​

“Would you care to accompany me along the city walk to see some of the sites?” he asked.

​

“I’d love that.”

​

Blake held my gaze as in one particularly slick move, he reached down to grab my hand. Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined meeting any man on my first day in Paris, let alone a man as handsome, interesting, and kind as him.

​

We took care of the food bags, and then that was how we walked around Paris, holding hands. Paris at night checked off every box I’d ever imagined about the city while growing up. The lights—beautiful. The thoroughfare—energized.

​

Finally, it grew pretty late and he walked me back to my hostel. “Do you have plans for tomorrow, Glory?”

​

“Honestly, I haven’t made any plans. I just decided to go where the day takes me.”

​

He smiled so big that I lost my breath for a moment. “Good. Then the day is going to take you out to breakfast with me and then from there, it’s going to have us tour the Louvre and take our picture at the top of the Eiffel Tower.”

​

“The day knows me so well,” I agreed.

​

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” He squeezed my hand and released it but waited for me to go inside before he left. I knew because I watched him out the window. What a heck of a first day in the city of love.

​

I walked back to my room, changed into my pajamas, and giving in to the excitement of the day, I spun around in a circle jumping up and down, softly squealing for about a minute. Truly. The day deserved it. This kind of luck rarely found its way to me.

​

It took three cups of herbal tea to calm my mind enough to sleep. Thankfully the room came equipped with an electric kettle. The tea I’d brought from home. But every time I closed my eyes, thoughts of Blake filled my mind and who could sleep thinking of Blake Parker?

​

After that third cup of chamomile, I crashed.

​

In the morning, I stretched that first glorious stretch of the day smiling as images of my dream lingered. My date would be arriving soon so I shoved up out of the bed, grabbing up my soap, shampoo, and towels, and headed for the shower.

Back in the room, I posted some of my pictures from yesterday to my social media accounts. And wanting to impress the gorgeous man coming to get me, I dressed in a pretty sundress, white with yellow chrysanthemums, and I wore my hair in a loose bun. Along with my comfy walking sandals and my crossbody bag, I decided to walk outside to wait for Blake. He was just opening the front door to come in and wait for me as I opened the door.

​

“Glory,” he said surprised, blinking a few times. “You look amazing.” I’d never been a woman who sought a man’s approval, but his words made me feel beautiful. “How did I get lucky enough to have the prettiest woman in Paris touring the city with me today?”

This guy was too good to be true.

​

“Keep that up, Blake,” I said in a teasing, warning tone.

​

“Keep it up and what?” he asked.

​

“Nothing. I just want to keep hearing you say things like that.”

​

“Your wish is my command, beautiful.” He winked causing me to internally swoon.

Deciding to be brave, I held my hand out to him. He looked down at it and then up at my face, smirking, and he took it. A girl could lose a lot to a smirk like that.

​

We strolled to a café with outdoor seating, chatting some, but mostly just enjoying the city scenery and each other’s company. He and I ordered crusty baguettes served cut into rectangles with creamy butter and jam. Both Blake and I started our day with coffee. Parisians dunked their baguettes into their coffees. I wholeheartedly approved.

​

Before I could get my money out of my bag, he paid for us. Then we walked to the bus station and he bought our bus tickets. Finally, when we made it to the Louvre, he paid for that, too. Why did he think he had to pay for everything?

​

I wasn’t poor Gloria here. I was simply Gloria. He didn’t need to feel sorry for me. I’d had enough of that when I was younger.

“Why do you keep paying for everything?” I asked. “I can pay my own way.”

​

“I never thought you couldn’t. But call me old-fashioned. When I ask a woman out on a date, then I pay. If you ask me out, then you can pay.”

​

“So, this is a date?” Why? Why did I ask that? I knew we were on a date. Could you sound any dumber, Gloria?

​

“What did you think it was?”

​

“I don’t know… I didn’t want to assume—” My cheeks began to blush from humiliation.

