Page 61 of The Best Wild Idea (Off-Limits #3)

Juliet

Silas passes me the bottle and I take a sip, careful to lower it slowly so the delicate champagne bubbles don’t rocket back out the neck of the bottle and up my nose like it did all those years ago.

We’re sitting on the edge of the Seine River, our feet dangling above the water running lazily at our feet.

A few couples and groups of French teens are scattered on the banks around us, each watching the evening dinner boats pass by on their way to view the lights of the city from the water.

Some of the passengers wave and smile as they do.

Others laugh at stories and jokes being shared across the water in French, most of which I don’t understand.

Silas and I stopped at a market street full of shops on the way here, grabbing strawberries and cheese, a baguette, and macaroons.

All selected at a handful of shops that sell only the items they have an expertise in, including the incredible champagne Silas picked at the wine store around the corner.

We forgot to ask for a few glasses to take with us, so we’ve been passing the bottle between us while we, too, watch the boats drift by on the water.

I might even prefer drinking it like this.

It’s our last night here and although Monica was able to reschedule dinner reservations at the Eiffel Tower if we wanted, we opted to make our way down here instead. Our makeshift picnic now spread on either side of us while we lean back and enjoy the perfect early summer evening.

This wasn’t on Grant’s itinerary, but somehow that makes it feel just right. It’s a step down a new path, one that will always have the memory of him behind it, but only us to move forward.

“I can’t believe I forgot the glasses,” Si says, watching me slowly tip the bottle back down from my lips, thankfully not spilling a drop.

I grin.

“I can,” I say before passing the bottle back to him. He sets it down on the pavement beside us and wraps his uninjured arm around my shoulders.

“Are you sure you don’t want to move here instead of Italy one day?” he asks, pulling me closer. “I like how this place feels with you in it.”

A boat slowly drives by, this one with a singer on board belting out a French version of “Ave Maria” that makes my eyes tingle with tears. Not because I’m sad, but because everything about this moment is unbelievable. Paris has hit me square in the soul. I love it here.

“I promise nothing will change, no matter where we are,” I tell him, loving the way his eyes seem to glisten ever so slightly at the sights and sounds of where we are, too.

“Do Andy and Carl know how busy they’re about to get?

” I ask, wondering if Silas has already shared our travel plans for the next few weeks.

We’re starting with a stop back at Nonna Lisi’s so we can show her that she was right.

Si has promised to take the next few weeks off work, while I already let my clients know I’ll handle all my sessions with them when I get back.

“Andy was ecstatic about it. I think his exact words were that he can’t wait to tell you a certain little phrase the second we’re back on ol’ Gloria.” He nudges me closer.

“Ah, let me guess. Does that certain little phrase sound something like I told you so ?” I ask.

Silas’ chest erupts in laughter. My favorite sound, as it turns out. “We’ll just let Andy handle that one when you see him next.”

I snuggle into him, wishing this moment would never have to end. We chose a spot on the river where the Notre Dame Cathedral is peeking out across from us. It’s nearly done being rebuilt from the fire that destroyed some of its architecture a few years ago.

“I feel a little bit like that church,” I tell him, nodding toward it.

“A fucking work of art?” he asks, and I can hear the smile in his voice. It makes me grin.

“No. Healing. A little scarred, but lucky to be here,” I tell him, pausing to watch another boat drift by.

“You forgot to add utterly breathtaking,” he says, kissing the crown of my head.

I smile and rib him with my elbow, careful not to hit the other side of his body. His other arm is still carefully tucked into a sling. He has a few specialist appointments lined up for when we get back to Boston, all of them promising he’ll be good as new after a few months.

“I love you,” he whispers. “And I have never loved anything more.”

I smile. He always adds that second part, but this time the words open something deep inside me because I have loved before, which possibly makes loving someone again even sweeter.

Not because I love Silas more .

But because I love him differently.

This time I know how fleeting a love can be. How quickly it can disappear when you least expect it, and how the swift loss of that love can change you.

Fiercely. Unrecognizably. Irrevocably.

Because no matter how long ago those footprints were left, they leave a mark. Shifting our shape, the very essence of who we are, until we are never, ever the same again. And maybe it’s because we aren’t supposed to be.

I know that this time, loving this man, I won’t take a single moment of it for granted.

I have Grant to thank for that. That piece of his legacy was the best gift of all: a reminder to live our days to the fullest extent that we can. Without regrets, and without second-guessing what a life could and should look like based on the past.

Silas slowly picks up the bottle and holds it out in front of him, not taking a sip quite yet.

He winks at me.

“So, where do you see yourself in five years, Jules?” he asks.

I inhale sharply, but the memory of the three of us playing this game rolls through me, bringing only good feelings this time.

I smile back at him.

“Happy,” I tell him. “And with you.”

He kisses me, still holding the bottle out between us.

“I couldn’t have said it any better myself,” he agrees before adding, “Until then.”