Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
GEMMA HAD BEEN WOKEN BY the rising sun as it slipped between the clouds and city skyline, drenching Caitlin’s hotel room in morning light.
She had lingered, admiring the ethereal beauty of Caitlin’s peaceful face as she slept.
She could have stayed there forever, memorizing the cadence of her breaths.
Gemma knew she had to leave before she lost her strength.
She had eased out of the bed without ruffling the sheets, slipped back into last night’s clothes, and tiptoed toward the door. As Gemma walked into the living room, she spotted a notepad and a pen on the coffee table.
Her heart twisted at the idea of leaving behind nothing but a note, the same way Caitlin had, but she decided that it was better than vanishing without a trace.
Gemma hadn’t expected Caitlin to wake up before she could sneak out. Caitlin’s glassy eyes had watched her with a dawning realization that shattered Gemma’s heart.
She just couldn’t bring herself to say goodbye—not to her. It was the fear of goodbye that had driven Gemma out of Caitlin’s bed in the first place.
Time slowed as Gemma etched a final image of Caitlin into her memory.
She stood in the doorway of the hotel bedroom, swallowed by Gemma’s old college crewneck, heartbreak plain across her face.
The air drained from Gemma’s lungs, reaffirming the truth she had realized this morning.
If Caitlin had shattered her at nineteen, then losing her now at twenty-nine would destroy Gemma beyond repair.
DAYS HAD BLURRED SINCE THE morning Gemma had found herself in Caitlin’s bed. She’d turned down the contract for another three years with NYPD Intelligence and now sat in limbo, waiting to see what opportunities might come after the premiere of Forbidden Love.
With no current work responsibilities and food delivery apps in the palm of her hand, Gemma hadn’t left her apartment once.
She hadn’t heard from Caitlin, either. Silence filled her space like fog, leaving Gemma to assume that Caitlin had slipped back into her life in LA as if none of it had ever happened.
That evening, Gemma was wallowing on her couch when she heard a key click into the lock. She spun her head toward the door before sinking back into the cushions.
“Hi,” she said flatly.
“Don’t sound so excited to see me.” Hayley walked over and joined Gemma on the couch. “Ticket to Tokyo?” She nodded toward the television, Caitlin’s face frozen on the screen.
“Yup. Torturing myself.”
“Is this why you’ve been MIA? I was about to file a missing person’s report, and you’ve just been over here binging old Caitlin Stone movies.”
“It’s literally been like forty-eight hours.”
“Exactly.”
Gemma sighed. “I need to tell you something, Hay.” She turned to Hayley as she shifted closer. “I slept with Caitlin. Again. The night of the wrap party.”
Hayley didn’t look shocked.
“How’d that go?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.
Gemma told Hayley everything—the letter left in her trailer, the charged conversation at the wrap party, the walk down memory lane in the bar from when they were eighteen, and every intimate detail of their last night together.
“I told myself not to overthink it and just do what felt right,” Gemma finished.
“And doing Caitlin felt right in the moment.”
Gemma threw a pillow at her friend as they both laughed.
“It felt like a goodbye, the official end of us.” Gemma sensed the heaviness of her words as she lay flat on the couch, placing her long legs across Hayley’s lap.
“But?”
Gemma breathed a groan. “But… I don’t know.
Part of me felt like it could have been a new beginning.
I guess I wanted her to fight harder, to prove somehow that hell would freeze over before she’d leave me again.
But she didn’t. She left—again.” Gemma threw her arm across her eyes.
“Ugh. I’m a mess, Hay. I feel like I’m right back where I started ten years ago.
Except, this time, I brought it upon myself. I pushed Caitlin away. My Caitlin.”
Hayley placed her hands on Gemma’s legs. “You’re not back where you started,” she assured her. “You’re older, wiser, hotter, and now Caitlin knows exactly what she missed out on.”
Gemma let out a half laugh, remembering the last night they’d spent together and how Caitlin had melted under her touch.
Hayley went on, “Gem, you were just a kid back then. It doesn’t have to be like that again. You just need to figure out what you want.”
Gemma propped herself up on her elbows, listening closely.
“You’ve loved Caitlin half your life, and you know she still feels the same. I’ve never seen two people more magnetically drawn to one another,” Hayley said, shaking her head. “I mean, for fuck’s sake, what are the odds you both get cast in the same lesbian romance movie?”
