The streets of Paris were alive, buzzing with chatter and the aroma of freshly baked pastries wafting from corner cafés. Emerson’s hand never left mine as we walked along the cobblestone streets, the glow of streetlamps casting a romantic hue over everything.
"I don’t even know where to start," I admitted, my eyes darting from one charming boutique to another. "Everything here feels... magical."
He smiled, his gaze soft. "That’s the plan, Mina. Tonight, you’re not overthinking. You’re not planning. You’re living."
Our first stop was a quaint little pâtisserie tucked into the corner of a quiet street. The glass display case glimmered with rows of delicate macarons, tarts, and éclairs. I practically pressed my face against the glass, unable to decide.
"One of everything?" Emerson teased.
