Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83358 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83358 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Lucky follows me in silence to the ticket booth, our steps echoing against the old pavement. Inside, the air smells faintly of machine grease and worn wood, making me feel nostalgic.
The line to the Duquesne Incline is practically nonexistent. Just two older couples and a college-aged pair who look like they’re halfway through falling in love. We stand shoulder to shoulder and when Lucky’s fingers brush mine, I don’t pull away.
We board the cable car—the old red one with polished wood benches and the Duquesne Incline logo flaking in gold paint near the front. The wooden floor creaks under our weight when we step inside.
As the car ascends, the incline clicks and groans to life beneath us. The steep, thirty-degree climb sends a thrill through me, even though I’ve done this ride dozens of times.
We watch the city unfurl below us like a glowing map. The night sky is all velvety darkness, broken only by the golden spines of the bridges and the shimmer of the city dancing along the rivers. The skyscrapers glimmer like a crown, windows blinking in patterns that feel almost alive. Far off at the Point, I see where the Allegheny and Monongahela meet to become the Ohio, their dark waters stitched together by silver light.
The higher we climb, the quieter everything gets. The clatter of the tracks softens, and it feels like we’re being lifted above the noise and into sacred air. When I was a kid, I told my mom it felt like I was floating inside a snow globe.
“Holy shit,” Lucky murmurs as we stand at the glass, watching the ground slip away as we rise. “That’s incredible.”
“This view gets me every time.”
“It’s both monumental and peaceful.”
I turn my head to him and his gaze comes to mine. “That’s a great way to describe it. I sometimes come here when I need to get out of my head.”
“I can see how a place like this makes the noise not so loud.”
When we reach the top, the operator unlocks the car with a cheerful “Have a good night.”
We walk toward the overlook railing, where the whole of Pittsburgh’s skyline opens before us. The air is crisp and the river is lit with colorful sparkles cast by the lights from waterfront buildings.
Lucky leans on the railing beside me, arms folded as he looks out over the city. “You know what’s weird?” he says softly. “I was really nervous during the game.”
I blink at him in confusion. “Why?”
“Because this… you… it’s honestly a little uncomfortable.” He glances over, eyes lit more by emotion than reflection. My breath freezes and I wonder if this is a kiss-off. “But it also feels like the best thing I’ve stumbled into in a long time.”
My heart does a slow, somersaulting flip before it expands like a beach ball.
“You’re not alone in that,” I say, unable to form a more coherent sentence.
We stand there, close but not touching, as the gears clank from the descending incline.
Then Lucky reaches out and takes my hand, weaving his fingers through mine. He pulls me gently toward him until our bodies align. His other hand rises to my cheek, thumb brushing the edge of my jaw like he’s memorizing it.
Such a gentle touch from a man who’s work can be brutal and rough.
And then he kisses me.
It’s not like the kiss at my door. Not even like the one on my couch. This one is deeper, slower. Like he’s telling me something important without saying a word.
Like he’s affirming the words he just said.
His mouth moves against mine with quiet confidence and I’ve never felt more connected to someone.
When he finally pulls back, our foreheads touch, and the space between us hums.
A playful grin splits his face. “Let’s do a TikTok. Update everyone on how the date is going.”
“But it’s not technically one of the four dates,” I say.
“Correct. This is an unofficial date.”
His enthusiasm is a little infectious. “Okay… go for it.”
“Nope… on your channel,” he says, and I accept his challenge.
We’re standing near the edge of the overlook, the city behind us like a postcard. I lift my phone in selfie mode, switching to video, and give Lucky a quick glance. “Okay, say hi to the people,” I tease.
He slides in behind me, his arms wrapping snugly around my waist, chin resting lightly on my shoulder.
“Hi, people,” he says, voice low and warm. Then, straight into the lens, “Just want to say this woman right here”—he gives me a little squeeze—“brought me up to this insane view after a very tough loss tonight.”
I blink, surprised he’s admitting that on camera. But he’s not done.
“I was in my head. Pissed off. Frustrated. But she knew exactly what I needed—quiet, perspective, and her.”
His lips brush my temple, but his eyes stay on the screen. “And I don’t know if she realizes it, but this—just standing here with her, breathing in the city and not talking about stats or contracts or any of the bullshit—this is one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time.”