Twenty-Four Hours in Paris
Summary: A quick stop in Paris was supposed to be the beginning of an adventure abroad, but Bella got more than she bargained for.
Rating M (language)
BPOV
7a.m.
"Mesdames et messieurs, le capitaine a allumé le signe de ceinture de sécurité d'attachement…"
Cold air swirled around my face, bringing me out of an already uncomfortable sleep. Catching the end of the announcement, I reached up to close down the overhead air vent and turned to lift the window shade. The rising dawn illuminated a dense fog crawling over the landscape like a blanket covering the earth. Excitement that my eight hour flight was almost over—that in no time at all I would be somewhere new and starting the first leg of my trip—coursed through my veins, and I was suddenly wide awake.
I had begged my dad to let me go on a Semester Abroad trip, convincing him that I would learn so much more about life in four months then I could ever at college back home. I pleaded and reasoned until I was blue in the face. In the end, my mom came through by telling him it would be the best thing that could happen to me.
I owed her big time for that.
The ground rose quickly as we descended onto French soil, and I watched in rapt fascination as the countryside gave way to twisted snarls of closely packed buildings and busy streets. The plan was to stop for a quick overnight in Paris before heading to Ireland to visit family for a few days. My good friend Angela, having spent the summer here as well, was comfortably ensconced in her second semester as a student of Parisian life. The short stay was meant as a jumping off point since we were going to be relatively close to one another—about three hours away.
Always a planner, I had carefully designed my itinerary in advance, making sure I had every minute accounted for before my term started in Cologne. Inside my duffel (the only bag I had) was a scrapbook-of-sorts, full of different pieces of travel books that I had cut and pasted so I could move around Europe without extra weight. The rest of my belongings were being shipped to my host family so I could take a good ten days before the start of school to do a bit of traveling.
The airport was an experience. My French was, I thought, good, but the rapidity of the speech patterns of the natives threw me for a loop; apparently my one year of college level French class wasn't up to par. Still, I was happy to be there and the nerves in my stomach propelled me to keep moving. I would get used to it in time because I had to, but until then I could people-watch and smile like a loony American . . . and hope for the best. I managed to make the train to get myself in Paris proper on time, and I went over the instructions Angela had given me in my head as I watched the scenery blur by.
First up was to hail a cab. Because it was so early in the morning and she didn't want me to get lost on the Metro, I could easily hire a cab to take me to her apartment. I'd insisted that she not meet me, that I would need to get used to traveling on my own and that if I needed her I could always call. Now, as I exited the train station and stood on a real, Paris street, a grin stretched my features and I inhaled . . .
. . . And then choked. An old man stood near me in a trench coat, an air of superiority cloaking him as he exhaled a noxious swirl of cigar smoke. He wasn't making any movement to the front of the taxi line, so I moved up to the first cab. Opening the back door, I sat my bag on the seat and crawled in.
In my best French, I said, "Will you take me to 26 rue Monge in the fifth arrondissement, please?"
The cab driver turned sharply in his seat, a spiteful look on his face. In one quick stream he unleashed a verbal tirade on me that took me completely by surprise. All I could understand was "rude" "American" and "stupid."
Although most of the meaning was lost, the malice that spewed from his mouth made it clear I had done something completely wrong. I prided myself as a strong person, but the tears in my eyes began to build, rivaling Lake Crescent back home. The man continued to rant, waving his hands in the air while getting out of the cab. He opened my door, grabbed me by the arm and threw me and my bag on the sidewalk. Continuing to rave as he walked back around to the driver's side, he got back in and slammed his door to resume his wait.
I sat there on my ass, cursing the giant tears falling down my face. A few leaves swirled in a gentle circle next to me but no one moved. The smoking man never budged to assist me but softly spoke in French, almost in a mumbling tone, I assume to explain my blunder—my ears buzzed with embarrassment, though, and I couldn't understand him.
"Are you all right?"
Another voice, soft and British, cut through the fog, but I sat there dumbfounded still, and unable to turn around. The fact that more people witnessed my humiliation pushed the silent tears to fall even harder.
"Excuse me? Miss, I asked if you were all right."
Swiping at the tears on my face, I wanted to see who was talking to me. When I turned, my gaze fell upon lush, green eyes full of concern. I held fast, mesmerized by their color.
