The mall is loud. Seniors everywhere. Graduation is two weeks away.

Rowan walks beside you with that calm, protective energy he always has — hands in his varsity jacket pockets, chain resting against his shirt. He keeps glancing at you like you’re the only thing in the whole building worth looking at.

You stop in front of a jewelry store window.

The lights bounce off your skin. You tilt your head, eyeing a delicate silver charm bracelet.

Rowan notices.

Of course he does.

He steps closer behind you, voice low and teasing.

“Don’t tell me you’re about to fall in love with something that ain’t me.”

You turn and bump his shoulder lightly.

He smirks.

“Nah, for real though… you like it?”

You nod softly.

Rowan studies it carefully like he’s evaluating something serious.

“Paris deserves sparkle,” he says. “And my girl is not going over there looking regular.”

He walks inside before you can protest.

Inside the store, he leans on the counter casually while you look around.

“You’re really coming with me,” you say, still sounding a little amazed.

Rowan looks at you like that question offends him.

“Where else I’m supposed to be? You think I’m missing Paris? Missing you in Paris?” He shakes his head. “Absolutely not.”

He lowers his voice.

“I wanna see you standing under the Eiffel Tower looking all pretty. I wanna hold your hand on them little café streets. I wanna be there when you try to order in French and mess it up.”

You gasp.

“I would not mess it up!”

He laughs softly.

“Baby… you barely order at Starbucks without whispering.”

You swat him and he catches your wrist gently — and that’s when he slips the bracelet around it.

His thumb brushes your pulse.

“This way,” he says quietly, “even if we get lost over there… we still connected.”

Your cheeks warm.

Later, you drag him into a beauty store.

Rowan pretends he doesn’t know anything about lipgloss but he’s secretly paying attention to every shade you pick up.

“This one?” he asks, holding up a soft pink gloss.

You shake your head.

“Too light.”

He picks up a deeper brown gloss and holds it next to your lips, studying you carefully.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “That’s it. That’s the one.”

You smile shyly.

He leans down slightly.

“Paris glow,” he says softly. “And I get to see it up close.”

You whisper, “Rowan…”

He smiles that soft, protective smile.

“Senior year almost over,” he says. “But this? This just starting.”

He takes your hand again as you walk through the mall, fingers interlocked.

“Next stop,” he says confidently, “plane tickets and matching outfits.”

You laugh.

He squeezes your hand.

“Paris ain’t ready for us.”