​

“Assume away,” he replied. Assume away. Blake said ‘Assume away.’ Giddiness chased away the embarrassment of a moment before. “I like you,” he continued. “I plan to spend more time getting to know you. Here I thought we were on the same page yesterday.”

​

I winced. “We are now. It’s just I’m not used to kind, handsome men wanting to take me out. I put on that freshman fifteen when I got to college and haven’t been able to get it off. And—”

​

“Thank you, Jesus!” he said and I stared at him blankly. “Oh, because you have the most voluptuous curves,” he explained when he noticed me staring. “They’re sexy as hell. You’re sexy as hell.”

​

“You think so?”

​

“Honey,” he said like he couldn’t believe I was asking. “Curves are beautiful. Especially yours.”

​

Wow.

​

Seriously, this guy was way too good to be true.

​

“Thank you,” I replied, not knowing what else to say. And thankfully, he let me off the hook by holding his hand out to me. We spent hours wandering around the Louvre, sometimes spending twenty minutes or better at one painting before we moved on. He got it. He got me. We weren’t in a race. We had all the time in the world, or until they kicked us out.

​

By the end of our museum excursion, my stomach grumbled something fierce. We hailed a taxi and in the worst broken French imaginable, he directed the driver to this little out-of-the-way bistro in the middle of an open-ended alleyway. The entrance simply had a sign tacked to the old brick building to the side of the wooden door that’d been stained not painted. A white light fixture over the door illuminated the area. It felt as if we’d stepped back in time.

​

“What?” he finally asked because I stared speechless.

​

“How’d you know about this place?”

​

“A woman at the hotel this morning. She insisted I couldn’t leave Paris without eating here.”

​

“That was kind of her,” I replied.

​

“I mean… yeah, but she also insisted I eat here with her.” Oh. Well. That probably happened to him all the time given I was pretty sure he’d been created in the gods’ gene pool. “Yeah,” he went on bizarrely. When I narrowed my eyes he said, “I see your face.” —I felt my face because I needed to know what he saw— “I tried to be gentle when I told her I already had a date that I in no way intended to break. She didn’t like that answer. It was as awkward as you’d expect.”

​

“You are…” I stopped myself before telling him how amazing I found him, shaking my head instead, and pressing the side of it to his shoulder. He simply laughed.

​

The bistro—chef’s kiss. Despite the exterior, when he opened the door, we stepped into a thoroughly modern bistro filled with bright white walls, polished wood bar, tables and chairs, and what reminded me of white Christmas lights strung up and twinkling around the entire space. I ate my body weight in chicken confit with diced tomatoes and herbs, served on top of mashed potatoes. The dinner arrived with pan-seared asparagus for my side. And of course, crusty bread with creamy butter.

Blake ordered the steak frites and that came smothered in a peppercorn sauce. We drank wine and talked more. Who knew I had so much to talk about? After yesterday I knew that at twenty-eight, he was a few years older than me.

​

“Yesterday you said you work for your family’s business, but you never really explained what you do.”

​

He wiped his hands on his napkin, then folded them on the table in front of him “I liked hearing about you more. We have our hands in a lot of different pots. Mostly stock holdings and foreign investors. That’s my department.”

​

“Are you good at it?” I asked.

​

“Well, it’s our highest-profiting department, so I’d say I’m fair. Plus, it allows me to travel.”

​

“So that’s what brought you to Paris. We kind of got sidetracked yesterday, didn’t we?”

​

“Kind of,” he replied. “I haven’t taken a vacation since I came home from Harvard. I told my father that I was taking an extended leave to decompress a little. That’s what brought me to Paris. He didn’t like it. Robert Parker is all about making money and closing deals. But as I said, I make him loads of money, so he doesn’t push too hard when I come up with hair-brained ideas like backpacking across Europe. What about you?”

​

“Well, I told you yesterday that my dad died almost five years ago. But I didn’t tell you that I stayed home for my mom because she didn’t want to be alone. Now she’s got herself a boyfriend, which in and of itself, I don’t mind. But she didn’t even bother to tell me—sneaking around for a year. How could she not tell me? I took a job that I didn’t want and lived with her because she asked me to. I gave up major opportunities for her, and then that?”

