24 Hours in Paris

Original Edition: Chapter Seven

3 p.m.

Jake followed Mira through the Latin Quarter's crowded Saint-Michel square, where tourists took turns being photographed in front of the tall rectangular fountain.

"But what about your budget?" called out Jake. Mira ignored him and headed straight for the ATM.

"I may not have a credit card," she said. "But that doesn't mean I need to be so stingy. Like I hadn't even budgeted for eating and drinking as much as I damn well please, and how can you not eat and drink as much as you damn well please when you're in Paris?!" In reality, the loosening of her purse strings had less to do with Paris being the capital of indulgence, and more to do with Jake's casual statement of having zero interest in love; at least not for five or ten years. She remembered how when she was a kid, her older sister would obsessively watch episodes of Sex and the City. The main character, Carrie Bradshaw, would buy five-hundred-dollar shoes for an emotional lift, whereas Mira was opting to indulge in life's simple pleasures; at least Mira's version was cheaper.

Jake leaned against the wall beside the ATM. "So you're a hundred percent sure you won't need that money later?"

She rolled her eyes as she counted out a hundred euros. "If things get really dicey, I can always work extra shifts at the strip club off the New Jersey turnpike."

He took off his sunglasses and raised his eyebrow. "Give me the address of that strip club now."

She stuffed the money into her bag and gave him a long look. "As if you don't already have a loyalty card for every strip club on the east coast." She didn't even wait for his reaction, but instead pushed right past him down the narrow cobblestoned street, the sound of his laughter in the air.

With Jake's long strides, he caught up to Mira in seconds. "Does this mean you're paying for the rest of my meals?" he asked.

She smirked. "Nice try but I'm not drunk anymore. I am however starving since you stole my cheese." She took note of the little restaurants and shops they passed by on their way down the street. "It should be coming up here soon; hold on...what's that smell?" She let her nose lead her right into the narrow entry of a Lebanese shawarma shop. Her face spread out into a grin as Jake scratched his head. "We're here!"

"Shouldn't we be saving this for dinner?" he said.

She rubbed her belly as she entered the shop. "Oh please, I'm gonna eat like ten more times before we're on that plane."

Mira rubbed her hands together with excitement, as the shop attendant rolled out the dough and placed it on a searing hot dome. "Yep...the only place in Paris where you get fresh bread instead of a factory-produced pita; no big deal!" She turned to Jake with a smile as big as the Joker's.

"Nice find," he said. "Now I'm kinda glad you filled up your notebook with research, instead of actually having a social life." He braced himself for her punch or elbow or other aggressive reaction. The truth was now that she knew Jake was nothing more than a man-whore on the prowl, her interest in him had fallen to zero, so she didn't really care how he shot down her ego. Not only that, but another great benefit of no longer being interested in Jake, was the fact that she could order extra garlic hummus and tzatziki for her sandwich. As she did. "You're really going for it," Jake said.

"Oh and onions," Mira said to the attendant, completely ignoring Jake. "Oh and those cute little turnip slices."

Mira was about to have a serious love affair with her stomach at the expense of bad breath, and she'd never been more pleased about a decision in her life...

***

Ten minutes later with their sandwiches paid for and in hand, Mira and Jake made their way around the winding little street of Rue de Seine. The Rue de Seine was aptly named, as it would lead them back to the river, which was Paris's greatest sparkling asset on a sunny summer day.