Robin led her friend up the back stairs and into her studio apartment. The small garret tucked under the eaves held a daybed, which pulled double duty as a bed for Robin and a couch for visitors. Not that Robin had any visitors. Or much space in the room. A dresser only big enough for five T-shirts, four sweaters, a couple pairs of pants, and her threadbare jammies stood to one side. Her shower and toilet were tucked under the eaves on the other side of the hall. She took her meals in the kitchen of the bakery.
They sat on the daybed, knee to knee. A cloud passed by her round window, throwing the room into shadow.
“Now, tell me why you are unhappy.”
Robin tried for a laugh. It came out with a croak. “Who said I’m unhappy?”
Elise put a hand on her knee. “We lived together for four years. I know when you’re faking it.”
“Fine.” Robin looked toward the window. “I thought coming here and being part of this bakery would be the greatest thing. When I was in Deep Haven, I kept dreaming of moving back here. This was all I wanted.”
“Except you sacrificed love.”
“He doesn’t want me.” The thought twisted in her heart, a sudden sharp pain.
“Did he tell you that?”
“He said, ‘It’s becoming clear that we want very different things out of life.’” She tried to add an edge of sarcasm but failed. “He wanted me to settle.”
“I think maybe he just wants you to choose him.” Elise patted her knee again.
The words rang inside Robin. They had a sliver of truth.
Elise stood, warming to her subject. “Also, he’s not wrong. You can’t always be chasing the high. We have to live in the normal, the everyday. You have to love your life for the regular times too.”
“You’re the second person who has said that to me.” She winced at the memory of the hurt on Sam’s face as he said it.
“Why can’t you see it? You want to bake amazing cakes, and that’s fine, but sometimes life is about making bread too. It can’t be all sugar all the time. Bread is deeply satisfying, a foundation of life—like love.” Elise paced in front of her. “You think you don’t fit in anywhere, but it’s just not true. You fit in here, and you fit in your small town back home. You just don’t want to believe it because you want to be a superstar with cakes on magazines and all the adoration of Paris. Also, fitting in and belonging aren’t the same thing.”
“I guess you’re right.” She kneaded her hands in her lap.
“Oh, I know I am. Life is a journey lived out one step at a time. We need to walk out our faith and our life with a long faithfulness, not living on mountaintop experiences.”
“But how do I do that?”
“Only you can answer that, my friend.” Elise put a hand on her hip. “Ask yourself, is my dream to bake here in France, far from my family and other ‘loved ones’?” She winked broadly as she put air quotes around the last words. “Or is it okay for my dream to change?”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Good. Now, I need another one of those tarts before I head back to the train station.”
Robin swatted her friend on the arm, and they headed downstairs.
“Damien, I’m going to walk Elise to the train station.” Robin served each of them another jam tart, and then they walked out into the sunshine.
Buildings rose tall along the cobbled streets on the way to the train station, a brisk ten-minute walk.
“Thank you for coming,” Robin said. “I needed to see a friendly face. I needed the truth-telling even more.”
“Anytime. I’m glad it worked out.” Elise linked her arm through Robin’s. “I expect to see you in Paris some afternoon.”
Soon the station appeared. After a quick hug, the friends said goodbye, and Robin headed back to the bakery.
A block away, she spotted a man standing just outside the open bakery door. As she drew closer, fragments of his American accent drifted toward her. His back was broad and his blond hair cut close to his head.
Could it be? She quickened her steps, and the bell on the door jingled as he went inside.
A sprout of hope began pushing its way up through her heart.