They both laughed, the sound loosening the knot in Gemma’s chest. It was rather ridiculous.
“Only you can say if you could trust her again, but if Caitlin is the future you really want, then stop living in the past and just take the chance, dammit. People rarely find the one, Gem. You found yours twice.”
Gemma exhaled a long breath, feeling some of the weight start to lift. “Thanks, Hay.”
Hayley leaned over and gave Gemma a hug before snatching Gemma’s glass of wine from the table with a coy grin. “Okay, enough about you—can we talk about me now?”
Gemma chuckled, gesturing for her to take the floor. “Please, by all means.”
Hayley took a sip of Gemma’s pinot noir, then dropped her voice like she was confessing a crime. “The other night, I had the worst experience of my life. I was in bed with this woman and mid-orgasm, I fucking called her Maddie.”
Gemma exploded in laughter, her shoulders shaking, her legs kicking in Hayley’s lap, and almost spilling the burgundy liquid.
“It’s not funny, Gem!” Hayley protested with a groan. “How the hell did that insufferable woman wedge herself into my brain after one evening?”
“Probably because she’s exactly your type, to a T—blonde hair, blue eyes, short enough to put in your pocket. She’s model-level beautiful.”
“But she’s an actress,” Hayley said, crinkling her nose. “No offense, I love you, but you know that lawyers, CEOs, and businesswomen in suits are more my speed.”
Gemma grinned. “Uh huh. So have you watched any of her movies yet?”
Hayley groaned again, shaking her head, frustration folding into amusement.
Gemma teased on, poking and prodding until Hayley couldn’t take it anymore.
“That’s it,” Hayley said, setting the empty wine glass onto the table. “It’s time for you to leave this apartment.”
They stepped out into the hallway together, the elevator ride feeling like a small rebellion against her misery.
Outside, the fading sunlight and city noise washed away a bit of the ache in Gemma’s chest. She paused when her feet hit the sidewalk and breathed it in, feeling lighter than she had in days.
“I needed this.” Gemma closed her eyes, feeling the flow of warmth on her face. “Thank you.” She turned to Hayley and kissed her cheek.
Hayley smiled softly and then said with mock sternness, “You owe me a movie night. Popcorn, takeout, the whole nine yards.”
Gemma laughed, the sound bright and a little reckless. “Deal. But you’re watching one of Caitlin’s.”
Hayley made a face, then, with the shake of her head and a roll of her eyes, she gently shoved Gemma toward the world beyond.
THE NEXT TWO WEEKS FLEW by as Gemma threw herself into routines.
She started working out again, met Hayley every morning for a dose of dark espresso, and finally cracked open Atmosphere, the romance novel that had been collecting dust on her nightstand.
She let herself daydream about playing Joan opposite Caitlin’s Vanessa if the book ever became a film.
Hayley’s advice looped through Gemma’s head until she finally decided to take it. She knew what—who she wanted, and she had to try. Not with fireworks or grand declarations, but with a soft, careful opening. She had to see if the path back was even possible.
Gemma: Hi, how's it feel to be back in LA?
Caitlin: It's fine, but I feel like I'm missing something.
Gemma: Oh yeah? What's that?
Caitlin: You.
Gemma stared at the one-word text for over an hour. Her heart battled against the instinct to protect herself. She could close the distance between them with one honest line, or retreat behind the safety of old, tired words.
Gemma: I wish you never left.
She’d decided to go with honesty. The typing bubble appeared, vanished, and blinked again, causing Gemma’s stomach to knot with anxiety. Finally, a new message slid onto her screen.
Caitlin: Well then, I think we need to make a change.
Gemma tapped the little heart on the last message, not sure exactly what Caitlin meant.
THREE DAYS PASSED, AND NO other texts arrived.
Just as Gemma’s life had started to brighten with color, she felt it dull once more.
She tortured herself with a dozen different explanations, all more heartbreaking than the last. Maybe Caitlin regretted her words, or maybe she had meant that they should quit speaking altogether.
Gemma returned to her routines and told herself she was moving on. Some days, she almost believed it.
That sunny August afternoon, Gemma was strolling through Washington State Park when her phone began to ring.
“Hey Eve,” she answered, surprised.
“Gemma, my favorite client. How are you?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Gemma said smiling anyway. They had worked together for years, so the statement may have been true. “I’m okay. What’s up?”
