Third Person Point of View
As both Timber and Lance get ready for their flight, they couldn't hide the fact that they were both about to jump out of their seats with excitement or shake with nervousness.
Lance slowly, but confidently, grabs Timber's hand as they enter the plane. Thoughts swirled around both their minds, not being able to present themselves clearly.
He couldn't stop thinking of how soft and small her hand was, fitting perfectly into his. That's all he thought about as they sat next to each other in a random isle.
Timber couldn't stop thinking of how perfect Paris would be. She would have Lance show her around and excitement just continued to bubble inside her as she laid her head on Lance's shoulder.
The flight was long. Timber had slept on Lance's chest as he absentmindedly stroked her hair. Lance watched as her eyes fluttered while she dreamt. No one knows what about, but as her eyes fluttered, Lance couldn't help but notice how calm she looked. Her long brown eyelashes were laying softly on her freckled cheeks. He couldn't think she was anymore perfect.
"You really like her?" the man sitting next to Timber and Lance asked.
"I love her, but she doesn't have a clue. We are best friends," Lance replies, finally looking up from Timber's sleeping face.
"Aw, that's how my wife and I were. I was hopelessly in love with her. Unfortunately, I had to risk my friendship to see if she loved me back. In the end, it worked out," the old man told Lance.
Lance smiled. "That's exactly what I'm planning to do. I have three weeks in the City of Love to do it."
"Just remember one thing, son," the man said, staring ahead. "Don't give her a reason not to like you. Eyes only on her, ask her how she's doing, everything's about her."
"I'll remember that, thank you," Lance mumbled with a grateful smile.