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  “I’m in the navy.”

  “Oh. Okay. Are you on a ship?” She had the distinct impression he’d gone to the Middle East, and was at a base somewhere there, but who knew how fancy boats got? She made a mental note to Google more about the navy and war.

  “No, and you probably shouldn’t ask me any more questions.” He chuckled. “But I’m stationed in Coronado Beach when I’m home.”

  Oh. “Wow.”

  “So that weekend away…”

  “Won’t be so hard to organize after all.” Her heart pounded in her chest. “Wow. Miles! You live near me!”

  “I think so, yeah. Kate said San Diego…” He trailed off and she grinned.

  “Yep. La Jolla. Holy crap!” She kicked her feet on the couch, then flopped back against the pillows. “Wow. Wow, wow, wow.”

  “So this isn’t bad news, then.” She could hear the smile in his voice.

  “No, I guess not. Was I silly enough to give you the impression that would be bad news? Totally silly. Ignore any previous impressions. I’m thrilled.”

  They both laughed at that. The conversation wandered to movies, food, and ended up on high school experiences. He’d been his high school’s valedictorian. She’d cut biology to catch a matinee of Transformers.

  Piper could practically hear him do the math and filled in the answer. “I’m twenty-four.”

  “I’m thirty.”

  “So old,” she teased, but something in her tone got lost on the phone line, because he asked her if that was really a problem.

  “Oh, God no. Six years isn’t that big a deal. Does it bother you that I still don’t know what I want to do when I grow up?”

  Miles chuckled. “Not at all. Besides, isn’t that what this trip is about?”

  “I don’t know if I’ll find my path this year or not, but for the first time it really does feel like I’m moving toward something. I can’t wait to get to Paris and explore for a while, no working, no responsibilities, just ...”

  “Just what?”

  “You’re going to think it’s silly.”

  “Trust me.” And the way he said it, of course she would.

  “I want to get to know myself.” She took a deep breath. “I know it’s a bit romantic, the idea of Paris being a site for soul-searching and introspection, but if Stein and Hemingway could do it, I can too.”

  “Those are both writers, right?”

  “Yeah.” She might have secret writing goals, deep down in her heart. Maybe. She wasn’t surprised that somehow Miles knew that about her when nobody else did. She swallowed hard and changed the subject because she wasn’t ready to go there. “So can I ask when you might be back in California?”

  “Our dates are always subject to change, so you need to not get too attached to this, okay?”

  “Promise.”

  “I should be back by the beginning of August.”

  Then so will I, Piper silently pledged.

  — ELEVEN —

  Over the next week they texted almost daily—whatever Miles had been doing, he wasn’t doing it anymore, because he seemed to get to a computer frequently now—and talked on the phone a few times. Piper knew she’d need to upgrade her phone plan once she got to France. She didn’t worry about Miles being a distraction her from her trip anymore, though. If anything, he was her biggest cheerleader. Her family talked almost exclusively about her coming home. Miles suggested cafes guys he knew had enjoyed and helped her practice her French.

  “I can’t believe I’m going to the most romantic city in the world without you,” she whispered into her phone late one night. He’d sent her an IM asking if she was up, and when she’d responded, he’d called right away.

  “Next time we can do the midnight walk along the Seine together.”

  Next time. Her heart was going to explode. “That sounds perfect.”

  “It’ll be fun to see a city that you’ve already gotten to know.”

  “You’ll have to return the favor,” she said, rolling onto her back. She tucked the phone between her ear and the pillow and pulled the blanket up tight around her face. “Where have you been that you want to go back to?”

  “Tokyo,” he said without hesitation. “You’ve never seen anything like their electronics district, and the food is to die for. Shopping’s pretty good, too, although I don’t fit into any of the clothes.”

  “I’m sure I wouldn’t, either. My ass isn’t really designed for tiny Asian clothes.”

  “Your ass is perfect.”

  Piper laughed.

