24 Hours in Paris

Chapter Three

Twelve p.m.

"Watch out for that pile of garbage," Mira cautioned.

Her words of warning to Jake said it all, as they dragged their luggage up a sketchy street in the 18th arrondissement. Their flight had now been officially booked, and they were freshly back in Paris for another twenty-four hours.

"Is that a used diaper?" Jake wondered aloud as they passed by the trash.

"Why are there half-eaten chicken bones in the street? And why doesn't this feel like Montmartre? I thought the 18th arrondissement and Montmartre were one and the same." She wiped the sweat that was pooling at the edge of her forehead. "This is not what Amélie promised me!"

There was indeed no sign of whimsical charm anywhere in the vicinity, in this neighborhood east of the Sacré-Coeur Basilica. Somewhere in the back of Mira's mind, she knew it was silly to base expectations off a film that contained literal elements of fantasy. When it came to it though, she was a Paris-bucket-list dreamer on a mission, and that was the side of her that would rule the day. She even had an intricate knowledge of the city's map, cultivated over years of imagining being in Paris. The trouble was, it only extended to the places she cared about, and it certainly didn't include this rough-and-tumble area with its train tracks, used electronic stores, rundown laundromat, and shattered dreams.

While sharing an airport taxi on their journey back to Paris—which had thankfully been reasonably priced—Mira had focused her energy on booking a hotel room online. Jake had simply watched without a care in the world, after informing Mira that Colette, his one-night stand, had been more than happy to make it a two-night affair. He'd even offered to ask Colette if Mira could crash on the floor of her studio apartment. As gallant as that was, Mira would've rather jumped into the Seine, and she didn't even know how to swim.

As for available hotel rooms, tourist season plus Haute Couture Fashion Week had made it nearly impossible to find a hotel that Mira could remotely afford. She'd eventually managed to find a place with one last twin room available, and while the reviews were sparse and the photos uninspiring, she was hardly in a position to complain.

"Is this the place?" Jake asked as they rounded the corner.

With squinted eyes, Mira managed to read the lettering on the faded, potentially pigeon shit–stained sign that read HÔTEL.

"This must be it." She stopped a few feet from the entrance and glanced back at Jake. "Thanks. You can go now."

He seemed surprised. "What do you mean?"

"You said you wanted to make sure this wasn't a human-trafficking trap, and . . ." she gestured to the sign, ". . . since it's clearly a hotel, and this clearly isn't the plot from the movie Taken, you can go." She cleared her throat. "But seriously, thank you; I appreciate the protective Liam Neeson vibes."

His look of surprise shifted to a salesman swagger. "Are you sure you don't need me? You don't even know what's in there." He approached the wooden door that was rotting at the edges. "Hmm . . ." He peered inside the dirty window and frowned. "It could still be a human-trafficking ring disguised as a hotel." He held open the door for Mira. "Once I know it's safe, I'll leave."

Mira stepped inside, and much to her relief it was a real hotel, despite the sorry state of the check-in desk.

"See?" she said assuredly. "You may go now."

"I'll leave once I know the room is safe."

Mira had trouble reconciling his chivalry with the extroverted salesman who only seemed to care about having fun. Except she didn't know him well enough to assess which version was true. "Okay,"—she decided— "you can quickly look at the room."