​

“Harsh.” He shook his head before taking a sip of his water then said, “Tell me again about your friends.”

​

“Of my two best friends, one recently got married to the love of her life and so they’re in that newlywed, getting naked as often as possible phase.”

​

“Right. I remember now. And your other best friend started hanging out with friends from her work.”

​

“Yes. So, I quit my job and flew to Paris.”

​

“You just quit and got on a plane.”

​

“Pretty much.”

​

“I’m so in awe of you. What did your mom or friends say when you told them you were leaving?”

​

“Never told them.”

​

He balked.

​

“Do you think I’m crazy?”

​

“Crazy? No. Badass—hell, yeah. You’re amazing, Gloria Kowalski.”

​

I felt my face blush. Compliments always embarrassed me. “You’re not so bad yourself, Blake Parker.”

​

He smirked one of those panty-dropping smiles that you just knew made it impossible for people to say no to anything he wanted when he flashed it. I couldn’t say no and he hadn’t asked me for a thing. “I bet they regret neglecting you about now. I’d regret it, but then again, I couldn’t see myself neglecting you, Glory. Their loss is my gain.”

​

Did he really just say that? Blake Parker, where have you been all my life? You are so good for my ego.

​

When we finished dinner, he took me dancing. And no ordinary club would do for him—oh no. He took me swing dancing. I’d never gone swing dancing in my life. He and I basically copied the moves from the other dancers. Some were successful, some ended hilariously bad, and one move… He tried to swing me up over his head but I got scared and pivoted in a weird way. Blake lost his grip on my waist and I landed on my butt.

​

“Shit, Glory—are you okay?” To his credit, he didn’t laugh. I’d have laughed if my bottom didn’t smart so much. To recap, my butt and my pride hurt, but otherwise, I’d live.

​

“Everyone is staring. Help me over to a table, please?”

​

Blake used both my hands to pull me up and he held me close while steering us toward the seating area. I winced the whole way, every step reminding me of what happened when I got too much in my head, which happened more than I cared to admit.

“You want to sit?” he asked.

​

Looking between the seat and my bottom, I decided, “Maybe I should stand for a bit.”

​

He slid onto a chair and waved down a server, ordering us two saisons. I guess I never thought about the French brewing beer. Come on, they were renowned for their wines. By the time the server returned with our drinks, I’d decided to give sitting a try. When my bottom hit the seat, I knew I had quite the significant bruise back there. The saisons she delivered tasted crisp and dry with a citrusy tartness. And it foamed like nobody’s business causing me to sneeze when I went in for a drink. I liked it. I liked everything about this date aside from the fall.

​

We stayed out way too late. Then he walked me back to the hostel. We walked slow. I rested my head against his shoulder. He kept his arm around my waist. The past two days meant everything to me. I couldn’t remember having more fun with another person.

​

Finally, we stopped outside on the lawn, he spun me to face him, holding both my hands in his as he stared deeply into my eyes. I held my breath.

​

“I was thinking of heading out tomorrow,” he started. “There’s this festival in Norway that I’d like to see.”

​

My face fell as my heart sank. “Oh, okay.”

​

“No, Glory… what would you say if I asked you to come with me?”

​

“You want me to come with you?”

​

“Only if you want to, but more than you know.”

​

I smiled stupidly big. “Then I’d love to go.”

​

He didn’t smile stupidly big. His face grew serious. “I want to kiss you now, Glory. Please say that’s all right.”

​

“It’s al—” That was as much as I got out before his lips descended and holy crap! The man knew how to kiss. We were talking the mind-blowing, life-altering kind of kiss that one generally read about in romance novels. Blake Parker romance novel kissed me in front of the hostel.

​

“Wow,” he said once we’d broken apart. “You know you’re stuck with me now, considering you kiss like that.”

“It wasn’t me. It was you. You’re the one with all the skill.”