"Uh, yeah," I said, sniffing. "I honestly have no idea what just happened."
I looked back to the first cab and noticed another man running to throw his bags into the cab and get in. The angry troll of a driver hopped out to help the man put his luggage in the trunk.
"I believe that guy had already rented the cab before you came out. He just ran back in to retrieve his bags. The light on top meant the cab was hired."
"Oh."
Incredibly embarrassed by my mistake, I fumbled with the zipper in my bag and refused to look up.
"Can I help you get to where you're going?" said the green-eyed stranger.
Some of my sense came back. "Look, I really appreciate you trying to be nice, but I don't know you from Adam and I'm in a new place."
He laughed and held his hands up. "I'm not a bad bloke, okay? I just want to help. Let me help you get a taxi that isn't already taken, and we can part company good friends."
Because at that point all I wanted to do was get out of there, I wiped my eyes and nodded my head. "Sure, that would be great."
He held out his hand to help me off of the sidewalk, and for whatever reason—distress, or impending madness, whichever—his long, slender fingers wrapped around my hand was comforting and I just wanted to linger there.
Good sense prevailed eventually and I cleared my throat and stepped away. "Thank you."
"Where is it you're going?"
I stumbled over giving him my destination; at the same time, though, I was incredibly thankful for the help. I also couldn't help but stare at him as I gave the name of the street I needed to head to. His features: strong yet soft, noble yet humble, made me feel tongue tied.
He was handsome, very . . . and what a silly thing to think of when I wouldn't see this guy again.
While I chastised myself for being typical and cliché—a regular romance-novel heroine that I usually couldn't stand—he picked up my bag and gestured to the line of taxis. I stood by his side while he leaned in to talk to the driver of the second taxi. In fluent French, he repeated most of what I had tried to say the first time. The driver jumped out of the car and took my bag, giving me a heavily tobacco-stained smile while motioning me into the back seat.
"You shouldn't have any problems. Georges here will take you safely to your destination. Are you going to be all right?"
"Uh-huh, I mean, yes. Yes, thank you. I'm sorry for . . ." I waved my hands. "Thank you so much. I really appreciate what you've done for me."
"Not a problem." His gaze wandered over my face, stopping to hold mine. His lips slowly curled into a smile. "Safe trip, pretty American girl."
I climbed into the back of the cab, still a little wobbly from the exchange. His parting words echoed in my mind, and I smiled.
The driver of the cab repeated the address to me and I nodded my head. Looking at me through the rear view mirror, he said to me in broken English, "That taxi man…uh, crazy" and made a swirling gesture with his finger to the side of his head.
What a way to start a trip to Paris.
9 a.m.
The driver pulled to the curb of a building that had a small bakery on the corner. He jumped out and handed me my bag and with his chubby hand pointed to the doorway where I was to go.
"Merci, beaucoup," I said to him as I handed over his fare. He gave me a nod and turned to get back into his cab.
I stepped into the doorway to find Angela's name listed on the door and pressed the buzzer. There was the sound of another door opening behind the heavy front door and footsteps running toward where I stood. The door flew open and I was wrapped in an enthusiastic hug.
"OhmygodIcan'tbelieveyourhere!"
After we finished hugging, she led me up to her apartment on the second floor. The main room was sparsely decorated with a large wooden table, a few chairs and a worn futon. But, what she lacked in furniture, she made up for in spades with pretty scarves and framed artwork, fresh flowers and colored candles. I threw my bag to the floor and dropped onto the futon. Her whole apartment smelled like baking bread, though, and it was glorious.
"Oh my god, Ange, you live over a bakery!"
"I know. I've put on at least five pounds since I moved here, too. You hungry?"
"Uh, yeah. Maybe you're used to it, but all I can smell is delicousness."
She prepared coffee in a French press, arranging a tray with a few buttery, chocolate croissants and pretty pastries. She sat the tray on the floor next to the futon and collapsed beside me.
"So how was your flight? You obviously made it here okay." She listened while I recounted the rather-boring flight, and gasped when I told her about the taxi-scene this morning.
"He tossed you onto the sidewalk? Oh, honey, I can't believe it. I'm so sorry."
"Well, lucky for me there was a rather handsome British boy who came to my rescue and helped me out."
"Was he hot?"
"Uh, yeah. And the accent? Dee-vine."
"Did you get his name?"
