Chapter 17 #2
Lucy pulled out her phone and texted all three restaurants the same message: Still considering. Will have final answer by July 15th. Thank you for your patience.
Then she texted Jake: Tomorrow. You're really coming tomorrow.
Jake: Flight lands at 3 PM. Can I see you that evening?
Lucy: Yes. Come to my apartment. I'll make dinner.
Jake: You don't have to—
Lucy: I want to. I want to cook for you. Using everything I've learned here.
Jake: Okay. See you tomorrow.
Lucy: See you tomorrow.
Lucy set down her phone and looked around her tiny Paris apartment. Tomorrow Jake would be here. In this space she'd made her own. Seeing her life in Paris. Seeing who she'd become.
And then—somehow—she'd have to decide. Paris or Timber Falls. This life or that one.
Two weeks. That's all she had left.
Two weeks to choose.
The flight to Paris felt longer than it had in March.
Jake spent eight hours thinking about what he wanted to say to Lucy. How to be honest without being manipulative. How to fight for their relationship without pressuring her choice.
By the time he landed, he still had no idea what he was doing.
Jake took a taxi to his hotel—same one as last time, in the Marais, walking distance from Lucy's apartment. He checked in, showered, changed, and stared at himself in the mirror.
"You can do this," he told his reflection. "Just be honest. That's all you can do."
At 6 PM, Jake walked to Lucy's apartment. His hands were shaking as he climbed the four flights of stairs.
He knocked.
Lucy opened the door, and Jake's breath caught.
She looked different again. More confident, more herself. Her hair was up in a messy bun, she was wearing an apron covered in flour, and she looked absolutely beautiful.
"Hi," Lucy said.
"Hi."
They stood in the doorway for a moment, neither quite sure what to do. Then Lucy stepped forward and hugged him, and Jake felt everything he'd been holding in for three months threaten to spill over.
"I missed you," Lucy whispered into his shoulder.
"I missed you too. So much."
They stayed like that for a long moment. Then Lucy pulled back, wiping her eyes.
"Come in. I'm making dinner. Using actual French techniques and everything."
Lucy's apartment was exactly as Jake remembered—tiny but charming, with that incredible view of Paris rooftops. But now it looked more lived-in. Photos on the walls, books stacked on every surface, Lucy's presence in every corner.
This was her home. Really her home.
"Sit," Lucy said, gesturing to the small table by the window. "Wine?"
"Please."
Lucy poured two glasses of red wine and returned to her cooking. Jake watched as she worked—confident, skilled, completely in her element.
"What are you making?"
"Coq au vin. Classic French, but I'm adding some of my grandmother's spices. East meets West, like my final exam dessert."
"Chef Laurent loved that dessert, you said."
"He called it exceptional. Which from him is basically a marriage proposal."
"He's not wrong. Everything you make is exceptional."
Lucy smiled, but it was sad. "That's what makes this so hard, you know? I'm good here. Really good. Chef Laurent wants me to stay. Three Michelin restaurants have offered me positions. I could build an incredible career in Paris."
"I know."
"But—"
"But?"
Lucy set down her wooden spoon and turned to face him. "But I miss home. I miss Timber Falls and everyone there. I miss Uncle Walter and Rei and Mae. I miss snow in November and knowing everyone's name. I miss—" her voice cracked, "—I miss you. Every single day."
Jake stood and crossed to her. "Lucy—"
"Let me finish. I need to say this." Lucy took a breath.
"When I came to Paris, I thought I was just taking a break.
Learning some skills, having an adventure, and then coming home to open my restaurant.
But Jake—I fell in love with Paris. With learning here, with who I'm becoming here.
And now I don't know if the person I've become still fits in Timber Falls. "
"Why wouldn't you fit?"
"Because Timber Falls Lucy was defined by her grandmother's legacy.
By the bakery, by being the girl who stayed when she should have left.
Paris Lucy is just—me. My own person. My own skills.
My own dreams." Lucy wiped away tears. "How do I go back to being my grandmother's granddaughter after I've been just Lucy? "
"You don't," Jake said quietly. "If you come back, you come back as the Lucy you are now. The one who trained at Le Cordon Bleu. Who earned praise from Chef Laurent. Who learned to navigate Paris and make friends across the world. That Lucy."
"But will Timber Falls accept that Lucy? Or will they just see Margaret Chen's granddaughter who went away for a while and came back?"
"I don't know," Jake admitted. "Maybe some people will only see that. But the people who matter—Uncle Walter, Rei, Mae, me—we'll see you. All of you."
