It wasn’t meant to be a date, not officially. But between Marc’s gentle glances and Nathaniel’s quiet way of gravitating toward your side, it had started to feel like one.

You wandered the streets of Montmartre together, the three of you brushing shoulders as you walked, stopping to peek into art stores and secondhand bookstores. Nathaniel kept finding things he had to show you both—a pin shaped like a fountain pen, a sketch of two figures holding hands beneath an umbrella, a red scarf. Marc, in turn, would softly point out little things like flowers growing in sidewalk cracks or a storefront painted lilac and gold.

There were moments of shyness—Marc’s fingers lingering just a little too long when he handed you a sticker he thought you’d like. Nathaniel nudging your shoulder gently with his when you said something funny, as if laughing wasn’t enough.

At a tiny comic shop, the three of you picked matching pins shaped like stars. You wore them immediately, one for each of you. No declarations, no pressure—just something shared. Something quiet.

The afternoon carried on with crepes in the park, talking about favorite stories, making dumb bets (“Bet you can’t draw me in ten seconds,” Nathaniel had challenged; Marc tried, and failed beautifully). You were sprawled on the grass when Marc turned to you both with a thoughtful hum.

—“There’s this place we haven’t gone yet...” he said, smiling just a little. “The Dupain-Cheng bakery. Her parents always give us a discount if we ask nicely.”

Nathaniel sat up, brushed some grass off his jeans, and gave you both a crooked smile.

—“Only if we stop by that shop on the corner after,” he said. “The one with the matching rings in the window.”