"No, but he had incredible hands."
10 a.m.
Just being able to spend several hours with my friend soothed the frayed ends of my nerves, and soon we were all giggles and loud voices, and making plans to sightsee for a while before heading into the Latin Quarter later that night. My train to La Havre wasn't until seven the next morning so we had plenty of time.
We went to Notre Dame and then walked along the Seine, catching up on what had happened in her time here.
"I just love it here. I could so stay here and continue my studies."
"Then why don't you?" I blew on my coffee and took a sip, sighing in contentment at how wonderful it was.
"Our program only goes a year max, then home. I'm scrambling for opportunities, but I just don't know what to do."
I stopped walking and pulled on her arm. "Uh-huh, right. What's his name?"
She looked down, a tiny, content smile playing along her lips, "Benjamin, but he prefers Ben. He's studying Humanities at Sorbonne. We met about three months ago. He is absolutely amazing."
"French?"
"Mais oui, but he's very different. He's been all over the world, loves the U.S. You'll get to meet him tonight."
"I can't wait."
It was great that she found someone here—maybe, just maybe, I would, too.
4 p.m.
After an amazing afternoon spent at one of the largest markets in Paris, and hitting several crepe stands so I could try every flavor, we headed back to Angela's apartment to rest before our night out. Jet lag and a tummy that was near to bursting made me sleepy, but the excitement of being here kept me from a nap.
Plus, I really, really wanted to experience nightlife in Paris.
"Okay, I'm going to let you get cleaned up first, and then we'll hit up a couple of places before Ben comes to meet us."
I got ready in her small bathroom, helping myself to a little bit of her red lipstick for fun. It changed my face, made me feel like a grown up. My clothes, jeans and a nice black sweater were not as fun, but my choices were limited.
When I walked into the living room there was a tray filled with cheese on the table with a baguette fresh from the bakery downstairs.
"I know what you're doing, chick. Just because you've gained five pounds doesn't mean I need to."
"You need to eat before we drink."
I shrugged—she had a point. "Oui, maman."
Because I was still full from the crepes, I only nibbled a bit, but the bottle of simple table wine was far superior to anything I'd had back at home, and I definitely had my fill of that.
"Oh, I almost forgot," she said, heading into her bedroom.
From my spot at the table I watched her rummage around her bedroom, tossing clothes from her dresser onto the bed and moving like a dervish. The sight made me nostalgic for days long past when we'd been quiet college kids and forging a friendship.
She danced out of her room with something in her hands. A slide of silk, a whiff of perfume, and there was a beautiful vintage scarf around my neck.
"I found this at the market a couple of weeks back and I thought it'd suit you." She turned her head this way and that. "I was right."
I glanced down, saw the lovely, vintage-looking scarf threaded with several shades of green. "It's beautiful, thank you so much."
"Only the best for my friend."
6 p.m.
Arm-in-arm we walked up rue Monge to a small square. On all sides were small shops and a mass amount of buildings comfortably tucked together. She led me first to 'le Raquin Chagrin'. We took a seat at a small table near the window and the bartender greeted us with a wave.
"How is it you know everyone around here?" I asked.
She shrugged, and the gesture was so . . . French. "Well, I am, after all, still a student living on a budget. This area has a bunch of great little spots that don't break the bank, so we tend to stay around here."
The bartender brought us over a small carafe with two glasses full of white milky liquid.
"What's this?"
"Ricard. Salut, mon ami."
We clinked our glasses together and I took a drink; the smooth taste of licorice hit my tongue. She lifted her glass and said," Welcome to Paris."
8 p.m.
After a few hours of heavy conversation and details about Ben, we decided to head over to a little place up the road. A green store front noting the words 'Le Bateau Ivre' was our destination, and the stone architecture that greeted us inside drew my attention.
"This is beautiful," I said. "Every place we go is better than the last."
"Yeah, this city . . . it's the best. I really hope I can find a way to stay."
"I can see why," I murmured, and I hoped, for her sake, that she could.
A stairwell curled down into an old wine cellar where patrons sat out of the fray of the upstairs crowd, and we headed for the bar. Another barman greeted my friend with familiarity, and I giggled, nudging her in the arm.
"You're so popular."
"Shut it."
