We hardly talk for the next hour as we take in the view, but it’s not an awkward silence. Not for me, at least. For me, it’s just an awed reverence for the moment as I try to memorize every detail—the sun sinking into the Parisian horizon, the feel of his fingers threaded through mine, and the thrill of everything below looking so small. It’s crowded up here, but I barely notice anyone else, and when he pulls my back to his front, we might as well be the only two people in the world.

“Shay? Shayleigh, are you okay?”

I turn and blink at Steve.

His eyes go wide when he sees Easton. “Are you . . . You aren’t really . . . I mean, you can’t be . . .”

Easton smiles easily as he faces Steve. He extends a hand while keeping one arm around my waist. “Easton Connor. Nice to meet you.”

Steve blinks at me and then at Easton. “Holy shit. I knew you two texted sometimes, but I didn’t know . . .” His eyes dart back and forth between us like he’s trying to solve some complicated mathematical equation. And I get it. Of all the girls Easton could choose to have in his arms in Paris, I don’t fit. I’m just a chubby, awkward nerd girl who followed him around when I was a kid. I’m not anything like what he deserves—not like the popstar who’s been hanging on his arm at L.A. bars. I’m just . . . me. Which is why I know tonight is special. It’s why I know this moment is a singular gift and not the beginning of something new.

Easton pulls me closer to his side. “And your name?”

“I’m . . . uh, I’m Steve.”

At first, I wonder if Easton will remember. Steve’s been a huge part of my life during the last two and a half years, but Easton’s never even met him. I see the moment the name clicks into place for him, see the recognition in his eyes as they go wide. “Ah. I see.”

“I’m such a big fan. Huge. I can’t even believe I’m meeting you right now.”

Part of me finds a moderate amount of satisfaction in his stammering, but the rest of me just wants him to leave so I can return to my happy bubble—my dreamy evening with Easton.

“It’s always good to meet a fan,” Easton says with a nod. “Have a nice night.” He leads me away, dropping his arm from around my waist only to take my hand again.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“For what?”

I shrug. “For making it look like we’re together. For making him wonder if maybe he gave up a good thing.”