​

“Guess I need to prove it was you,” he said before kissing me a second time and no, it was definitely him. He made my pulse race. My tummy dipped. My toes curled. I was stuck with him? Other way around there, fella. “’Night, Glory,” he finally said as he lingered by holding on to my fingers until the last possible moment.

​

There was no way that I walked inside. I floated. It was the only explanation.

​

Sleep. Who needed it? I spent the rest of the night thinking about those lips. The next morning, I showered and dressed, then checked out early. He already waited for me outside in the same spot he’d kissed me last night, looking up when I opened the door, catching my eyes. The dimple made an appearance. Heaven help me.

​

Blake and I opted to eat on the train. Since he’d asked me out, he bought the tickets. And the next thing I knew, we were on our way to Norway. Coffee, croissants, and various pastries started our adventure off.

​

“This is my first train ride,” I admitted while sipping on my drink.

​

“Really? Well, I’m honored to share this with you. Now that we’ve broken the seal, what do you think?”

“It’s fun so far and the company can’t be beat.”

​

His eyes glinted in the overhead light. “Thank you.”

​

“Oh—” I bit my lip, smiling. “This is embarrassing. I meant her.” I pointed to the little old lady sitting hunched over in the seat kitty-corner from mine. She looked as if she couldn’t sit up straight, but she wore her grayish-silver hair in a curved bob, covered mostly with a black beret. She wore a bright red boatneck blouse with ¾ length sleeves, and from the peek of thigh, black skinny-fitting pants and black flats. I had a feeling this woman led a Beatnik life back in the ’60s and possibly never left it.

​

Blake threw his head back laughing causing a bit of a scene where other passengers stared at us. Then he leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, “I can accept that. If we can be as cool as her when we’re that age, then we’re winning at life, Glory.”

​

I’d only meant it as a joke and she’d been the first person my eyes had landed on, but Blake was right. This stranger on a train leaving France became my life goal. Once again, I had to smile at my decision to leave my old life for this adventure.

Several hours later, we arrived, and if I hadn’t thought it earlier, it was unequivocally true now—I freaking loved taking the train. Sure, we could have gotten here sooner if we’d flown, but this trip wasn’t about getting anywhere fast. We wanted to see Europe. And Europe we saw, passing through Belgium into Germany, then we kept on into Denmark, then entering Sweden to finally end up in the capital city of Norway. I desperately wanted to call Pen and Sierra to gush about Blake, the trip, and maybe even that kiss from last night but then I remembered that Pen barely had time for gushing any longer and my heart still hurt when I thought about Si blowing off our plans to take another friend to do those same plans.

​

No, they could learn about Blake and the trip the same way the rest of my world learned, through my social media posts. It was for the best.

​

Oslo blew me away with all of its modern architecture. The problem with visiting Oslo, even in the summer? Summer clothing, or more to the point, the shorts, dresses, and capris I’d packed for a warmer climate, didn’t cover it (and by ‘it’ I meant me, they didn’t cover me enough). The Oslovians who lived here year-round probably thought they had a beautiful day on their hands. Me? Not so much. My teeth chattered. Let’s just say, the city gave the phrase ‘chill atmosphere’ a whole different meaning.

He grabbed my hand once we disembarked from the train to lead us out to the street. Blake flagged down a cab. Neither of us spoke Norwegian in any capacity and it was hilarious listening to Blake try to ask the driver to take us to the shopping district from a translation app on his phone. After about a minute, the driver broke down laughing and said, “I speak English.”

 Oh my god! I roared with laughter, too. I couldn’t help it. Blake’s cheeks pinked but then he began laughing along with us. The driver brought us to this huge, multi-level shopping mall where Blake bought me a sweater, long jeans, socks, and boots for walking/hiking from several different boutiques. The things I didn’t have room for in my backpack, he rolled and stuffed into his own.

​

“You know you don’t—” I protested, well, I started to protest before he pressed his finger to my lips.