Without asking, he handed us a couple of beers. There were more people in here than the last bar and as I looked around, noting how full the place was. Angela kept standing on her toes, checking to see if Ben had arrived.
It wasn't long before she exhaled a loud breath, and called, "Allo, Ben!"
I turned around to meet Angela's boyfriend, but instead was greeted with a face I had first saw twelve hours ago. My mind swirled until I was light-headed.
Angela threw her arms around the neck of a tall dark-haired man—who was standing next to my green-eyed stranger.
He seemed just as taken aback as I was, but he recovered quicker. A slow, smug smile made his face light up as we stared at each other; my cheeks heated as I recalled the way we had met.
At least I wasn't on the ground this time.
"Oh, Bella, sorry. This is Ben," Angela said, giggling as she squeezed the arm he had wrapped around her waist.
He nodded. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Bella. Angela has only told me nice things about you." His accent was lovely, and I understood when he grinned why my friend was so head-over-heels for this guy. "And this is Edward."
I recovered my composure while Angela leaned forward to kiss Edward on both cheeks.
He turned back to me. "Nice to meet you, Bella."
He surprised me by leaning in placing a kiss on both of my cheeks as well. I awkwardly tried to return the gesture, not used to the simple social ritual. I couldn't help but notice his scent as he moved away, and did my best to not lean forward into its wake. I started to touch my face to feel where his lips had lingered on my cheeks, but I caught myself in time to avoid further embarrassment.
"Would you like another beer?" he said, offering me a save as the corners or his mouth rolled into a smirk.
Caught again ogling, I replied. "Sure, thanks."
He moved toward the bar and I turned to spill to Ange, but she was wrapped up completely in Ben.
Edward returned from the bar and handed me my drink. "So you made it to Angela's unscathed, I presume."
"Yes, I did. The driver was quite nice actually."
"Kind of odd, really. I didn't make the connection when you gave me the address."
"Yeah, small world." I looked away and took another gulp of liquid courage.
"Are you here visiting for awhile?"
"Actually, this is rather a quick stop for me. I leave again tomorrow to head to Ireland for a few days, then I'm off to London for the weekend before school starts in Cologne. I'm enrolled in the same program as Angela, just in Germany."
Realizing I was rambling, I cleared my throat and took another sip of beer. The mere proximity to him made my pulse race.
His looked somewhat disappointed. "Kind of a strange itinerary."
"It's just the way my Rail Pass works. I'm milking it for all it's worth."
"So you'll be close, then?"
"Yes," I said. "I will."
11 p.m.
Over the next couple of hours, I was regaled with the stories of how the three of them met. I discovered Edward was here studying Literature at Sorbonne. Angela had met Edward first and he ultimately introduced her to Ben. Edward was incredibly funny and, as the drinks continued to flow, I couldn't deny how attracted I was to him. Our eyes would catch and linger, slight brushes of a hand or leg only added to my growing attraction.
Eventually the drinks made their presence known, and I excused myself to head to the bathroom. My eyes were hyper-bright as I looked at my reflection in the mirror, and I fished the lipstick Angela had insisted I borrow from my pocket.
When I returned to our table Edward was gone, Angela and Ben were wrapped up in each other and oblivious, and a pang of disappointment pulled my mouth into a frown as I looked around for him.
Through the window, I spied him standing outside.
"Be right back," I said into Angela's ear. Picking up my drink, I moved through the crowd to the entrance, and stepped outside.
Chances were I would never see him again, but, then again, I'd busted those odds already.
He turned to watch me walk toward him, casually leaning into a doorway of the building next door. I shivered, unsure if it was the temperature drop or his intense stare that made me do so.
"It's a little loud in there," I said, moving to stand opposite him.
"That it is."
"How long have you been here?" I asked, moving a piece of hair out of my face.
"This is my third year. I will have completed my studies by next spring."
"Lucky, I still have two years left."
He grinned. "That's just longer until you have to grow up and join the real world."
"That's not true. I might not have a house and a career and kids and a dog, yet, but I like to think I'm part of the real world right now."
"Feisty one, you are."
I guffawed. "Thanks, Yoda."
"The girl knows Star Wars. Impressive."
As we'd talked we'd slowly moved closer together. I'd noticed that, over the course of the night, knowing smiles and furtive glances had been exchanged, and I realized that maybe, just maybe, he was interested, too.
"You have beautiful eyes, so warm," he said softly.