Lucy turned back to her cooking, stirring the coq au vin with unnecessary vigor.
"Tell me about Timber Falls," she said. "What have I missed?"
So Jake told her. About the Wolves making the playoffs.
About Tommy's retirement. About Emma asking when Miss Lucy was coming home.
About the new coffee shop that opened on Main Street and how everyone complained it was too expensive.
About Mrs. Henderson's dog finally passing away at the remarkable age of seventeen.
"She was devastated," Jake said. "The whole Knitting Circle has been taking turns staying with her so she's not alone."
"That's sweet."
"That's Timber Falls. Everyone takes care of everyone else. For better and worse."
They ate dinner at Lucy's tiny table, watching the sun set over Paris rooftops. The coq au vin was incredible—rich, complex, perfectly executed. Lucy Chen had become an extraordinary chef.
"This is amazing," Jake said.
"Thanks. It's weird cooking here. The stove is tiny, the counter space is basically nonexistent, but somehow it works."
"Because you make it work. That's what you do—you adapt, you figure it out, you make beautiful things in less-than-perfect conditions."
After dinner, they moved to Lucy's bed (which also functioned as her couch when folded up) and talked until past midnight. Really talked, for the first time in months.
"I'm scared," Lucy admitted. "Whatever I choose, I'm giving up something huge. Stay in Paris, I lose you. Go home, I lose this career I could build here."
"Those aren't your only options."
"Aren't they?"
"Lucy, if you want to stay in Paris, I'll visit. We can do long distance for real. I can look into coaching opportunities in Europe eventually. We can figure it out."
"You'd do that? Leave Timber Falls?"
"For you? Yes."
"But coaching is your dream now. The Wolves are your team. You can't just give that up."
"Why not? You're considering giving up Michelin restaurants for me."
"That's different."
"How?"
Lucy didn't have an answer.
They lay in bed together, not sleeping, just holding each other. Jake traced patterns on Lucy's back and thought about the impossibility of their situation.
"I love you," Jake said into the darkness.
"I love you too. That's what makes this so hard."
"I know."
"Jake?"
"Yeah?"
"Whatever I decide—promise me we'll be okay. Even if we're not together. Promise me we'll still be okay."
Jake wanted to promise. Wanted to say that of course they'd be okay, that love conquered all, that everything would work out.
But he couldn't. Because he didn't know if that was true.
"I promise I'll try," Jake finally said. "That's the best I can do."
Lucy curled into him, and they fell asleep still dressed, too exhausted by the weight of decision to do anything but hold each other.
Tomorrow they'd have to face reality. But tonight, they could pretend that love was enough.
Even when they both knew it might not be.
The next morning, Lucy woke to find Jake already awake, watching her.
"How long have you been awake?" she asked.
"A while. Jet lag."
"What time is it?"
"Almost seven. Sorry—I know you usually sleep later now."
Lucy smiled. "I do. Sleeping until seven feels like luxury after six months of 4:45 AM wake-ups."
They lay there for a moment, neither quite ready to start the day and face the decisions waiting for them.
"I want to show you something," Lucy finally said. "Get dressed. Bring comfortable shoes."
An hour later, they were walking through the Marais market—a outdoor market that popped up twice a week, full of fresh produce, cheese, bread, and flowers.
"This is where I shop," Lucy explained, stopping at a vegetable stand. She greeted the vendor in French, chatted about the tomatoes, selected several along with fresh herbs.
Jake watched as Lucy moved through the market with ease—knowing which vendors to visit, how to select the best ingredients, how to navigate the crowd. This was her market. Her neighborhood. Her life.
"You're really good at this," Jake observed. "The French. The market. All of it."
"I've been here six months. You pick things up."
They stopped at a fromagerie, where Lucy bought three different cheeses she explained to Jake in detail. Then a boulangerie for bread. Then the flower stand, where Lucy bought sunflowers "just because they make me happy."
"What are we making?" Jake asked, carrying Lucy's market bags.
"Lunch. Classic French, but with my own spin. You'll see."
Back at Lucy's apartment, she cooked while Jake watched. She made a salade nicoise with local tuna and the tomatoes from the market. Fresh bread with the cheeses. A simple vinaigrette she whisked together without measuring.
"This is what I love about French cooking," Lucy said as she worked. "It's about the ingredients, the technique, but also the intention. Every meal is meant to be savored, not rushed."
"Very different from pork buns at 4:45 AM."