a bucket list anymore; what if she'd blown up her entire future all because it hadn't been a big home run?

He must have noticed her changing mood because he suddenly clapped his hands. "Now hurry up and finish that coffee. We've got a whole day planned of potential home runs and possible strikeouts."

"We've got a whole day planned?"

He frowned. "Huh?"

"You said we've got a whole day planned." The possibility of more time with Jake immediately lifted her spirits.

As for Jake, he seemed a bit embarrassed like the night before, when she'd pointed out the oyster juice on his chin. "You know what I meant," he said dismissively. "You've got a whole day planned of things on your list you'll be doing on your solo adventure." He patted her on the shoulder in an almost patronizing way. "And you're going to do great."

It was obvious he was protecting himself, a feeling Mira knew all too well. So she let it slide. "Thanks."

He finished his coffee with an aggressive glug, and when he set down the cup he was left with a foamy moustache.

"You have some . . ." She gestured to her upper lip.

Jake caught his reflection in the mirrored panel behind her. "Oops." He leaned forward, his foamy face now suddenly flirty. "Care to help me out?"

Instead of lapping it up (quite literally), Mira quite wisely took a beat. In Jake's world, he was being that normal hot-blooded guy who'd never miss a chance to flirt. But in Mira's world, she'd only recently broken off an engagement, a move that had disappointed family members all around the world. And then there was Dev, her former fiancé, who was probably still recovering, or at least that was what she assumed. They hadn't spoken since that horrible
conversation.

Dev had no way of knowing what she was doing in Paris, but the thought of crossing any lines with Jake triggered a guilty feeling.

Mira gestured to the paper napkin that was resting underneath her saucer. "Take mine. I didn't use it."

*

When Mira and Jake left the café, they found that the street had grown quiet. It was that peaceful time between lunch and the start of apéro drinks; the time for lazy strolls, summer sun, and maybe a little romance (at least for someone else who wasn't Mira).

"I'm hungry again," he announced, the grumpiness apparent in his voice.

At first, Mira was surprised by his admission, but as she took in the full scope of him, she noticed how tall and broad he really was. Maybe it wasn't strange for him to need the extra calories. He was also undeniably hot, but that was the sort of observation she didn't need on her mind. "You should've ordered something else," she said quickly.

"It was kind of hard to focus with all your drama about the café."

Mira now realized that rebuffing Jake's flirty advances may have hurt his feelings a little. Perhaps she could've been more sensitive, given that he had no idea she was fresh from a massive breakup.

She had no intention of divulging her secret, but that didn't mean she couldn't make it up to him. She peered down the hilly street, her eyes laser focused and in search of something. She spotted it within seconds. "I have an idea."

*

Mira and Jake waited in line at the boulangerie, their turn up next after the elderly woman on a choosy expedition for the perfect baguette.

Mira closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. "Mmm . . . do you smell that? It's the aroma of the gods." Mere minutes ago, she hadn't been hungry at all, but now everything was different. Bakeries in France had that power.

He studied her intense reaction. "Haven't you already been to a bakery since we got here?"

"Yes. Five times." His eyes widened. "It's Paris," she added defensively. "Baguettes and croissant and pain au chocolat are each their own food groups here."

"You lost me after croissant."

She pointed to the stack of fresh pain au chocolat in the display case. "Those ones." She regarded them fondly. "Buttery, chocolatey, flaky goodness."

"Are you sure that's the one we should get?" He scanned the display case. "They've got a lot of different options."

"You can't leave Paris without having pain au chocolat. It's the law."

A few minutes later, they emerged from the bakery with afternoon treats in hand. Mira led them to a shady corner, perfect for some street-side devouring.

"I still can't get over it," she said, her face brimming with glee. "It's the middle of the day and it's still warm."

"I'll admit it, I'm impressed." Jake pulled the golden square-shaped delight out of its paper bag.

Mira couldn't remember having ever had a fresh croissant in the middle of the day in New York, especially when most of her breakfasts consisted of chugged smoothies on the way to branding meetings. Weekends were different, with opportunities to treat herself to enormous cookies from Levain, but the last time she'd had one had been with Sophie, when she'd made the trek from New Jersey to get a much-needed break from the baby. Mira had always hoped her food hobby would rub off on Dev, but as much as he'd tried, to him food and hobbies were like two opposing forces. She'd never been sure if he was the one who was normal, and she was the one too obsessed with food, but since he wasn't here now, she decided it was fine to dig in.