  “Seriously. I’m counting down the days until I can get my hands on it again.” Miles lowered his voice. “My hands. My lips. My…”

  “What?” she whispered breathlessly.

  “I’ll tell you when I see you. Not safe for Uncle Sam’s virgin ears.”

  “You’re a tease.”

  “I know.” He cleared his throat. “I’m going to be out of comms range for a little while. I’ll message when I get back to this base, okay? Don’t worry.”

  “Pretty sure that’s like no offense or don’t take this the wrong way. A conversational red flag that guarantees I’m going to worry.”

  “Shoot. Should’ve gone another way with that, clearly.” He laughed quietly in her ear. “Go back to sleep, gorgeous.”

  “Good night, my Miles.” Her heart beating a mile a minute, Piper gripped the phone, wanting to hang on a bit longer. Her voice cracked as she added, “Stay safe.”

  “I will. I’ve got a date to keep.”

  “Hope she’s hot,” Piper whispered, unexpected tears sliding down her cheeks. Why was she crying now? She hadn’t gotten emotional at the end of any of their other recent calls.

  “Hot and cute and sweet,” Miles said roughly. “Now back to bed. Go.”

  They whispered goodbyes again, and she buried her wet face in the pillow, breathing in the now just imaginary scent of him, regretting that she’d ever washed the linens.

  — —

  Her last night in England was also her last shift at the pub. Kate’s brother Daniel was also behind the bar, and before long she found herself planted on a barstool with a pint, surrounded by new friends.

  “I know I was only here a short time, but this place really started to feel like home.” Piper turned in a slow circle, taking in the wooden booths lined with thick red fabric, the creaky wide-plank floors, and the gleaming wood bar. The pub smelled faintly of salt and ale and wood polish, and she’d miss it.

  “We have something for you,” Kate said, nodding at Sue, whose eyes twinkled. They were up to something—and Piper thought she knew exactly what as soon as she opened the kraft-paper wrapping and saw the soft leather-bound notebook.

  Kate grinned like the Cheshire Cat. “There’s a card inside that we all signed, but the notebook is from Miles, officially.”

  “I acted as his secretary,” Sue said with a wink.

  Piper blinked her misty eyes and opened the notebook. Inside, in Sue’s handwriting, was a note.

  Write it all down.

  - Miles

  Tucked under the first page was a card, signed by all the regulars including Sue, and Kate and her brothers. Piper swiped way her tears, laughing as everyone good-naturedly jeered a bit. She shook her head. “Happy tears, I promise!”

  She circled the room, sharing a final moment with each new friend, and then sank onto a barstool and let Daniel pour her another pint.

  — —

  The sun beat down on their vehicle as they approached the Kurdish checkpoint. Jared nodded at the guard, a man they recognized from earlier in the day, and gave the designated code phrase in Arabic. It changed every day, and today’s was Eid mīlad sa'aīd, Elmo. Happy Birthday, Elmo. Something nobody else would say, and it made the Kurdish commander laugh, apparently. The week before the code had been Big Bird is pretty.

  “Fucking Elmo,” Vince said, dropping his sunglasses back over his eyes as they drove through the mostly quiet town. They needed to head back to the fr
ont after dark, but now it was time to hole up and get something to eat and a bit of rest.

  They parked in the gated alley behind the building they were using. A local militiaman stood guard out front, and he snapped roughly to attention as the SEALs nodded on their way inside, laden down with the gear they couldn’t leave in their truck.

  “You want beef stew or cabbage rolls?” Vince asked once they were upstairs in the room they’d snagged. They all dumped their webbing and set their weapons on their sleeping bags. Jared grabbed the first stew, and quiet Johannson snagged the second.

  Which left Miles with the cabbage rolls.

  “What?” Vince asked, digging into his cold dinner. “You’re Polish, you should love that shit.”

  “My grandparents were Polish. I’m hot dogs and french fries and fucking beef stew, all right? Cabbage is war food.”

