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.
