Standing at the entrance to the art gallery, I steel my nerves as I gaze at the large crowd.

People of all ages chatting, drinking champagne, dressed up, red lipstick, dinner jackets, Coeur De Pirate playing in the background.

Here for me.

All these people are here for me.

For my paintings. Not in a million years did I think I'd be dealing with this type of attention.

Tucking my short-bobbed hair behind my ear, I smooth out my dress and enter the room. Juliette and Philippe appear at my side, instinctively knowing their presence lends the support I need?

The minute I decided to move back to France, I told Juliette I was ready to take her up on her offer concerning her friend who owns the art gallery in Paris. And that's how I found myself immersed in painting for three months, finishing the ones I had already started and creating new pieces I could show. It was therapeutic and gave me something to work toward when I was initially freaking out about the decision I made.

I owed Juliette a lot. She and Philippe both have been such good friends and so supportive. And Juliette is doing a better job of talking up my paintings than I am.

"I'm sorry Madame, but this is already sold."

The woman nods as Juliette guides her effortlessly to another painting. "Ah but this one - C'est fantastique!"

With sadness, I gaze at the sold painting. Out of all my pieces, I was hoping this one would last the evening and I could take it home. I'm angry at myself for even letting it be displayed tonight. A lump forms in my throat as I look at the painting. Why did I agree to show this one with the others?

Suddenly I hear a familiar voice over my shoulder.

"You finished it perfectly."

My mind drifts to the memory of Jake looking at my unfinished work in my makeshift studio at the cottage, the smell of coffee in the air and soap on his skin as I lean against his bare chest, his arms wrapped around me. A familiar warmth spreads over me as I turn to face him and hope the blush doesn't show.

"Jake."

"Hi, Sloan."

My heart picks up an unsteady hammering as I gaze at his face.

"It's your grandmother and Adelaide?" he asks, pointing to the painting.

I nod as I look at it lovingly. The view from the cottage with two hazy figures in the distance, arms entwined, bodies moving elegantly, overlapping as if they were one.

"I painted them as I dreamt them one night. Happy and together. I set the price so high I didn't think it would sell, to be honest."

"It's beautiful. It's vibrant but haunting and dreamlike. Your best piece here I think."

I steal a glance at him. My heart thumps against my chest at the look he's giving me. All the same adoration, loyalty, and dare I say....No, I don't want to assume. I did reject him for someone else for all he knows. There's a chance I won't ever hear those words from him again. And I have no one to blame but myself.

"So, I know you have a lot of schmoozing to do, but do you think-" Jake begins.

"Yes," I say eagerly, "Let's get out of here."

Smiling, he grabs a couple of glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and motions with his head to a nearby exit.

A few minutes later we're on the roof of the building, the lights of the city twinkling around us in a breathtaking panorama, the honking, and bustling of the streets echoing from below. I know New York is known as the city that never sleeps, but from my experience, the same is true of Paris.

We settle against the railing as we clink glasses and sip our champagne.

I clear my throat, not sure where to begin. "Thanks for coming, Jake. I know you're trying to finish your program...." I trail off.

"There's been some recent changes with that. But that aside, the fact is you're having your first art show, and in Paris no less! I wouldn't miss this for the world, you should know that." He looks at me earnestly.

I nod absently, my words getting caught in my throat. There's too much to say and yet I'm so afraid to say what I'm feeling. Do I blurt it out right here and now?

"Is Colin here as well? Or is he filming?" Jake asks, interrupting my thoughts.

"Oh no, he isn't...I mean we're not...umm, that's over. That is to say, we didn't ever happen."

Jake's eyebrows raise slightly, surprise on his face, but he recovers quickly. "So, you're staying here in France for good?"

"I am." God, why am I so tongue-tied? I can't say more than two words after not seeing him for months? Get it together – this is your chance! I silently admonish myself.

"I think it's wonderful. Especially since I know you were so happy here. Well not here exactly, but in Locquirec. Even though I could see you living in Paris also, to be fair."

I try and ignore the palpitations of my heart as we naturally move closer together as we talk, our shoulders almost touching as our backs lean against the railing. Taking an unsteady breath, I realize he's wearing the same cologne as that night. A flood of memories and emotions overtake my mind with a sudden rush, and I have a hard time concentrating on what he's saying. I'm lost for a moment in the memories of that night and wonder how I'll ever regain what I want with him after the mess I made. With great effort, I tuck those images back into the ether of my mind and concentrate on the present.

