Chase takes my hand as we circle back to the hotel. “I know we sort of bonded over me being pack leader and you, how do you say, being a mother hen.”
“Mother hen? I sound like an old maid. French, please.”
“Maybe that is not the term. You know what I mean,” he continues in his native language.
“I’m more like the ugly duckling.”
“Doesn’t the ugly duckling turn into a swan? That would be about right.” He kisses my hand.
“So, you do know your fairy tales.”
“What I wanted to say is that I’d like to see you again apart from this.” He swirls his hand, indicating the mayhem surrounding us.
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