"She mentions you a lot," James said. "Very romantic. Very Netflix special."
Yuki waved from her station but didn't approach. That was fine—Yuki barely talked to anyone.
"Want to see what I'm working on?" Lucy asked Jake, steering him away from her friends' teasing.
She showed him her current project—a complex tarte tatin that Chef Laurent had assigned. Jake watched as she explained the caramelization technique, the importance of apple selection, the delicate balance of butter and sugar.
"This is incredible," Jake said. "You're incredible. You've learned so much."
"I have." Lucy felt pride swell in her chest. "Chef Laurent is intense but he's taught me more in two months than I learned in five years at the bakery."
Something flickered across Jake's face—too quick for Lucy to identify.
"That's great," Jake said. "Really great."
They left the school and walked along the Seine, watching the boats pass and the tourists take photos of Notre-Dame (still under construction but beautiful even with scaffolding).
"Your friends seem nice," Jake said.
"They are. Amelie and James especially—we get coffee after class almost every day."
"That's good. I'm glad you're not alone."
"Are you?" Lucy studied his face. "You seem... I don't know. Off."
"I'm not off. I'm just tired. Jet lag."
But Lucy didn't believe him. Something was wrong.
They made it back to Jake's hotel around 5 PM. The room was small but nice—French-fancy with old furniture and tall windows overlooking a courtyard.
"This is nice," Lucy said, setting down her bag.
"Yeah. It's—"
But Lucy didn't let him finish. She kissed him, hard and desperate, and Jake immediately responded.
They hadn't touched—really touched—in two months. The video calls and texts were nothing compared to this. To feeling his hands on her body, his mouth on her neck, the solid reality of him.
They made love urgently, frantically, like they were trying to make up for two months of distance in one afternoon.
Afterwards, lying in the hotel bed, Lucy traced the scar on Jake's shoulder—the one from his injury six years ago.
"I missed this," Lucy said quietly. "I missed you."
"I missed you too. So much."
"But?"
Jake was quiet for a moment. "No but. I'm just processing. Being here. Seeing your life in Paris."
"And?"
"And it's beautiful, Lucy. You're thriving here. Your friends clearly adore you. You're learning incredible things. You're—" Jake paused. "You're becoming someone new. Someone I don't quite recognize yet."
Lucy felt her chest tighten. "Is that bad?"
"No. It's good. It's what you came here to do. I just—" Jake turned to face her. "I feel like an outsider in your life. Like I'm visiting someone else's world instead of sharing yours."