“Well, I hope you’re rested and ready to go because I have a last-minute offer for you.”
Gemma blinked, confused. She hadn’t auditioned for anything recently. “For what?”
“Another detective show, just a guest spot. But here’s the kicker—they’re filming in Paris! You’d fly out the day after tomorrow.”
“France? In two days? For how long?” Gemma mentally checked her schedule, but she knew she didn’t have plans.
“Just a quick three-day trip. I think it’d be an excellent opportunity for you to expand your European audience.”
Gemma trusted Eve. “Okay, if you think I should do it, then I’ll go.”
“Have I ever led you astray?” Gemma could hear Eve’s smile through the phone.
“No, you have not,” she admitted.
“Great! So, pack up, and I’ll send you the details as I get them,” Eve chirped before hanging up the phone.
Gemma devoted the entire next day to packing—or at least attempting to. Procrastination got the best of her, and she busied herself with every chore imaginable while her suitcase sat untouched.
When evening fell, she poured herself a glass of red wine, called her best friend over, and together they turned the conversation toward Paris and which outfits she should pack.
TWO DAYS AND AN EIGHT-HOUR flight later, Gemma landed in Paris, France.
When she stepped out of the airport, Gemma let the warm sun soak her face, smiling.
Summers in Europe could be suffocating, but the mid-morning air was the perfect temperature.
She welcomed the chance to lose herself for a few days in the cultural hub of Paris, letting the decadent landscapes and aromas of the city fill the empty spaces within her.
Gemma checked into her hotel, then wandered next door for a croissant and an espresso from the café.
She planned to use the afternoon for a long nap and a shower to help shake her jet lag.
She didn’t have to be on set until eight thirty that night, and she had already memorized her lines on the flight over.
As night fell, Gemma dressed with the window open, a cool breeze flowing through the room. The show had only requested that she dress in “formal attire,” so Hayley had helped her pull an outfit together—her favorite suit—practical, flattering, and entirely Gemma.
Once ready, she stepped outside into the warm evening air and walked to the address Eve had provided.
After only a few blocks, Gemma turned a corner and stopped in her tracks, speechless, as the iron lattice of the Eiffel Tower rose into view.
Up close, the structure felt both colossal and intimate, the faces around her all focused upward in hushed awe.
Silent anticipation filled the air as they waited for the twenty-first hour to strike, illuminating the tower in a brilliant, golden wash.
She lingered in the paved plaza, searching the area for anyone who looked like they might be on the production crew, when Gemma was approached by a handsome Frenchman in a vest.
“Gemma,” he said with a thick French accent. “Bonsoir. Come, come.” He beckoned for her to follow.
Gemma trailed behind the man under the enormous iconic tower, craning her neck back to take it all in. It was exactly what she’d dreamt it would be, ever since she was a little girl on the couch, eyes wide as Passport to Paris played on her TV.
“Where’s the rest of the cast?” She asked the man as they stepped onto an elevator and jolted upward.
“At ze top, mademoiselle,” he replied as the doors opened to the second floor.
Gemma followed him to another elevator that would take them the rest of the way to the top of the tower.
At the highest point, the Frenchman shooed Gemma out of the elevator, only instructing her to follow the curve of the viewing platform before the glass doors closed between them.
Something didn’t feel right.
Gemma edged toward the outer railing, peering down.
Paris spread beneath her like a quilt stitched with light.
Distant church bells mingled with the hum of the city, and tiny camera flashes winked from the plaza below.
The wind tugged at her long ponytail as she hesitantly made her way around the platform.
Her brows knitted in confusion as she struggled to spot signs of a television crew, wondering what the hell was going on.
Then she froze, night air rushing into her lungs as she gasped.
Caitlin.
There she was, standing at the top of the Eiffel Tower with that damned smile on her face, the one that made the apples of her cheeks crinkle against her eyes.
She wore a blue, jewel-toned strapless dress with a mermaid finish, her copper hair swept behind her shoulders in light waves.
Up here, the wind gently blowing strands of hair away from her face, Caitlin looked impossibly elegant, as if the city itself had dressed her.
The dark sky seemed to shimmer around them, and for a breathless moment, Gemma simply stared—this woman, the most captivating she’d ever seen, stood framed by Paris and the stars, real and here.