Jake escaped before she could continue planning a wedding for a relationship that was exactly one day old.
That evening, Jake drove to Uncle Walter's to pick Lucy up for their Burlington dinner date.
She answered the door in a dress Jake had never seen—dark blue, elegant, beautiful. Her hair was down, curled, and she looked nervous.
"Hi," Lucy said.
"Hi. You look beautiful."
"Thanks. You look good too."
They drove to Burlington mostly in comfortable silence, occasionally reaching for each other's hands across the console.
The restaurant was a small Italian place Marcus had recommended. Quiet, intimate, good food.
"This is nice," Lucy said, looking around. "I missed Italian food in Paris. The French are very protective of their cuisine."
"Tell me about Paris. The real Paris, not the Instagram version. What was it actually like?"
So Lucy told him. About the loneliness, the exhaustion, the constant pressure at Le Bernardin. About her friends—Amelie, James, Yuki—who'd supported her even when she was drowning. About Chef Laurent and his impossible standards. About realizing that working in a Michelin kitchen wasn't her dream after all.
"I thought I wanted that life," Lucy said. "The prestige, the recognition, the career. But Jake—I was miserable. Working sixteen hours a day, coming home to an empty apartment, missing everyone here. Missing you."
"Why didn't you tell me? When I visited in July, why didn't you say you were unhappy?"
"Because I thought it was just an adjustment. That I'd get used to it, that the misery would pass. And also—" Lucy paused, "—I was too proud to admit I'd made a mistake. I'd chosen Paris so publicly, turned down your relationship for this career. Admitting it wasn't working felt like admitting I was wrong about everything."
"You're allowed to be wrong."
"I know. Now. But in July? I was still trying to convince myself I'd made the right choice."
They talked through dinner—about Paris, about Timber Falls, about Jake's season as head coach. It felt like their early dates, back when everything was new and exciting.
But there was also an undercurrent of sadness. Of time lost. Of three months they'd spent apart that they couldn't get back.
"Can I ask you something?" Jake said over dessert.
"Always."
"What made you finally come back? What was the breaking point?"
Lucy thought about it. "Chef Alain—the head pastry chef at Le Bernardin—he told me I was making technically perfect food that had no soul. He asked me where my heart was, and I said Vermont. And he asked why I was in Paris if my heart was somewhere else. And I didn't have a good answer."
"So you quit."
"So I quit. Gave notice, booked my flight, and came home. Scared out of my mind that I'd burned all my bridges. That you'd have moved on. That I'd given up Paris for nothing."
"You didn't give it up for nothing. You gave it up for yourself. For the life you actually want."
"And that life includes you. I hope."
"It does. It absolutely does."
On the drive back to Timber Falls, Lucy fell asleep against the window. Jake glanced at her—relaxed, peaceful, home—and felt something settle in his chest.
This was right. They were right. The past three months had been hell, but maybe they needed that time apart. To grow independently. To figure out who they were separately before they could be together again.
Jake pulled up to Uncle Walter's and gently shook Lucy awake.
