Chapter 14 #2
"But nothing. I'm glad you're settling in. I am."
"You don't sound glad. You sound... upset."
Jake was quiet for a moment. "I'm not upset. I'm just—it's hard hearing about all these experiences you're having without me. These people you're meeting. This life you're building in Paris."
"Jake, you told me to go. You encouraged this."
"I know. And I meant it. But that doesn't mean it's not hard."
Lucy felt her chest tighten. "Do you want me to not tell you about my life here? Should I just pretend Paris doesn't exist when we talk?"
"No, that's not—" Jake sighed. "I don't know what I want. I want you to be happy. But I also miss you so much it physically hurts. And hearing about all these new people in your life makes me feel like I'm being replaced."
"You're not being replaced! Jake, they're just classmates. Friends. You're—you're everything."
"Am I? Because from here it feels like you have this whole new life and I'm just the guy you text occasionally."
"That's not fair. I'm trying. The time difference is brutal, and I'm exhausted all the time, and I'm doing my best to stay connected—"
"I know. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."
They were both quiet. The video call felt like a chasm—six time zones and an ocean and the distance between who they used to be and who they were becoming.
"Maybe we should talk later," Lucy said quietly. "When we're both less tired."
"Yeah. Maybe."
"I love you."
"I love you too."
The call ended, and Lucy stared at her phone screen.
Their first fight. Sort of. Not even a real fight—just tension and hurt feelings and the impossible logistics of being apart.
Lucy wanted to call back, to fix it, to make things okay.
But it was past midnight for Jake. He needed sleep. And she had early classes tomorrow.
So instead, she texted:
Lucy: I'm sorry. I'm not trying to replace you or forget about us. You're still the most important person in my life.
Three dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then appeared again.
Jake: I know. I'm sorry too. I'm just struggling with the distance more than I expected. We'll figure it out.
Lucy: We will. I promise.
Jake: Get some sleep. Love you.
Lucy: Love you too.
Lucy set down her phone and looked out at the Paris skyline. The Eiffel Tower was lit up, sparkling on the hour like it did every night.
She was living her dream. Learning from the best. Building the future she'd always wanted.
So why did it feel like she was losing something precious in the process?
February passed in a haze of coaching and missing Lucy.
The Wolves won seven of their eight games. Jake's coaching skills improved daily. Tommy praised his technique, his communication with the players, his ability to read the game.
"You're a natural at this," Tommy said after a particularly good practice. "The guys respect you. They listen. That's not something you can teach."
Jake should have felt proud. Should have felt excited about his future as a coach.
Instead, he just felt empty.
He and Lucy texted daily but talked less and less. The time difference made it impossible to have real conversations. When they did manage video calls, they were awkward and forced—both of them trying so hard to be supportive that they weren't actually being honest.
Lucy would tell him about Chef Laurent's latest impossible challenge. About the beautiful patisserie she'd discovered in the Latin Quarter. About weekend trips to Versailles with Amelie and James.
Jake would tell her about the Wolves' winning streak. About Emma's improvement at youth hockey. About the town gossip she was missing.
But they never talked about the hard stuff. About how much Jake missed her. About whether Lucy was questioning if coming home was still what she wanted. About whether six months apart was going to destroy what they'd built.
"You're being weird," Marcus said bluntly one night at Mac's Tavern.
"I'm not being weird."
"You're absolutely being weird. You've been staring at your phone for twenty minutes instead of eating your burger."
"I'm just checking if Lucy texted."
"And has she?"
"No."
"Because it's the middle of the night in Paris and she's sleeping like a normal person?"
"Yeah."
Marcus grabbed Jake's phone and set it face-down on the table. "Talk to me. What's going on?"
"I don't know. Things feel off with Lucy. We barely talk. When we do talk, it's surface-level stuff. We're not really connecting anymore."
"Have you told her this?"
"No. She's dealing with enough—culinary school is intense, Paris is overwhelming. I don't want to add to her stress by complaining about the distance."
