Paris seemed to vibrate with possibility as Wolfe and Bunny walked hand in hand down the tree-lined Champs-Élysées. The air was crisp, carrying the unmistakable scents of fresh croissants and blooming flowers from the nearby gardens. The city's timeless architecture rose majestically around them, grand and imposing, yet softened by the warmth of golden sunlight filtering through scattered clouds.
Bunny had dreamed of Paris for as long as she could remember. She knew Wolfe wasn't one for overly romantic gestures, so when he'd suggested a trip to the City of Light, she had felt both excitement and a flicker of suspicion. True to form, Wolfe had remained mysterious about his reasons, offering only vague hints and an enigmatic smile whenever she tried to pry out more details.
"So, Mr. Secretive," she teased as they approached a small café with rattan chairs facing the street, a classic Parisian scene if ever there was one. "Are you finally going to tell me what's behind all this?"
Wolfe turned to her, the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes. "Can't I simply want to take you to Paris?"
Bunny laughed, nudging him playfully. "Sure, if by 'take me to Paris,' you mean drag me on some elaborate scheme. Come on, Wolfe. You're not fooling anyone."
He smirked but said nothing, only taking her hand again as they continued walking. Bunny knew that look—the one that said he had something special up his sleeve, and she wouldn't know what it was until he was good and ready. The thrill of the mystery was part of what she loved about Wolfe; he could turn even a stroll through the city into an adventure.
They wandered the winding streets for a while, passing quaint boulangeries with neatly stacked pastries and flower shops bursting with colourful blooms. Bunny felt a flutter of excitement as they neared the Seine, the river reflecting the city's skyline in shades of silver and blue. It was easy to get lost in the romance of Paris, and Wolfe's subtle, almost secretive attentiveness only heightened the feeling. She had no idea what he was planning, but she was content to be swept up in the moment.
As they reached the Pont des Arts, the famous bridge of locks, Bunny's curiosity bubbled over again. "So, are you going to give me a hint about what we're doing here? Or am I supposed to guess the whole time?"
Wolfe glanced at her, a teasing glint in his eyes. "You'll find out soon enough. But if I told you now, it wouldn't be half as fun."
"Fun for who?" Bunny countered with a laugh, narrowing her eyes. "Because I'm about ready to shake it out of you."
He chuckled, a low, warm sound that made her heart skip a beat. "Patience, Bunny. I promise it'll be worth it."
They strolled down the bridge, surrounded by thousands of padlocks left by couples from all over the world. Bunny had always found the tradition fascinating—each lock represented a story, a memory preserved in the heart of Paris. She had wondered if they might add their own lock, but Wolfe didn't make a move toward any of the vendors selling them. Instead, he led her off the bridge and down a quiet, cobbled alley lined with ivy-covered buildings and softly glowing lanterns.
After a few minutes, Wolfe stopped in front of an unassuming door tucked between two narrow shops. The sign above the door read Galerie Éphémère, the lettering delicate and unobtrusive, easy to miss if you weren't looking for it. Bunny felt a flicker of recognition but couldn't place it.
"An art gallery?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "This doesn't seem like your usual kind of place."
He shrugged, nonchalant. "I thought you might like it. Besides, maybe you'll find something here that surprises you."
Intrigued, Bunny let him lead her inside. The gallery was small, the rooms cozy and intimate, each one bathed in soft lighting that accentuated the art on display. The walls were lined with paintings and sketches, ranging from sweeping cityscapes to abstract works bursting with color. It was quiet, with only a few other patrons browsing the collection.
As she moved through the rooms, Bunny felt herself pulled toward a large painting at the back of the gallery. It was a cityscape of Paris at dawn, the colors vivid and warm, capturing the exact feeling she'd had when she first saw the city. Her heart skipped a beat as she realized why it seemed familiar—it was a piece by a local artist she had admired for years, one whose work she'd followed closely online. She had never seen this painting in person, had never even known it was on display anywhere.
Bunny turned to Wolfe, her eyes wide. "How…?"
