NINETEEN
The train ride from Paris to Meaux always felt familiar, yet somehow new each time. I watched the countryside roll past the window, a patchwork of golden fields and green pastures dotted with grazing cattle. This route had been ingrained in me since childhood—countless trips with my nose pressed against the same glass, waiting for the first glimpse of the Meaux Cathedral’s spire that signaled I was almost home. No matter how much this scenery pulled me in, I couldn’t stop thinking about Luca. This morning! I wanted him to stay. I wanted him to wreck me. I hated his phone for buzzing.
When the train pulled into the station, I stepped out onto the platform and took in a deep breath. The air here was different, carrying the faintest hint of lavender. Meaux was quieter than Paris, more intimate—a place where life seems to slow down, where time stretched out in a comforting embrace.
As I walked through the familiar streets, memories flooded back. The cobblestones beneath my feet hadn’t changed, nor had the rows of pastel-colored houses with flower boxes overflowing with geraniums. I passed the old bakery where my father used to buy me croissants every Sunday morning. The scent of butter and sugar wafted through the open door, and I could picture him there, smiling as he handed me the warm pastry. I was so excited each time, no matter how many Sundays we did it. Just down the road was the small square where I used to play with Amelia and other children, our laughter echoing under the watchful eyes of our parents.
Without even thinking about it, I found myself walking toward our old home. The stone cottage was still there, just as charming as I remembered, with ivy creeping up the walls and a wooden door painted a soft shade of blue. It looked almost exactly the same, except for some changes in the garden, which has been replanted with a riot of colorful flowers. I could hear kids playing in the backyard and remembered the endless summers I spent playing there.
The sun reached its highest point as I walked toward the Meaux Cathedral. The majestic Gothic structure loomed above the town, its intricate spires reaching for the sky. I’ve always been in awe of this place, a spot my father and I often visited. I remembered us sitting together and how we marveled at the stained glass windows casting colorful patterns on the stone floor. Today, I entered alone, the heavy wooden doors creaking as they swing open. Inside, the cathedral was cool and dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of incense.
I walked down the aisle, my footsteps echoing in the vast, empty space. Finding a seat near the front, where the light from the stained glass windows bathed me in a kaleidoscope of colors, I closed my eyes and let myself be enveloped by the silence. Memories of my father were close to my heart, and for a moment, it felt like he’s right here with me.
After a while, I rose and left the cathedral, feeling a sense of peace. I’m not a religious person, but I wanted to be in the same space I knew my dad had been. It kind of felt like a hug. I wandered through the town square, where the weekly market has just closed. Vendors were packing up their stalls, chatting amicably as they loaded unsold goods into their carts or vans. The smell of roasted chestnuts lingered in the air, reminding me of the times my we would buy me a warm bag to share as we strolled through the market.
As the afternoon light softened the edges of the buildings and casted long shadows across the cobblestones, I made my way back to the train station. Meaux was no longer my home, but it’s still a part of me, woven into the fabric of who I am. And as the train carried me back to Paris, I know I’ll return to Meaux again, to the place where my story began. Where the memories of my father linger and are both haunting and soothing.
As I walked through the lobby of the hotel, I couldn’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if Luca hadn’t answered his phone. Except now, he’s all I could think about—without even finishing what we started.
I paused by the elevators, my heart raced as the doors slid open. The silence pressed in and filled the space around me when I stepped inside. Is Luca still here? Or did that urgent call take him away? I don’t even know if he’s left Paris? I couldn’t shake the feeling that something unfinished still lingered between us. I wanted less between us.
The elevator hummed as it rose, my fingers tapped anxiously against the metal railing. The doors opened to my floor and I stepped into the hallway, heart pounding as I neared my room. I walked over to the bed, dropped my bag and collapsed. The softness did nothing to ease the knot of anticipation tightening in my chest. I just stared at the ceiling, my mind spinning. What if he’s gone? And yet, the possibility of seeing him again was like a live wire beneath my skin. My body remembered him. Even if nothing happened, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Luca has already claimed a part of me. What’s worse is that I know I want him to finish what he started.
A sharp knock on the door startled me and my heart lurched into my throat. I sat up quickly. Eyes wide. My pulse raced. For a moment, I just stared at the door, the silence pressed in around me.
Did I just will Luca to my door?
Another knock, firmer this time.
I swung my legs off the bed. Stood a little too fast. My body moved before my mind could catch up. My hand gripped the door handle and I paused. I took in a breath before pulling it open.