​

“I asked you here, remember?” Then when he pulled his finger away, he pecked my lips and yeah, I really enjoyed when he did that. The man could ask me to pry barnacles from rocks with my fingers and I’d probably do it for a kiss afterward.

​

It was safe to say, I liked Blake Parker. “Then at least let me pay for lunch,” I said and he graciously allowed that. Cue the eye roll. Out of any place he could’ve picked, Blake saw tacos and nothing else would do. So, on our first day in Oslo, Norway, we ate tacos.

​

Warm and snuggly in my new Oslo summer gear, he took my hand for what I thought was to tour the city, but no. He led us to the bus terminal, where he bought us two tickets for the bus to a place called Kristiansund. From there, we boarded a ferry. A ferry that traveled over the ocean along the coast, not up some river.

​

Our destination was an island thirty-three nautical miles off the coast of a city called Helgeland. The festival, Trænafestivalen, had taken place on Træna every year since 2003. Music. Food. The most gorgeous scenery anyone could imagine.

​

Without tents, I worried about us being exposed to the elements at night. Even in the summer, it got chilly at night this far north, but with the festival atmosphere, I shouldn’t have worried. We met a couple from Cornwall who offered to share with us.

​

And Blake introduced me as his girlfriend. I mean, I got it. Sometimes it was just easier to explain us traveling together that way because saying, “This is a woman I met in Paris and brought along” doesn’t exactly inspire faith in me being a good person who wasn’t out to rob them or something. But still—I hadn’t been a girlfriend in way too long a time and the idea of pretending to be Blake’s girlfriend held massive appeal.

​

Jory and Kerensa were on their honeymoon. You’d think that sharing a tent with strangers on your honeymoon would put a crimp in said honeymoon nocturnal activities, but they insisted. Who were we to turn them down? I could just imagine coming to the Trænafestivalen on my honeymoon. What a novel idea.

​

I didn’t know any of the performers, any of the songs, or even the language, but did that stop me from having a great time? Not one bit. Luckily, I had a knack for being able to pick up songs rather quickly, even in a foreign tongue. So, whenever they sang the chorus to the song, I pumped my fist in the air along with everyone else in the crowd. We jumped, danced, sang and cheered for hours.

​

In the land of the midnight sun, my body started to feel a little out of whack because it grew tired like it would during the night, yet my eyes kept trying to tell me it was the middle of the day.

​

Eventually, Kerensa and I had to throw in the metaphorical towel. “If I stay out here any longer, you’re going to have to carry me to the tent,” I told Blake.

​

“What she said,” Kerensa said to her husband, pointing at me.

​

Their tent held three sections, or chambers, if you will, the center right off of the tent’s zippered opening that they called “the parlor” and two “bedrooms,” one on each side off the parlor.

​

As they’d brought mats to lie on, they loaned us one of their two massive sleeping bags. Blake and I shared it. Being a gentleman, Blake waited in the parlor while I changed into my pajamas. I scooted out momentarily to allow him to change into his, then we climbed into the sleeping bag. I lay on my side facing away from him, with my arm under my head for support. He respectably spooned me.

​

“This is comfy,” he whispered and I nodded. Normally, lying next to a person filled me with terrible anxiety. What if I was a bed hog, or worse, what if I passed gas while I slept? Somehow, none of my usual “what ifs” bothered me tonight and I drifted right off to sleep.

​

When we woke up in the morning, I was turned into him, my head resting on his bent arm, his arm draped over my waist and his bent knee resting between mine.

​

“Morning, Glory,” he said with a definite twinkle in his eye, and my tummy dipped the way it did when Blake smiled or pretty much anything that showed me he was happy to see me.

​

“Morning,” I answered.

​

“How’d you sleep?” he asked.

​

“Good,” I responded shyly because I didn’t want to answer in a way that would freak him out, given that I’d slept way more than good. Lying next to Blake, I’d felt safe, warm, and cared about. He made me feel like I was the whole thought and not just the afterthought.

