Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Peter stared out the window and had to resist the urge to sigh. He knew some of his low spirits had to do with being in the place where Caroline had finally accepted that George was gone. No matter how much she had held on to hope, the man she loved would never be coming back to her.
Caroline’s profound sadness was evident in the municipal building she’d designed while living here. Architecture, Peter knew, like many creative fields, often drew from the emotional and psychological state of its creator.
The building in Arras was a prime example of Caroline channeling her emotions in the design.
For this civic building, she’d favored stone—often associated with raw emotions—and what appeared to be the deliberate use of dramatic contrasts between light and shadows.
Unlike with some of her previous designs, she’d limited her use of ornamentation.
He wondered if that was her way of stripping away unnecessary distractions during such an intensely emotional period.
Over the past three days, he had pored over her design, analyzing everything from the use of light and shadows and choice of material to searching for any monumental or memorial qualities in her work.
Perhaps he was reading more into the design than was there, but he felt her sorrow, and it settled around his shoulders like a heavy coat whose weight he couldn’t shrug off.
It didn’t help that he’d been unable to find anything personal of hers in any archives. Her trail had run cold, with nothing to point him to where she’d gone next.
Of course, he’d given himself six months to find out everything he could, and it hadn’t even been two. Right now, it felt like he could be here for a hundred more years and not know more than he knew at this second.
He wished Landry was here with him. The Pas-de-Calais area in northern France was rich in history, culture and natural beauty, and he knew she’d love it here.
Last week, he’d visited the Louvre-Lens Museum, a satellite of the Louvre in Paris, and envisioned the two of them strolling through the building and viewing the art together.
When he’d cycled one of the trails along the Opal Coast, he’d thought of her. Likely because it had made him think of the bike ride they’d taken together back in GraceTown.
Heck, who was he kidding? Everything he did here made him think of her…and miss her desperately.
He was in love with Landry. Each passing day only made him miss her more.
Right now, he couldn’t imagine how he would make it another four months without her.
A knock at his open office door had him looking up.
Alain, his teaching assistant for this term, stood in the doorway.
“Please.” Peter motioned to him. “Come in.”
“I didn’t mean to disturb you, but this came for you today.
” The studious young man with the thick, dark-framed glasses stepped to the desk.
Only when he drew close did Peter see the twinkle behind the thick lenses.
“It’s not often one sees a pink envelope.
I thought it might be important and something you would want to see immediately. ”
Peter couldn’t stop the grin. “How did it arrive?”
“Arrive?” Alain cocked his head.
“Did it come through the mail?”
“Oui.” Puzzlement still blanketed Alain’s face. “How else?”
“No way else.” For a second—just a fleeting second—Peter’s thoughts drifted back to the way he had once received letters from Landry.
The magic of those first exchanges, the mystery, the anticipation—it had all led him here, to this moment, holding a pink envelope that bore her name in familiar, flowing script.
His pulse kicked up.
“Thank you, Alain,” Peter said, his voice steady despite the storm of emotion rising in his chest.
“My pleasure.”
“If you could shut the door behind you…”
“Certainly.”
The soft click of the door barely registered. Peter’s world had narrowed to the envelope in his hands, the weight of it impossibly significant.
His fingers moved with reverence, breaking the seal, slipping the letter free. He unfolded the delicate paper, heart pounding as he drank in her words.
By the time he reached the end, something inside him—some lingering doubt, some silent fear—had dissolved completely.
He exhaled, slow and deep. Then, he sat back and smiled.
The terrace of Café Belle Journée spilled onto a quiet cobblestone street, its small round tables draped in crisp white linens, each adorned with a single bud vase holding a pale pink rose.
The chairs, woven with rattan in classic Parisian bistro style, were arranged facing outward, as if inviting patrons to linger, to watch, to dream.
Waiters in black aprons and crisp white shirts moved with effortless grace, balancing trays of steaming café au lait, flaky croissants and ruby-hued carafes of Bordeaux.
The air hummed with the gentle murmur of conversation, the occasional clink of wineglasses punctuating the laughter.
The scent of freshly baked pastries and strong espresso mingled with the crisp autumn air, carrying with it the quiet promise of new beginnings.
Landry stirred sugar into her cappuccino, absentmindedly tracing the rim of her cup with the tip of her finger, her thoughts drifting like leaves on the Seine.
Yesterday, she had arrived in Paris.
Last night, she’d wandered the winding streets until she’d found this café, instantly knowing it was perfect.
It reminded her of the Black Apron Bistro, where the words kindred spirits had taken on a meaning far greater than she had ever imagined.