Luca stood there, filling the doorway like he owned every space he stepped into—to be fair, he kind of did. His hair was still a little tousled, his dark eyes locked on mine with an intensity that sent a rush of heat straight through me. He didn’t say a word at first. Neither did I.
I should ask him why he left so abruptly? Was everything okay? Ask why he’s here now—but the words are caught in my throat. All I could do is take in the way he’s looking at me, like nothing else in the world existed except for the two of us.
“We need to stop meeting like this. It’s so dramatic,”
I teased him. I was awkward because this wasn’t my typical situation with men.
“I tipped the front desk kid to ring me when he saw you come in,”
he said, his voice gravelly. There’s an edge to it, like he’s holding back something he wanted to say. Or do.
I swallowed, my hand tightening on the door. “Stalker. I wouldn’t have profiled you as one, but I like it.”
He stepped forward, closing the space between us without asking permission. The doorframe was the only thing keeping him from fully pressing against me. “I didn’t know where you went or have any way to reach you. I asked the guy for your number…he refused. Understandable.”
“Give me your phone.”
I held out my hand, my voice soft but firm. Luca’s eyes flicked to mine, curiosity and a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he slipped his phone into my hand without a word.
I started a text to myself. I felt him watching me, so I quickly lifted his phone to snap a picture of him. “For memories,”
I said, grinning as I sent it. I held the phone out, and he stepped closer, taking it back, his fingers brushing against mine. The simple touch sent a thrill down my spine.
As he slipped the phone into his pocket, he reached up, his fingers grazing my cheek before tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. His touch was featherlight, but it set every single one of nerves on edge. My skin tingling where his thumb lingered near my temple. His eyes locked onto mine, as if he was searching for something. An invitation, maybe?
His thumb moved slowly, tracing the line of my jaw, his touch deliberate and lingering. “You like keeping memories?”
he murmured, his voice low, almost a whisper.
I swallowed, my pulse quickening. “Only the ones worth remembering.”
His eyes flickered with a smoldering intensity, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as he says, “I want to make this unforgettable.”
The words sent a shiver through me, tightening the coil of anticipation in my chest. Every glance, every small shift of his body felt amplified, the air around us crackled with a tension that’s impossible to ignore. I could feel the thrum of my pulse in my veins, each beat echoed in the stillness between us.
“I have to leave for a few days,”
he murmured, “Business.”
The word felt like a cruel interruption, like something that stood between us. The rational part of me wanted to say it’s no big deal, that this doesn’t matter—but I can’t. Not when his eyes are burning into mine like that, not when all I wanted was to pull him closer.
He leaned in, his breath ghosting over my lips, the scent of him—warm, woodsy, and intoxicating—filled me with need. “I need to see you again. Before you leave Paris.”
I could hardly think, let alone speak. My breath hitched as his lips hovered so close, my entire body alive with the sensation of him, the magnetic pull between us made it impossible to resist. “Okay,”
I whispered. The word a soft, unsteady exhale.
His hand slide up to cup the back of my neck, his fingers pressed gently but firmly, as if he’s anchoring me to him. The tension in his grip was palpable, his thumb brushed the sensitive skin just below my ear. Then, finally, he closed the gap, his body moved against mine in a way that felt inevitable, like gravity drawing us together. My pulse raced, my skin tingled, and for a moment, everything else faded away, leaving just the two of us suspended in this electric moment. I wanted this. I wanted him.
His hands slide down resting at the back of my neck and the small of my back, pulling me closer, until there’s no space left between us. I responded without thinking, my fingers tangled in his hair, needing more of him, of this. Each movement of his mouth felt like it was igniting something inside me, something I didn’t even know was there. I could taste him—hints of wine and something else, something uniquely him—and it made me dizzy, weak in a way I never expected.
This kiss wasn’t just physical—it’s shifted the axis of my world. It’s the kind of kiss that redefined what passion, desire, and connection feel like. Every nerve in my body was alive, electric, attuned only to him. In this moment, I couldn’t imagine kissing anyone else ever.
When he finally pulled back, I’m breathless, my heart racing so fast I felt it pounding in my ears. His forehead rested against mine for a brief moment, and we’re both breathing hard, like we’ve just shared something far more intimate than a kiss.
“I’ll be back,”
he whispered, his voice raw.
And then he was gone—my fingers still tingled from where they touched him. I brought my hand to my lips, swollen from kissing, and I knew—this was no ordinary kiss. This was the kind of kiss that changed everything. The kind that made you realize you’ve been missing something your whole life. The kind that meant nothing will ever be the same.