​

“I slept better than I have in forever. Now that I know what it’s like to fall asleep next to you and wake up in your arms, I think I might require your assistance in this matter for the rest of my trip. I mean, should you be amendable to that suggestion.”

​

“I might be able to be talked into it if you ask nicely.”

​

“Have I told you how happy I am that we met?”

​

Shaking my head, I answered, “Not in so many words.”

​

“Where do you want to head after the festival?”

​

“Well, before we make our way south again, I’d love to see reindeer out in the wild.”

​

“Done,” he replied. “I’ll make it happen.”

​

And that was exactly what he did. Once the festival ended, we exchanged contact info with our new friends. While they had to head back to Cornwall to work, Blake hired a guide to help us navigate the northern territories of Norway to see the reindeer.

They were smaller than I thought they’d be, smaller than the regular deer we had back in Michigan. White tails maybe? I was no deer expert. As we took in all the abundant beauty of the range with the snowcapped mountains in the background, the herds of reindeer eating the lush grass, I felt… peaceful.  The mothers with their babies were my favorite part.

​

Our guide, a burly lumberjack-looking northerner with hair so blond that in the bright sun I had to squint to confirm he had eyebrows because they blended in with his face, offered to take us to a farm where we could try reindeer meat and I balked because what? Yes, I was fully aware of where meat came from and I enjoyed a big, juicy burger as much as the next girl, but somehow, the idea of eating one of these majestic creatures sat way wrong with me. Blake saw my face and said, “Thanks, but we’re on a schedule.”

​

Hilarious. The two people on the continent least likely to keep a schedule. I appreciated his quick thinking.

​

After our excursion to the north, we made our way back to Copenhagen, Denmark because I wanted to spend a couple of days there. Then we headed west to the Netherlands because Blake wanted to spend a couple of days in Amsterdam.

“Where to next?” he asked, popping a meatball into his mouth. We’d been seated by the window inside the restaurant purposely to watch the people passing by. Blake and I had opted to try a little bit of everything to share. The meatballs, which came smothered in a delicious mustard sauce, fried fish with a mayo-based sauce on the side, a stew made with creamy mashed potatoes and bacon were a few of my favorites.

​

“Well, as much as I love it here, it’s summer. I’m from Michigan. We spend about seven months of the year chilly or cold. So…” I tapped my finger on my chin. “I think I’d like to go warmer now. I’ll get this when I get home.”

​

That decided, we hopped a sleeper train after checking out of the hotel, deciding on Portugal for our destination, which was so, so beautiful. Over the two and a half days of travel, we slept in a private car with a comfortable bed. The woman at the ticket counter warned us that we should grab a few groceries for the trip, and that we’d found, was good advice I’m glad we were smart enough to take.

​

The train stopped in Aveiro, known as “the Venice of Portugal” for its canals. Pure magic. Blake surprised me with a boat tour during our day in paradise. Then from there, we followed the coast until we hit Tavira to do the touristy thing, checking out the Roman bridge and a medieval castle and we got to learn about the Moorish occupation of the region. I’d probably have missed all of this if I hadn’t met Blake because visiting Portugal had never entered my mind. The only places I’d considered were the big spots that Americans usually toured. Paris, Barcelona, Berlin, Rome, Athens, etc.

​

Several sultry days of soaking up the sun later and we continued along the coast into Spain then crossed over into Gibraltar, of all places. Neither of my best friends—former best friends? I still couldn’t decide on that one—but neither had ever visited Gibraltar. Thanks to this trip and Blake, I’d traveled to a place where my pictures would make them drool instead of me always living vicariously through them.

​

Both Pen and Si called a couple of times, but I sent the calls to voicemail, giving myself time to think about what I wanted to say to them once we talked again. My mother tried to contact me several times as well. But after she’d hidden her boyfriend from me for a year, I still wasn’t ready to go there, either. Besides, time talking with them meant less time talking with Blake and I wanted all the time I could get with him.

​

Eventually, I’d have to wake up from this dream vacation and all I’d have left were these memories.