I watched his lips wondering what they felt like.
I had nothing to lose.
I placed my hand on his arm, "I need to thank you, again, for everything you did for me this morning."
Moving my hand up to rest on his shoulder, I stood on my tiptoes to place a small kiss on the very place I'd wondered about all night. His lips were soft against mine, a little cold from the wind, but still nice.
My body suffused with warmth, I smiled and stood back a bit.
"Wow. I'll take a thank you like that anytime. Anything else you need help with?" His fingers played with the end of my scarf, wrapping around the end.
"Well, sir," I teased, feeling bold from all of the alcohol, "Maybe there's more where that came from."
He took another drag on his cigarette, slowly blowing the smoke from between his lips.
I backed out into the cobblestone street to lure him away from the small crowd standing outside. The scarf slid off of my neck, but kept us bound by a ribbon of green. I turned to head to the small square across the way; there was a small fountain that looked like a good place to sit. There was a light tug on the end of my scarf before it fell free.
Just as I stepped onto the street I heard the loud engine of a car speeding toward me. In slow motion I turned toward the bright headlights and froze.
Hands as strong as steel grabbed underneath my arm and pulled me back to safety, and into a wall of flesh and muscle.
"For fucks sake," he said, chest heaving. "You scared the livin' shite out of me."
My knees gave way, fear replacing shock as I realized what, in my state of drunkenness and flirting, I'd not thought about before. The street around us wasn't exactly packed with cars, but it did have some traffic. I slumped against him.
"Holy crap."
"Did I hurt you?" he asked, letting go of my arm and steadying me with an arm around my waist. "Here, can you stand?"
"You saved me again." Instead, I kissed him again, my body zinging with want when his lips pressed harder against mine, all hurried and passionate His hands reached up to hold my face on either side, fingers threading their way through my hair. Even though the kiss started out intense, his touch softened and his tongue caressed mine gently.
In that moment, I forgot all time and space. Another car whizzed by, honking as it passed.
He put his arm around my waist, guiding us back to the sidewalk and out of the street, and a small group of people passing by stepped around us. He put a hand on my face and stroked his thumb over my cheek.
"Are you sure you are all right?"
"Yes. I'm just… the jet lag, the alcohol—"
"I don't want anything to happen to you," he said, interrupting. I looked up and felt swallowed by his intense stare. "I don't know what it is, but I felt this need to protect you."
"I'll be more careful." I whispered. I reached up to touch his cheek and his head tilted into my hand. Closing my eyes, a wishful vision spun through my head of us . . . together.
"Can I ask you something?"
It took a second, but I eventually said, "Sure?"
"You're not here for long. Would you like to see Paris at night? See the lights?" He ran his fingers through his hair. "I would really, really like to spend some more time with you before you leave."
I was caught off guard. Normally, the thought of spending time with a complete stranger would send me running for the hills—but, I argued with myself, he wasn't exactly a stranger. Angela knew him, and her opinion of people was almost always spot on.
What I did know, though, was that he was kind; that much was evident in the fact that he helped a complete stranger in a state of distress. He was funny and insightful. Most of all, he was incredibly gorgeous. I'd be insane to not spend time with him.
"Too much?" he asked.
"No. Not at all. I think . . . I think I'd like that."
"Good. Let's not waste another moment, then."
He bent down to kiss me again and I was lost in the way his lips felt upon mine . . . until a throat cleared behind us. I turned to see Angela and Ben standing behind us.
"I, uh, was just coming to find you," I blurted out.
"I see that. Not a problem," she said, snickering.
"Angela, may I have a word with you for a sec?" Edward said.
"Sure," she replied. He placed a hand on her back as they stepped off to the side for a moment.
"So, I see you are enjoying your evening here, yes?" Ben said to me, smiling.
I blushed a little but replied, "It's been rather eventful, and, yes, I am having a fabulous time."
He smiled at me knowingly, toeing the curb.
Angela stepped back over to us and linked her arm through mine, walking me across the street to the little square.
"Someone just requested to spend the rest of your time here with you and safely deliver you to the train in the morning, are you all right with that?"
My insides shivered at the prospect. I scrunched my brows. "Would you be annoyed with me?"
"No. Edward's a great guy and has promised no funny stuff. As long as you'll promise to spend time with me after you get settled, I have no problem with it. You're in good hands."