  “Look out the fucking window.”

  “My point exactly. I don’t need it literally shoved down my throat.” He took the time to activate the heater bag and warm up his rations. Then he dug out a bonus condiments pack and liberally treated the entire mess with ketchup and pepper. “You think this is going to go well tonight?”

  For the second night in a row, there was going to be a hard press against the insurgents to try and regain some lost ground. The night before, they’d just been observers.

  Tonight, their orders were different.

  Which meant they needed rest. Miles and Johannson racked out first. Three hours of sleep. Practically a luxury.

  And then to war, again.

  Miles counted backwards from one hundred, every ten numbers pausing to think about Piper and Paris—a world away. What was she doing right now? He couldn’t wait to get back to his email and a phone line. He missed her voice something fierce.

  Fatigue and thoughts of what he could be doing in France—in a bed—carried him away from the heat and the sand and the stench, and before he finished his countdown, he was drifting in an uneasy dreamland.

  — TWELVE —

  Lauren,

  I’m sorry for not sending this sooner. Mom has been sending me daily emails. I hope she hasn’t been pestering you too. I’ve been busy exploring Paris and it’s truly amazing. This city is at its best in transition, and the opportunities for spectatorship are endless. I can’t think of any other city where dusk is so welcoming. The darkness doesn’t chase people inside; some go home to their families or beds, but many linger in cafes, or even on the streets. I know it sounds so cliched, but Paris at midnight is amazing.

  “Excusez-moi.”

  Piper glanced up from the letter she'd been composing to her sister-in-law on her phone. The person in the seat next to her wanted to get off the subway at the next stop.

  Paris was everything she had hoped. It had rained off and on the first three days, but instead of dampening her enthusiasm, the grey skies and cool air just reinforced the city’s gothic heaviness.

  It was the exact opposite of southern California, and she gobbled up every detail. A hostel in Montmartre provided a perfect base for wandering on foot, and Piper was pleasantly surprised to find cheap food options at takeaway windows. She had gorged on Laotian noodles the night before. Thinking about it made her mouth water and she knew she’d be having it for dinner again.

  An automated female voice announced the name of the station in quick, lilting French that Piper couldn’t make out. She peered out the window as the train pulled up to the platform. Opéra. Two more stops to the museums. She moved over to the window seat to make room for another rider and turned back to her phone.

  Yesterday the man at the cafe on the corner took pity on me and my pathetic attempts at French and asked me in perfect English where in America I was from. At first I was embarrassed that it was so obvious, but he said it would be obvious that he’s French if the situation was reversed. True! I made him guess. He said Beverly Hills, which was pretty close. But then he admitted that California was his only guess.

  He’s invited me to his house for a dinner party on Friday night. His wife works late, which seems to somewhat common, so they eat late, too—he told me people will start arriving around eight.

  The subway car raced around a corner and Piper braced herself against the window. Buying a metro card was a splurge. She was in no rush and it would be cheaper and healthier to walk as much as possible, but she was fascinated by the sights and sounds of the subway system. She heard fellow hostel guests complaining about the smell, but that was interesting to Piper as well—the scent of thousands of people moving quickly in all different directions. If she stopped and thought about it, she could probably pick out individually offensive notes like urine or body odor, but it was new and utterly unlike anything in San Diego so she didn’t care.

  I’m going to a couple of museums this afternoon, and then I’m going to find a cafe with a large window and watch day turn to night. You and Joe should come here for your ten-year anniversary. It really is crazy romantic here.

  ~ Piper

  She saved the draft email to send once she surfaced from the metro system and tucked the phone away in her backpack. She glanced down at her oversized white buttoned down shirt, belted over black leggings and knee-high leather boots with heavy soles. The boots had been a splurge, but her brother had sent her some early birthday money, and all the French girls were wearing them. Now Piper didn’t feel so conspicuous, and sitting on a bench at a museum or with her head stuck in her notebook at a cafe, she could even slip into a fantasy about being a French student instead of an American tourist.

