Page 74 of My Best French Wedding

“That was basic human decency. And alsoirrelevant, as it turned out.”

“It’s the thought that counts.”

“Okay, Hallmark.”

“I’m being serious.”

“I know. It’s freaking me out.”

“Sorry.”

“See? That’s even worse.” She poked him in the side. “Snap out of it. Oh shit!” Her stabby finger was replaced with a two-handed death grip on his arm. “The train isstopping.”

“On purpose,” Walter pointed out, keeping his voice level.“We’re not breaking down.” He started to move before noticing Hildy’s stiffness. “Are you coming?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’ll just stay here.”

“I’m sure it’s perfectly safe.”

“Out there? In the cave? What if I get lost—or fall into a hole?”

He didn’t point out that they were parked in a circular chamber slightly larger than a living room, with a single point of egress. “You know I would find you, Hildy.”

She sniffed. “So you could brag about your superior caving skills.”

“Exactly.” He reached for her hand before he could talk himself out of it.

She let him take it, which told Walter… something. Like maybe the distance between them wasn’t all scorched earth and broken trust.

They moved away from the train, shuffling carefully across the dirt floor while listening to their guide describe the prehistoric images of animals that covered the ceiling like constellations. It was a primitive cathedral, full of art that was both spectacular and mysterious. Still holding Hildy’s hand, Walter led them to a quiet spot away from the others where they could crane their necks upward without being trampled.

This is the coolest thing I will ever see. That thought was followed immediately by a sneaky postscript.And I’m seeing it with Hildy.

As if that meant something—like their initials were now carved into the rock, to last a thousand years. He wondered if she felt it too.

“It kind of reminds me of tattoos, only for rocks instead of skin. I’ve been meaning to commission a piece on changing attitudes to body art as a social signifier.” She paused, as if suddenly remembering she wasn’t talking to herself. “Don’t even think about stealing that idea.”

It was so far from the direction of his thoughts, Walter had to pull a mental U-turn, brakes squealing. “I can’t believe you’re worrying about work right now.”

“What should I be thinking about—being trapped under miles of earth? In the dark? Withyou?”

“Good to know I make the short list of your phobias.”

“What areyouthinking about?” It was clearly a challenge, like she expected him to say Art or Death or Free Jazz so she could skewer him for being pretentious.

“You,” he admitted. “And me.”

There was a beat of silence before she replied. “I don’t believe you.”

“Okay.”

He felt her lean closer, not quite making contact with his chest. “What’s your angle?”

“Who says I have one?” Walter heard the edge in his own voice. “Why are we arguing?”

“Because that’s what we do. We even argue about arguing!”

“You are wondering if it is a goat?” their guide interjected from the darkness, pointing his flashlight at a murky spot on the wall. Either he was trained in stealth or they had been too busy bickering to notice his approach.