"Yes, the hands . . . "I trailed off.
We giggled and I told her I'd return in the morning to collect my bag.
1 A.M.
I wasn't tired now. I was completely energized and excited about spending time with the person walking next to me. We'd headed to the Seine after leaving our friends, and the sight was so much . . . more than it had been earlier in the day. His hand was around mine, warm and sure and perfect.
"It's a beautiful view," I said as we found a bench in full view of Notre Dame. He grabbed my arm, pulling me onto his lap, and I sighed contentedly as he bundled me underneath his jacket.
"Yes, the view is absolute perfection from here," he said looking up at me.
He brushed a stray lock of hair out of my face and I leaned down to kiss him, sliding my hands into the hair at the nape of his neck.
4 A.M.
The last couple of hours were spent walking, kissing and talking. I was so wrapped up in him—the feeling of him—that I never wanted to leave the bubble we'd created. It was weird, and thrilling, and something straight out of a movie, that I could meet a complete stranger less than twenty-four hours before and still feel like I had known him my entire life. I wanted to know more, wanted to taste and experience things with this incredible man standing in front of me.
And yet I knew that our night had to end; I had plans that carried me away from him. I turned to look at the Eiffel Tower and knew at the top of the hour it would come to life again with glittering lights.
"Amazing," I mused aloud. "I really wish I didn't have to go."
He reached up and turned my face back to his. His face was so intent, like he wanted to say something but either couldn't or wouldn't. His eyes traced my features, and then softened when his thumb ran over my cheek and down over my bottom lip.
"I wish you didn't either."
Strange how a heart can ache when it realizes fairy tales aren't the stuff of real life.
6 A.M.
I buzzed Angela's door at roughly 6:20 a.m. It took a few tries, but eventually the door swung open to reveal a bleary-eyed girl who apparently had just gotten out of bed. She handed my bag to Edward and proceeded to kiss me on both cheeks.
"Safe trip, my girl. Let me know when you've arrived in Ireland." She stood back with one eye scrunched, looking between Edward and me. "You got her, Cullen?"
"Yes, I certainly do."
7 A.M.
Though I'd known it was coming, when we arrived at Gare d'Ouest, reality began to sink in that our time was almost over. We found the correct departure gate; boarding was already in process so Edward walked me directly to the platform.
My heart was so full but so, so torn. I was elated that I'd met someone new, someone so right and perfect for me, and absolutely heartbroken that I had to leave. What I would give to be able to spend more time with him.
Still, I had to believe that this was the way things were supposed to happen. He took my face in his hands and lowered his lips to mine. This time, the kiss was full of reverence and care. He simply took my breath away and I wanted to remember this feeling as long as I lived.
"I need to let you go," he said between kisses, "to get settled on the train."
"Yeah," I said, reaching up to smooth my fingers across his collar. "I should . . . go now."
His thumb caressed my cheek and he leaned in to kiss my forehead.
"I don't want to say goodbye." I said, closing my eyes.
"Then don't."
He squeezed my hand, making my heartbeat drum practically out of my chest. Tears formed in my eyes as he let go and simply walked away from me.
It was the best way, I thought, as I took a window seat on the train. I hadn't wanted to say goodbye, and, somehow, I guessed he hadn't either.
There was something there between us, and I had to hold on to hope that it would work out as it was supposed to. Three hours wasn't that far of a distance, and I would be returning to Paris once I got settled to see Angela—somehow, this thing between us would flourish if it was meant to be.
The train was nice, though, and I slumped in to my seat, glancing out at the platform to see if I could spot him one last time—but I didn't see him anywhere.
Leaning my head back, I closed my eyes, so incredibly tired but at the same time ecstatic. My fingers smoothed over bruised lips, and I swore that I could still feel his mouth on mine; touching, searching, exploring. The rims of my eyes were wet and hot.
Shifting around a little, I hoped I could relax enough to get some sleep. Passengers were still bustling about and stowing their items overhead as I ran back through the memories of such an incredible night.
"This seat taken?"
My eyes flew open at the already familiar, lovely accent. "What are you doing here? I mean—"
"Couldn't let you go off on your own. Might get thrown off of the train or something."
"You think?" I asked incredulously, my face almost splitting from the wide grin.
"Well, we'll just have to find out, together."
FIN