Chapter 18
Timber Falls in July was green and alive and everything Jake had told Lucy it would be.
He threw himself into coaching preparation. Next season's schedule, roster decisions, equipment orders, parent meetings. There was always something to do, always a reason to stay at the rink instead of going home to his empty apartment.
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You've been here twelve hours a day for three weeks. That's not dedication—that's avoidance."
Jake looked at his friend. "What am I supposed to do? Go home and stare at my walls? Think about how Lucy chose Paris over me?"
"She didn't choose Paris over you. She chose herself. There's a difference."
"Feels the same from where I'm sitting."
Marcus sat down across from Jake's desk. "Talk to me. What's going on?"
"I'm trying to be okay with her decision. I am. I told her to choose what made her happy, and she did. I should be proud of her for being brave enough to go after what she wants."
"But?"
"But I miss her. Every single day. I wake up and for a second I forget she's gone, and then I remember and it's like—" Jake's voice cracked, "—it's like losing her all over again."
"That's grief. You're grieving the relationship."
"I know. But I'm also angry. At myself, mostly. For thinking we could make long distance work. For letting her go to Paris in the first place. For not fighting harder to keep her."
"You did fight. You went to Paris, you tried to show her what she'd be choosing. She just chose differently than you hoped."
"I know. And logically, I understand. Paris was the right choice for her. But—" Jake rubbed his face, "—that doesn't make it hurt less."
Marcus was quiet for a moment. Then: "Emma keeps asking when Miss Lucy is coming back."
"What do you tell her?"
"That sometimes people we love choose different paths. That it's okay to be sad about it but we have to respect their choices."
"Very wise."
"I'm secretly brilliant. Most people don't realize it." Marcus stood. "Jake, I'm ordering you to go home. Sleep. Take tomorrow off. Do something that's not hockey-related."
"I don't know how to do that anymore."
"Then learn. Because if you keep going like this, you're going to burn out before the season even starts."
After Marcus left, Jake sat in the quiet office and pulled out his phone. He hadn't talked to Lucy since he'd left Paris. They'd texted a few times—brief, polite messages that said nothing real.
He opened their text thread and read through their history. Six months of messages. From flirty and fun to logistical to sad and distant. The entire evolution of their relationship captured in blue and gray bubbles.
Jake started typing a message: How's Paris? How's the new job?
He deleted it. Too casual. Like they were acquaintances instead of people who'd loved each other.
He tried again: I miss you. Every day. I hope you're happy.
Deleted. Too needy. Too raw.
Finally, he just typed: Thinking of you. Hope you're doing okay.
He stared at it for a long time, then deleted it without sending.
What was there to say? They'd said goodbye. They'd made their choices. Texting her now would just open wounds that were barely starting to heal.
Jake closed their text thread and pocketed his phone.
Then he went home, climbed into bed, and tried not to think about Lucy in Paris, starting her new life without him.
Le Bernardin was everything Chef Laurent had promised.
A three-Michelin-star restaurant with a pastry kitchen that looked like something out of a magazine. Professional equipment, talented colleagues, the chance to create at the highest level.
Lucy should have been thrilled.
Instead, she felt hollow.
Her days followed a strict routine: arrive at 7 AM, prep for lunch service, execute during service, brief break, prep for dinner service, execute again, clean, go home at midnight. Fourteen-hour days, six days a week.
It was exhausting and exhilarating and completely consuming.
Which was good. Because when Lucy was working, she didn't have time to think about Jake.
But at night, alone in her apartment, the thoughts came anyway.
Did I make the right choice? Should I have gone home? Am I just running away from commitment by staying in Paris?
"You seem distracted," Chef Alain—the head pastry chef—said one afternoon. Lucy had been working at Le Bernardin for three weeks, and this was the first time he'd indicated he'd even noticed her existence beyond her output.
"Sorry, Chef. I'll focus."
"You've been focused. Your work is flawless. But you're making it mechanically. Like you're going through motions instead of creating with intention."
Lucy looked down at the dessert she'd been plating—a complex arrangement of chocolate, caramel, and hazelnut. It was perfect. It was also completely soulless.
"You're right," Lucy admitted. "I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize. Just tell me—why are you here?"
"What?"
"Why are you at Le Bernardin? Why did you choose this position?"
