On our second day in Paris, we walked along a street of fashion boutiques. Hadley fell in love with a pair of suede ballet flats with heart cutouts that she saw in a store window. We were like Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck in Roman Holiday, except we were in Paris staying at Le Coq. When it rained, we went into a bakery for coffee and she talked about the shoes. I listened. “I have never seen shoes like that before,” she said. “And suede is quite durable. Very easy to clean.”

When the rain stopped, we went to a park where other couples were strolling up and down the gravel paths. The air was fresh after all that water. With the same confidence that led me to believe in A Very Freaky Chicken, I stood and told Hadley I had left something in the bakery. “Wait for me beside that carousel,” I said, pointing. “Choose a horse for when I get back.”

If I ran, I knew it would only take five minutes to reach the river, and the shoe shop wasn’t far beyond that on Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré.

On our last evening, we discovered a flight of old stone steps that led down to the Seine. We found a place to sit on a low wall, then took turns ripping flames of croissant from a paper bag. There were metal hoops in the wall once used for tying boats. We could feel the coolness of stone on our legs. Hardly able to wait any longer, I rummaged in my shoulder bag for the bundle wrapped in rose-colored tissue.

“What’s that?” she asked. I think she knew but wanted to make sure it wasn’t something useless like soap.

When I gave it to her, she just looked at me with the package in her hands.

“I thought we agreed no gifts, Max?”

“It’s just something small.”

What Hadley didn’t know was that our trip to Paris had really been paid for by A Very Freaky Chicken, not the literati of Bulgaria.

“But I didn’t get you anything except that stupid watering can.”

“There’s no need. My literary career has been endorsed by the sixteenth largest country in Europe.”

She softened at my look of satisfaction and carefully unwrapped the bundle to reveal suede shoes with heart cutouts.

“Put them on,” I said. And she did, wrapping her old shoes carefully in the tissue because they were special, too, in how they had brought us to this moment.

Nearby, under the bridge, some homeless men were sitting on blankets. A glass bottle was being picked up and put down. Instead of being afraid, I felt these men were a natural part of us and delighted in their steady voices and laughter like low bubbling. The river, too, was soft and magnificent.