"Jake. That's called communication. You need to communicate. Tell her you're struggling. Tell her you miss her and it's hard and you're scared."
"What if that makes things worse?"
"What if not telling her makes things worse? What if she's feeling the same way but also not saying anything because she doesn't want to burden you?"
Jake hadn't considered that. Had been so focused on his own loneliness that he hadn't thought about Lucy being lonely too.
"I'm bad at this," Jake admitted.
"You're learning. Long distance is hard. But you can't let the hard parts go unsaid. That's how relationships die—not from distance, but from silence."
That night, Jake tried to call Lucy. It was early morning for her—she should be awake.
The call went to voicemail.
He tried again an hour later. Still voicemail.
Finally, at midnight Vermont time (6 AM Paris time), Lucy texted:
Lucy: Sorry, was in early class. Chef Laurent schedules practice sessions at 5 AM sometimes. He's insane. How are you?
Jake: I'm okay. Miss you. Can we video call soon? Like, actually talk?
Lucy: Yes. Tomorrow? I have the afternoon free.
Jake: Perfect. I'll call you at noon my time. 6 PM yours?
Lucy: It's a date. Love you.
Jake: Love you too.
Jake set down his phone and tried to plan what he wanted to say.
I miss you. I'm struggling. I'm scared we're drifting apart.
I love you but I don't know how to do this.
Six months feels impossible.
But he couldn't say that. Couldn't add to Lucy's stress. Couldn't make her feel guilty for choosing her dreams.
So instead, Jake went to bed and tried to sleep and failed, same as he had every night since Lucy left.
The video call on Sunday was supposed to fix things.
Lucy had prepared—made sure her apartment was clean, wore a nice sweater instead of her usual cooking-stained clothes, even put on makeup.
She wanted Jake to see that she was okay. That Paris hadn't broken her.
When Jake's face appeared on screen at 6 PM, Lucy's heart clenched. He looked exhausted. Older, somehow. Like the past month had aged him.
"Hey," she said, smiling too bright.
"Hey. You look nice."
"Thanks. You look tired."
"I am tired. Long week."
They stared at each other through the screen, both trying to figure out how to bridge this distance.
"How's coaching?" Lucy finally asked.
"Good. We won again. Tommy says I'm doing well."
"That's great!"
"How's culinary school?"
"Hard. But good. I'm learning so much."
More silence. Awkward and painful.
"Lucy, we need to talk," Jake said.
Lucy's stomach dropped. "Okay."
"I'm struggling. With the distance. With barely talking to you. With feeling like you have this whole new life in Paris and I'm just—I'm here. Waiting."
"I'm not asking you to wait—"
"I know. But I am waiting. I'm living my life, yeah, but I'm also just counting down until March when I can see you. And that's not healthy."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying I miss you. I'm saying this is harder than I thought it would be. I'm saying I don't know how to do this."
Lucy felt tears start. "Are you breaking up with me?"
"What? No! Lucy, no. I love you. I just—I need to know if you're struggling too. Or if it's just me. If I'm the only one who feels like we're drifting apart."
"I'm struggling too," Lucy admitted. "Every day. I miss you so much it hurts. But Jake—I can't leave Paris. I just got here. I have five more months of school."
"I'm not asking you to leave! I'm just asking for honesty. For real conversations instead of these surface-level check-ins where we both pretend everything's fine."
"I pretend everything's fine because I don't want to worry you! You have coaching, you have your life in Timber Falls. I don't want to be the girlfriend who's always complaining about how hard Paris is."
"But I want to know when it's hard! I want to know when you're struggling. That's what partnerships are—sharing the hard stuff, not just the highlights."
Lucy wiped her eyes. "Okay. You want honesty?
I'm lonely. Paris is incredible but it's also overwhelming and isolating and I feel like I'm failing most days.
Chef Laurent thinks I'm mediocre at best. I cry at least twice a week.
And I miss you so much that sometimes I can't breathe.