Wolfe's expression was calm, his hands in his pockets, but there was a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. "I remember you mentioning this artist once. Thought it might be nice to see his work up close."
She stared at him, a mix of disbelief and gratitude swelling in her chest. "Wolfe, I can't believe you remembered that."
"I remember most things," he replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Besides, you light up when you talk about art. It wasn't hard to guess that you'd want to see this in person."
Bunny felt a lump form in her throat, and for once, she was at a loss for words. She hadn't expected this—hadn't expected Wolfe to remember a passing conversation and turn it into something so meaningful. It was a small thing, but in that moment, it felt monumental.
She reached for his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
He smiled, a rare, unguarded smile that softened his usually stoic expression. "Come on," he said, nodding toward the painting. "Let's take a closer look."
They stood side by side, admiring the painting in silence. Bunny felt like she could study it forever—the subtle brushstrokes, the way the artist had captured the light filtering through the buildings. It was as if he had painted not just a scene, but a feeling, a moment frozen in time. She felt Wolfe's hand in hers, his presence grounding her, making the experience all the more meaningful.
As they wandered through the rest of the gallery, Wolfe remained by her side, occasionally asking questions or pointing out details he thought she'd appreciate. Bunny found herself explaining art techniques, her voice animated as she shared the nuances of color theory and composition. Wolfe listened attentively, his gaze never leaving her face, as if her excitement was more interesting than the art itself.
They reached a section displaying smaller sketches, and Bunny's eyes landed on one in particular—a quiet study of a Parisian street corner, its lines simple yet evocative. It captured a kind of intimacy she had always admired, a glimpse into the ordinary beauty of life.
"This one," she murmured, her fingers hovering just above the frame. "It's like he's frozen a single moment, just as it is."
Wolfe tilted his head, studying the sketch with a thoughtful expression. "You're drawn to those moments," he said softly, his voice carrying a note of admiration. "It's what makes you so… alive."
Bunny looked up at him, a smile tugging at her lips. "And here I thought you only saw the world in black and white."
He smirked, shrugging. "Maybe I just see it in shades of you."
They laughed together, the sound soft and warm in the quiet of the gallery. Bunny felt a surge of affection for him, a feeling as expansive and uncontainable as the city around them.
After an hour of exploring the gallery, Wolfe reached into his pocket, pulling out a small envelope. "One last surprise," he said, handing it to her with a sly smile.
Bunny raised an eyebrow, curiosity igniting again as she took the envelope. She opened it to find a pair of tickets to an exclusive exhibition by the same artist, set to open in a few months.
"How did you—" She laughed, shaking her head in amazement. "Wolfe, this is incredible. I didn't even know about this."
He shrugged, looking mildly pleased with himself. "Consider it a preview of our next adventure."
For the rest of the evening, they strolled along the Seine, the city's lights casting a warm glow over the river. They found a small café, where Wolfe ordered wine and Bunny recounted her favorite pieces from the gallery, her excitement spilling over as she described the details she'd noticed. Wolfe listened, occasionally asking questions that revealed just how much he remembered about her passions and interests.
As they finished their drinks, Wolfe stood, offering her his hand. "One more stop?"
Bunny took his hand, her curiosity piqued once again. They walked down a narrow street, winding through the city until they reached the Eiffel Tower. Wolfe led her to a quiet spot on the Champ de Mars, where they could see the tower's lights shimmering against the night sky. Bunny leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder as they watched the lights twinkle.
"You know," she said softly, "for someone who claims not to believe in romance, you're awfully good at it."
He chuckled, wrapping his arm around her. "I think I've been inspired by my surroundings."
They stayed there in comfortable silence, the Eiffel Tower casting its glow over them. Bunny felt a sense of contentment she rarely experienced, a feeling that everything was exactly as it should be. She realized that it wasn't just Paris that had made the night special—it was Wolfe, and the way he seemed to know her heart even better than she did.
In that quiet moment, wrapped in his embrace, Bunny knew that no matter where they went, they would always find magic in each other.
And that was all she needed.