"Ready?" she asked.

"Ready."

They each took a bite. And it was everything. Eyes rolling back in heads, fireworks exploding in brains. The fact that it was warm only made it a bigger home run.

Mira's eyes eventually rolled back to the front of her head, and as she wiped the flaky bits from the corners of her mouth, she froze when her gaze absorbed the sight of him. "Um, Jake?"

He stopped eating and instinctively wiped his mouth. "Is there something on my face?"

"No. But there's something on your shirt."

He glanced down at the big blob of melted chocolate on his otherwise gleaming white tee. "Shit." Using the empty paper bag, he made a sad attempt to wipe the chocolate off his shirt. He assessed the result of his handiwork. "Hmm." He looked to Mira. "Better now?"

Mira remained frozen in place. The more she stared at him, the more he reminded her of the before part of a laundry detergent ad, only the current state of his shirt seemed worse than the grass, mud—and sometimes blood—the powerful liquid formula would magically scrub away. "I think you made it worse," she whispered.

"How bad is it? Be honest."

She cringed. "It resembles the inner contents of a diaper."

He paced back and forth. "Dammit." Within seconds, his exasperation shifted to a look of anger. "Seriously?" He stopped and faced Mira with an accusing stare. "I shouldn't have gotten the chocolate one. There were so many options in there; why did you make me get that one?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Why are you saying I made you get it?"

Her tone seemed to spook him a little. "I don't know, you're kind of bossy."

"Maybe I am, but I still didn't make you pull the whole thing out of the bag before taking the first bite." She crossed her arms. "You knew it was warm—you knew the risks."

He glanced at her fanny pack. "Got one of those laundry detergent pens in there?"

"I'd need, like, ten of those for whatever you've got happening on that shirt. And no."

He attempted to stretch out the fabric, as if somehow that would make it better. And then he sniffed it. "Smells better than it looks." He looked back at the hilly street. "I've got to go change. Do you mind?"

Mira realized that if Jake was headed back to the hotel to change, this would probably be the moment when they parted ways. The thought of it gave her a strange feeling.

"I don't mind," she said, opening her fanny pack and pulling out the old-school hotel key. "You can pick up your stuff while you're there, but you'll have to find me later to give back the key." She held out the key, but he didn't make a move to take it. "Just message my work email whenever you'd like to meet up." She waved the key around to make sure he hadn't tuned out. "Sound good?"

A cloud of concern swept across his face. "You're not coming with me?"

Jake's neediness stopped her in her tracks. For a moment she considered upending her entire schedule to accommodate his needs. But only for a moment.

"It doesn't make logistical sense," she explained. "It's a half an hour walk to get back to the hotel, which is the opposite direction from Galeries Lafayette."

"Say that again?"

"It's Paris's most famous department store. And now's the perfect lull before it gets too busy." She stuffed the key into his hand. "The hotel's address is on the back of the key. You can map it." She smiled. "Thanks for keeping me company. It was fun!"

Before Jake could respond, Mira turned away from him and headed down the street. It was easier this way, because she knew any sort of long good-bye would bring back the strange feeling, something bordering on liking someone she'd barely spent any time with. It was illogical, and more than that, it felt like a betrayal to the relationship she was no longer in. Like a phantom limb, or in this case, a phantom engagement. Completely illogical.

"Wait!" he cried.

Mira didn't have to turn around because she heard him jogging toward her. Despite her concerns, she felt a nervous anticipation for what was next.

"That store," he said, his steps now in line with hers. "Does that store sell shirts?"

Was this really happening?

She gave him a sideways glance. "Yes, it's a department store."

"Then let's find me a shirt."

With a simple nod she led him down the sloping street. Had there been words, she would have risked admitting just how pleased she felt to not have to say good-bye.

My little secret.

[NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: I hope you're enjoying the published version of 24 Hours in Paris so far! You can keep reading the story here as a paid story, or on YONDER, your next-generation reading app from the Wattpad family (download the app for iOS or Android to get started)!]