The next morning at five a.m., he meets me on the quai next to Pont Royal bridge. Ambrose is there, having helped me drag a pile of equipment down the stone stairway from his jeep. “Better suit up,” he tells Siaka. “The Seine’s a bit chilly this early in the day.”

“Wait what?” Siaka looks alarmed. Then he notices the full wetsuit I’m wearing, and the material spread out on the quai, and his expression is split between astonishment and skepticism. “Stand-up paddling on the Seine? Is this even legal?”

“Ambrose called his police contacts, and they gave us special permission as long as we finish before the riverboats start up at sunrise. That gives us two hours.”

Siaka studies the equipment as though it might bite him. “I’m not sure...”

“Come on!” I plead. “There’s your wetsuit. If you’re not too shy, just strip down to your underwear and put it on. I swear I won’t look.”

From his change in expression, I see that challenging Siaka is the best way to motivate him. Turning my back and giving him privacy to get dressed, I sit down on the edge of the quai and pull wetsuit boots over my bare feet.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he mumbles, as I hear him unzip his jeans and shuffle into the neoprene suit.

“Have you ever stand-up paddled?” I call over my shoulder.

“Nope.” There’s a trace of anxiety in his voice.

“You just have to keep your balance,” I reassure him. “Since the paddle boards are big and heavy, they’re hard to flip. It’s easier than it looks.”

“Says the guy who spent the last five years surfing off Brittany’s coast.”

I hear him zip the front of his suit and turn around. “As I remember, you’re the one who set the not-a-date dating rules. It has to be a place you’ve never been to or a thing you’ve never done. This qualifies, no?”

He presses his fingers to his temples. “You’ve got me there. Okay. Let’s do this thing!”

After ten minutes, and some minimal instruction, we are upright on our boards, paddles in hand, rowing our way toward the Eiffel Tower. The sun hasn’t risen, so the tower lights are still on. And as cheesy-touristy as the Eiffel Tower usually feels, seeing it lit up like a steampunk Christmas tree, lights reflecting off the water’s surface, waves rippling all around us...well, it’s downright magical.

Siaka takes no time to get his balance. Within minutes, he is navigating steadily enough to pull up from behind and paddle next to me. “I’m going to focus on the water’s reflection,” he says, “because if I look up, I’ll fall in.”

“Then sit down on the board,” I suggest. “That’s what you do when you want to rest.”