"Because it's one of the best restaurants in Paris. Because it's an incredible opportunity—"
"But why do you want it? What drives you to create?"
Lucy opened her mouth to answer and realized she didn't have one.
"I don't know," she finally said.
Chef Alain studied her. "When Chef Laurent called to recommend you, he said you had something rare—the ability to honor tradition while creating something new. He said your final exam dessert was exceptional because it came from your heart, not just your training."
"He said that?"
"Oui. So I'm asking—where is your heart now? Because it's not in this dessert."
Lucy looked at the perfect, soulless plate in front of her. Chef Alain was right. She was making technically perfect food that meant nothing.
"My heart is in Vermont," Lucy whispered. "With people I left behind. With a man I miss every single day. With a town I said I'd outgrown but actually just miss."
"Then why are you here?"
"Because this is what I'm supposed to want. This is the dream—working at a Michelin restaurant, building a career in Paris, becoming someone beyond my grandmother's granddaughter."
"And is it? The dream?"
Lucy thought about it. Really thought about it.
"I don't know anymore."
"Then figure it out. Because pastry chefs who don't know why they're creating don't last long in kitchens like this. The hours are too brutal, the standards too high. You need passion. Purpose. Not just technique."
After service that night, Lucy walked home through Paris. It was late July, still warm, tourists everywhere. She'd been in Paris for seven months. Seven months of growth and learning and becoming someone new.
But who was that someone? And did she actually like who she'd become?
Lucy pulled out her phone and opened her photos. Scrolled back through seven months of memories. The Eiffel Tower. Classmates at Le Cordon Bleu. Market trips. Cafés and museums and all the beautiful moments.
But also: photos of Jake from his March and July visits. Photos of them together. Photos she'd taken of him looking at Paris with wonder and love.
Lucy stopped on one photo—Jake in her apartment, cooking dinner together, laughing at something she'd said. He looked happy. She looked happy. They looked like people who belonged together.
Why did I let him go? Lucy thought. Why did I choose this over us?
But she knew why. Because she'd been scared. Scared of being defined by someone else's expectations. Scared of giving up this opportunity. Scared of choosing love over ambition and regretting it later.
Except now she was living her ambition, and she regretted it anyway.
Lucy opened her text thread with Jake. Their last messages were from two weeks ago—brief, polite, meaningless.
She started typing: I made a mistake. I should have come home. I miss you every day and Paris feels empty without you.
Her finger hovered over send.
Then she deleted it.
What would be the point? Jake had moved on. He was coaching, building his life in Timber Falls. She couldn't just text him months later and expect him to be waiting.
Lucy put away her phone and climbed the stairs to her apartment.
Inside, she looked around at the space that was supposed to be her dream—the Paris apartment, the life she'd chosen.
It felt like a prison.
August brought the start of pre-season training.
Jake's first official season as head coach of the Timber Falls Wolves. It should have been exciting. Instead, it just felt like more work to distract himself from missing Lucy.
The team gathered for their first meeting. Jake stood in front of them and tried to channel Tommy's easy authority.
"Welcome to a new season. For those of you who don't know, I'm Jake Morrison. I've been with this team for three years as a player, and now I'm stepping into the head coach role. I'm not Tommy—I won't pretend to be. But I'll give you everything I have."
The team listened respectfully. Marcus gave him a thumbs up from the back row.
"This season is about growth," Jake continued. "We made the playoffs last year for the first time in five years. That's huge. But it's not the ceiling—it's the floor. This year, we're going to build on that. We're going to work harder, play smarter, and support each other. Questions?"
Owen's hand shot up. "Coach, are you going to be playing too? Or just coaching?"
Jake had been dreading this question. "Just coaching. I'm retiring as a player."
Murmurs rippled through the team. Jake had been their assistant captain, one of their best players. His retirement would leave a gap.
"I know that's a change," Jake said. "But my shoulder isn't what it used to be. I can't give you my best on the ice anymore. So I'm going to give you my best from the bench instead."
More murmurs, but accepting ones. The team trusted him. That was something.
After the meeting, Emma appeared—now part of the youth hockey program that Jake was still helping coach on Saturdays.
"Coach Jake, did Miss Lucy ever come back?"
"No, Emma. She's staying in Paris."
"Forever?"
"I don't know. Maybe."