He shrugged. “I’m always excited for a new season.”
Right. Right.
“If you find something, you have flexibility about where you’re based in your off-season, right? But what if you don’t find anything?”
“Then I’ll probably stay here and keep looking.”
He took a long drink. “Then I really hope you find Ivernis.”
A lump formed in my throat. I tried to clear it away with the same grace as a cat with a hairball. “I’ll definitely be back in New York late September, to present at the conference.”
“What will you guys give your talk on if you don’t find anything?”
Our talk was registered as a Field Report, and I was fairly certain the American Academy of Archaeology had accepted it because they figured Ceile and Jeremy’s feud would provide some much needed entertainment at the conference. “I was thinking about just crying for a straight hour if we have nothing to say. Or maybe Ceile will come and throw tomatoes at us.”
“Sort of like performance art.”
“Yeah. Maybe we’ll hold different tools as we do it. Trowel—tiny tears. Shovel—big wail.” I took a bite of my sandwich. “It’s funny—the conference is actually at the Javits Center, so right next to your stadium.”
He grinned. “The season will’ve started. You can come to a game while you’re home.”
Under the table, I hooked my ankle around his. “Without a doubt.”
That evening, Lauren and I were playing checkers before the fireplace when Mike came in with a slight smile. I rolled over and looked at him. “You know those charts where there’s a different smiley face for each emotion? We should have one of you, except instead of frowns and tears they’d all be different versions of you smiling.”
Kate made a mom noise. “That’s such a sweet idea.”
Well, I wasn’t sure about sweet. I was going for clever.
“We should have one of Anna,” Lauren said. “Except instead of smiles, it would be scowl variations.”
Anna demonstrated one. “You’re so funny.”
Mike sat down next to me. “And which smile is this?”
“You have a secret.”
He raised his brows. “Not a very long lasting one. Want to go somewhere this weekend?”
“Dublin?”
“Paris.”
Anna cried out, “I want to go to Paris!”
Her mother and sister swatted her.
“Ryan called and said he and Rachael are stopping by after her work trip in Italy, and that Malcolm and Bri might fly over as sort of a last fling before training starts. You in?”
Paris. For a fleeting moment I juggled ticket prices, but then a line of can-can dancers kicked through my budget. “I’m in.”
Lauren stopped by the library the next evening while I went over data. “Hey. Just wanted to check—do you have a dress?”
I blinked at her. “What?”
“Thought not. My brother’s a space shot. You’re going somewhere fancy, right? He’ll almost definitely get a tux delivered to the hotel.”
“He didn’t say we were going anywhere.”
She just gave me an oh-poor-you look. “You’re meeting up with Rach and Bri? You’re going somewhere fancy. It’ll be for charity. But it will also be for dresses.”
I frowned uncertainly. “I have that black dress I wore for the month’s mind...”
She dropped down next to me, shaking her head. “Nope. Won’t cut it. Don’t worry, you can rent cocktail dresses online and have them delivered to your hotel. Easy.”
I stared at her. “Crazy.”
“Come on, it’ll be fun.” She pulled the computer toward her and started a search. “Look, this site has two hundred different options. And it’s in English.”
“I speak French,” I muttered. But I was already being drawn into the sparkly gowns, which Lauren clicked through without stopping, until we reached one golden ball gown that made us both oooh.
“Maybe over the top, but see? You can find something nice.”
I suffered a thirty-second moral quandary about spending money renting a dress, and then the dress won.
Anna wandered in ten minutes later. “What are you guys doing?”
“Renting a dress in Paris for Nat.”
She plopped down beside us and tore open a bag of chips. Crisps. Whatever. “Sweet. Don’t get that one, it’s ugly. That one’s super skanky. No, that’s gross.”
Kate joined us after another twenty minutes. “What are you all studying so diligently?”
“Dresses,” we chorused, in what was possibly the twee-est moment of my life.
We narrowed it down to three choices—a long lavender gown Lauren thought would go well with my hair and eyes; a short black thing Anna favored, though I wasn’t so sure about the weird puff of fabric on the sleeve, and a short, simply cut silver dress with a boat neckline. It was kind of weird but appealing nonetheless.
“Hey, what size are your feet?”
I hadn’t even thought about shoes. “Nine-and-a-half.” They all made faces. “What? What sizes are you?”
“I’m a six,” Anna said.
I stared at her. “Are you serious?”
She shrugged nonchalantly. “They’re beautiful too. I have beautiful feet.”
“She does.” Kate smiled fondly. “She gets them from me.”
I turned to Lauren in astonishment. She shook her head. “I’m no Cinderella, but my feet are still smaller. Just think of it as an excuse to buy fancy French shoes.”
“But I don’t wear fancy shoes.”
Anna popped a chip in her mouth. “Now you do.”
Mike came in, and stopped when he saw the four of us gathered around my computer. “Breaking news?”
I looked up. “Are you getting a tux delivered in France? For any reason?”
“Oh, yeah. There’s some charity thing Friday night.”
Kate’s head popped up. “And when were you going to tell Natalie this?”
His eyes flickered back and forth between all of us and he started to back up. “I can tell when I’m not wanted. I’ll just...go disappear.”
“Go have a boys’ night with Paul!” Lauren yelled after him.
He ducked his head back in. “I’d rather be traded.”
I met his eyes. He grinned and wrinkled his nose at me and vanished.
The O’Connor women went with us to the airport, as they planned to do a little more exploring of the country while we were out of it. Kate gave me one last box before we left. “These are from Maggie. I know you said you could just pick up something in France, but Maggie had your size, and I thought—well, you don’t have to wear them if you don’t want to.”
“Thank you.” I took the box but didn’t look inside. “I’m sorry about digging up the past.”
She smiled painstakingly. “It’s time we got over it. We could have used you ten years ago.”
Chapter Twenty
So. The thing about the Eiffel Tower? It was big.
That shouldn’t have surprised me. When it was first built in 1890, it was the tallest building in the world, and at fifteen hundred feet it still rose above the rest of Paris, the most iconic part of an incredibly iconic skyline.
Yet at first, catching glimpses of the monument between Haussmann’s elegant apartments as our taxi zoomed through the streets, it looked like no more than a toy. Even when we reached the narrow, tree lined streets of the seventh arrondissement—the neighborhood that housed the Tower, upscale homes and our touristy hotel—and a leg of the structure peaked through at the cross streets, I thought, oh, that’s not that big.
Then we dropped off our bags, walked over and looked up.