She takes him to Paris the week Serena bought a pregnancy test and Chuck held hands with some model Blair is sure she saw at Fashion Week in a tin bikini.
Blair wants to don disguises and cut her hair. Buy them new international phones that no one else has the numbers for and disappear. But he talks her into settling for a new hat and some highlights the day before they board the plane.
Somewhere over the Atlantic she knows Dan is exhausted, but he tells her, “Sure, let’s watch another,” when her DVD jumps back to the main menu. She puts her feet in his lap and presses play, and pets his hair when he yawns.
He’ll stumble out of the airport at 6:09 am Parisian time, not used to this journey she’s done over a dozen times, and it’s sweet seeing him so bedraggled and worn out. “We have to sight see after we get to your dad’s?” he asks, and he sounds like a little boy.
“You’ll thank me.”
“I thought you wanted to be incognito. Shouldn’t we just stay inside?”
“It’s your first time in the city of lights and you’ll ruin the whole trip if you sleep now. I’ll get you coffee and croissants.”
He makes a noise that’s vaguely animalistic and slumps against her in the taxi, eyes bleary.
She wants to wait to kiss him until his mouth is bitter with the coffee and rich with butter, but the weight of him against her feels too good. Comforting.
Blair tips his chin up with her index finger, pressing her lips against his and he sighs, curling himself further into her. It’s a short kiss, and then he’s kind of nuzzling the place between her neck and shoulder. “French coffee is better than American coffee, right?”
“Good. It makes sense though. French kissing is better too.”
She can’t stifle the laugh that bursts out of her, and he chuckles along her pulse.