But I can't tell you that because you sacrificed so much to let me do this—"
"I didn't sacrifice anything. I chose you. I chose to support your dreams."
"But what if my dreams are pulling us apart? What if six months is too long?"
Jake was quiet for a moment. "I don't know. Maybe it is. But we have to try, Lucy. We can't give up after one month."
"I'm not giving up."
"Neither am I. But we have to be honest with each other. We have to talk about the hard stuff. Can we do that?"
Lucy nodded, tears streaming down her face. "Yeah. We can do that."
"Okay. Then let's start now. Tell me everything. Tell me what Paris is really like."
So Lucy told him. About the loneliness, the fear, the moments when she wondered if she'd made a huge mistake. About the incredible highs—when Chef Laurent actually praised something she made, when she discovered a new patisserie, when Paris took her breath away.
And Jake told her about Timber Falls. About how empty the bakery felt without her. About Wednesday mornings that didn't feel right anymore. About lying awake at 3 AM missing her so much his chest hurt.
They talked for two hours—really talked, no surface-level pleasantries. By the end, Lucy felt exhausted but closer to Jake than she had since she'd left.
"I'm coming in March," Jake said. "Five more weeks. Can you survive five more weeks?"
"If you can."
"Then we'll both survive. And we'll figure out the rest when I'm there."
"Okay. I love you."
"I love you too. So much."
After the call ended, Lucy looked out at the Paris night and felt something shift. They'd had their first real fight. Had admitted things were hard. Had been honest instead of performing.
And they were still together.
That had to count for something.
March arrived with the promise of spring and Jake's trip to Paris.
The week before his flight, Jake was a mess of nervous energy. He booked his hotel (Lucy's apartment was too small for two people), planned an itinerary of things he wanted to see, even attempted to learn basic French from the app Lucy had used.
"You're really doing this," Marcus said at practice. "Going to Paris."
"I'm really doing this."
"How are you feeling?"
"Terrified. Excited. Worried that we won't have anything to talk about in person."
"You've been together for six months. You'll have plenty to talk about."
"Six months, but only one month actually being together. The rest has been long distance. What if we've changed too much?"
"Then you'll deal with that. But Jake—stop catastrophizing. Go to Paris. See Lucy. Eat croissants. Have sex in a French hotel. Figure out the rest later."
"That's your advice? Have sex in a French hotel?"
"It's solid advice. I stand by it."
The flight to Paris was long and uncomfortable. Jake didn't sleep, too anxious about seeing Lucy. What if things were still weird? What if the distance had changed them too much?
He landed at Charles de Gaulle at 8 AM Paris time (2 AM Vermont time) and immediately wanted to die. Jet lag was brutal.
Lucy was meeting him at his hotel at noon—she had morning classes but promised to skip the afternoon to spend time with him.
Jake checked into his hotel, showered, changed, and tried not to fall asleep. At 11:45, he went down to the lobby to wait.
At 11:52, Lucy walked through the doors.
Jake's heart stopped.
She looked different. Her hair was longer, falling past her shoulders in waves. She'd lost a little weight—probably from all the walking in Paris. She was wearing clothes Jake had never seen—a long coat, stylish boots, a scarf tied in that effortlessly French way.
She looked beautiful. And also like a stranger.
"Jake," Lucy said, and then she was running across the lobby.
Jake caught her, and suddenly she felt familiar again. Same height, same smell (flour and vanilla), same way she fit perfectly against his chest.
"You're here," Lucy said into his shoulder. "You're really here."
"I'm really here."
They stood in the hotel lobby, holding each other, both trying not to cry.
When they finally pulled apart, Lucy was smiling through tears.
"Come on," she said, taking his hand. "I want to show you Paris."
And just like that, the awkwardness disappeared. Because this was still them—Lucy and Jake, together, finding their way back to each other.
The week ahead would be complicated. They'd have to figure out if six months apart had changed them too much. If they still worked in person the way they used to.
But for now, Jake was just grateful to be holding Lucy's hand again.
Everything else could wait.