  The subway car screeched against the rails, slowing to a stop in front of the platform. Palais Royal - Musée Louvre. She leapt into the swirl of humanity and hurried to the nearest exit.

  — —

  It had been a week since she’d last spoken with Miles on the phone, and she’d started to worry—heck, she’d started the worry the second she knew he was going to be out of comms range.

  But then yesterday there’d been an email with a tentative promise to maybe call soon. “Maybe” was music to her ears. Just the hope of talking kept all parts of Piper happy. All parts indeed, she thought. Awake, Piper was focused on exploring Paris and being in the moment. Asleep, she was a sex maniac and Miles was her very willing subject.

  It wasn’t just the fantasy or the promise of dirty stuff to come. She desperately wanted to hear Miles’s… everything. She loved his self-assured laugh, his slow expulsion of breath before talking, and how he thought everything she said was sexy even though she knew it was awkward and amateur. Piper’s head told her heart that she was an idiot for obsessing over a guy when she was in a world-class city on the trip of a lifetime, and her heart told her head to take off her panties.

  Her breath hitched as she rounded the corner toward the hostel and ahead was a tall, built man in a uniform standing with his back to her. She sped up, her heart in her throat. It couldn’t be Miles. It wasn’t Miles, she knew that. Didn’t stop her heart from thumping a mile a minute. Please let it be Miles. She was a few yards behind him when he turned and her footsteps slowed in disappointment. His profile was unfamiliar.

  The Guy That Wasn’t Miles smiled and tried to catch her eye as she passed, but she averted her gaze. Sorry buddy, I just got my hopes up.

  In her dorm room, she stripped off her jacket and went to stash her backpack under her bunk when her phone vibrated.

  BREAKING NEWS ALERT: American helicopter shot down on Kurdish border.

  Piper numbly sat down on her bunk. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything. There are lots of troops there… But she couldn’t stop herself from scrolling to a news app and clicking on the details with shaky fingers. And as she read, she started to cry.

  — —

  Miles couldn’t believe the clusterfuck they were dealing with. Less than a hundred yards away lay the smoldering remains of a Black Hawk helicopter. The ISIS militants who shot it down were filming it and broadcasting it live to YouTube, and the rules of engagement
they were currently operating under meant they couldn’t go in and retake the equipment because the pilot and all but one of the troops had made it out alive. They’d carried their fallen comrade back across the front lines under cover of fire, and now they were waiting for the diplomats to try to do their jobs.

  It wouldn’t fucking happen.

  It was the middle of the night, but they didn’t yet have orders to move in.

  They’d get those orders, but not until the next night. Twenty hours stretched ahead of them. Twenty hours of watching, impotently, as the enemy had their day thanks to equal-opportunity access to the World Wide Fucking Web.

  Vince tapped him on the shoulder. “Spell out, man.”

  “Thanks.” But Miles didn’t step away from the observation post right away. Instead, he stood there with his friend and his fellow SEAL, and stared at the lunacy of modern warfare unfolding in front of him.

  “Fucking YouTube, hey?”

  Vince shook his head. “Yeah. Who would have thunk it? The people back home know more about what’s going on over here than we do.”

  Miles frowned. “That’s so wrong. You worried about your mom thinking the worst?”

  His friend shook his head. “She knows better. Unless the CO and the padre show up on her doorstep, I’m A-OK.”

  But Piper didn’t know that. Piper had no clue. And somewhere in Paris right now, the girl Miles had given his heart to in a single night was probably wondering what he’d just done to hers.

  I’m right here, Piper. Be strong for me.

  — THIRTEEN —

  Piper had spent twenty-four hours glued to her phone and the television in the commons room. She needed to take a shower, but she couldn’t tear herself away. No, you need to go out and spend some time in Paris, she could hear Miles saying in her head.