She could still see the way Peter had looked at her that day, as though seeing something he’d never expected but had always hoped for.
Her heart skipped.
She had texted him that she’d arrived.
He had replied immediately.
He was coming.
A deep, familiar voice cut through the air, threading through the hum of conversation, wrapping around her like a long-awaited embrace.
“Landry.”
She turned.
And there he was.
For a single breath, the world held still.
Then she surged to her feet, heart pounding, and in an instant, she was in his arms.
Peter caught her, his warmth, his strength, so achingly familiar yet somehow brand new. She closed her eyes, breathed him in, her fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt as if she could somehow hold this moment in her hands and never let go.
“Thanks for meeting me,” she murmured against his shoulder, her voice barely above a whisper.
He let out a deep, unguarded laugh, the kind she had missed so much it hurt. “Thanks for coming to France.”
She exhaled a quiet laugh, her throat tight with emotion.
“I said I would,” she reminded him.
Peter pulled back just enough to look at her, a teasing glint in his hazel eyes. “Because you wanted to see Paris.”
She smiled softly. “Yes,” she admitted. Then, more quietly, more truthfully, “And because of you.”
Something flickered in his gaze—a slow-burning heat, a longing, a deep knowing.
He settled into the chair beside hers, but his fingers brushed against hers before they fully let go.
Landry smiled, her heart steady now. “I’m registered for a writing workshop here. It starts in two weeks.”
A slow smile spread across his lips. “So it’s not like you followed me here.”
She laughed, the sound light, teasing. “No, it’s not like that at all. Yet, here I am.”
His gaze softened, darkened. “What are your plans?”
She traced the rim of her cup again, but this time, her lips curved. “I thought maybe…while you’re here this weekend, you’d like to go to the Louvre with me?”
“And if I have more time than that?”
She exhaled slowly, bracing herself. “After my workshop, I thought I could take the train to Arras. You could show me all the things you wrote about.”
His answer was immediate, certain. “I would love nothing more.”
Then, he lowered his voice, his fingers finding hers again, twining them together. “I hope you’ll consider staying. With me. For as long as you want.”
Her breath hitched. The offer. The unspoken promise beneath it.
She nodded, heart full, overflowing. “I’d like that.”
He let out a breath, as if he had been holding it for too long.
“How long will you stay?”
“In France?” Her eyes held his. “My tourist visa is good for ninety days.”
Something darkened in his gaze, something unspoken, and then, slowly, he cupped her face in his warm, steady hands. His thumbs brushed over her cheekbones, reverent, as if memorizing her.
“You’ll stay the entire three months?”
She nodded. No doubts. No hesitation.
“I didn’t come with you at first because there were some things I needed to get clear in my head.” She met his gaze. “Now I understand that while I’m forging my own path, there’s no reason not to travel that path with my own Kindred Spirit by my side.”
His jaw tightened, his eyes burning into hers, something raw and unguarded passing between them.
“I love you, Landry,” he said, his voice thick, unsteady, true. Then, softer, as if tasting the words for the first time, committing them to memory. “I’ve never said it before, and now I wonder why.”
A slow, tremulous smile spread across her lips. “Everything in its time,” she whispered. Then, her voice strong, steady, full of all the love in her heart, she added, “For the record, I love you, too. Very much.”
She saw the unspoken promise in his eyes, the future waiting in the spaces between them.
He cupped her face again and kissed her. Soft. Slow. Certain.
When they finally parted, he rested his forehead lightly against hers.
“And to think,” he murmured, “we were brought together by a magical letter box.”
She let out a soft sigh, her heart light, her path clear.
“A letter box that led my heart to a kindred spirit…and a wonderful world of possibilities.”
Thank you so much for joining me on Landry’s journey.
Writing her story was such a personal experience.
I saw so much of myself in her quiet hopes, her hidden fears, and the bravery it takes to chase something new.
It’s so easy to let fear keep us stuck, isn’t it?
That’s why I found myself cheering right along with you when she slipped that first envelope into the Letter Box.
And by the time we reached Paris… let’s just say, that final moment with Peter had me smiling, too.
If Landry’s story touched your heart, I think you’re going to fall head over heels for The Possibility Wing, the next GraceTown novel.
It’s a heart-tugging, magical realism romance about parallel lives, second chances, and the love that finds its way home.
When Cora Summerbell returns to GraceTown for a fresh start, she never expects to find a hidden wing in the old Carnegie Library—or books that show the lives she might have lived.
As Cora journeys through the pages of her shadow-selves, she begins to realize…
the life she was meant for might still be waiting for her.