"So, what about you? What's going on with the program?"

"Well, I decided to take a page out of your book and just be true to myself. This program has been amazing, but I think I was using it as a crutch." He takes a deep breath and continues, "So I applied to the World competition instead, and I'm looking for a full-time management job at a restaurant or bar, somewhere that'll get me closer to where I want to be."

"Jake, that's great! I'm so happy you're still going to do the competition. Especially because it sounds like you're ready." I give him a genuine smile, and his eyes reflect my warmth.

"Yeah, I am ready. These last couple of months have really shown me that." He stares into his champagne flute, the elephant in the room wedging its way in between us with that one sentence.

After a moment I ask, "Where are you looking for work? Portland?"

"No, actually in London preferably. I'm enjoying Europe and I have the time and means, so why not?"

I nod, realizing how close we'll still be to each other. Close but not close enough. Just do it, Lara, I urge silently - let him know what's been on your heart.

Swallowing the emotion rising in my throat, I look into his eyes, wondering if there's still a chance, a slight sliver of hope. "Jake, I need to tell you som-"

"There you are, Lara! I have been looking for you everywhere!"

Turning at the abrupt interruption I see the gallery owner Claudine suddenly emerge on the roof. "I have an important client for you to meet. And darling when I say important, I mean important!"

I look apologetically at Jake.

He takes my hand, squeezing it. "Go. This is your night. You deserve this."

I search his eyes, pleading quietly, "Will you stay? We can talk after?"

He smiles with a nod and lets go of my hand.

Slightly deflated, I follow Claudine back downstairs.

"Lara, please tell me that piece of eye candy is available! You two aren't involved are you?"

Instead of answering, I down the rest of my champagne and grab another one from a nearby waiter.

"Ah yes, here they are. Lara, this is Mr. and Mrs. Beauchamp."

And just like that, I'm swept away in the swirl of incessant chatter of small talk and congratulations for the rest of the evening. The night lasts longer than I imagined it would. I keep glancing at my watch, surprised people are still going strong at an art show.

Towards the end of the evening, Philippe finds me. "Lara! Some friends are going to a local cafe after. You must join us! In Paris, the celebrations do not end!"

"I would love to, but I'm supposed to...umm...Philippe have you seen Jake in the last hour?"

He looks at me knowingly. "I'm sorry Lara, but I believe he left already."

"He left? Are you sure?" I look around frantically, craning my head over the patrons.

He nods, and then seeing the look on my face, adds, "Lara, if you have more to say, then just say. You can call him. He would be by your side in a moment."

"I don't know about that. Maybe at one point, but I ruined that," I say dejectedly.

He loops his arm through mine and pats it reassuringly. "Ah, but that is where you are wrong. For true love, there is always a way. Look at Philippe and Juliette. We leave each other and find our way back."

Looking at my friend I realize that even though I did try and help them reunite, it ultimately was them.

They each made it happen.

~*~

Later that night, pacing in my Paris hotel room, I feel like a ton of bricks is sitting on my chest. The thought of losing someone for good is weighing heavily on me. Losing someone I love.

When I returned to France it was awkward to tell Colin that I had changed my mind about meeting him in Monaco. But it felt right. He had been understanding, disappointed that we hadn't gotten the chance to know one another better, but he also said in his line of work he was used to it. So, although fate had a hand in our meeting, I felt good about making decisions for myself – to put it in Jade speak, my gut and I have now become very well acquainted.

But even so, I had still pushed my feelings for Jake to the backburner and solely focused on my painting. After weeks spent painting and decorating my home – making it my own – I eventually couldn't ignore the obvious. I began to dream nonstop about him; he was constantly there in the forefront of my mind. It was as if the more I felt settled, and at peace with myself - the more I could acknowledge my feelings and allow them to grow into something unshakable.

As a result, what I was faced with was the truth...

That I love Jake.

A part of my soul was out there in him, and it physically pained me to lose him. Seeing him tonight made the ache in my heart almost unbearable.

I have to speak with him, make him listen to what I have to say. He put his heart on the line before, and now it's my turn to do the hard thing of being honest despite possible rejection.

Philippe's advice echoes in my mind, and I grab my phone. Taking a deep breath, I call Jake's cell. If he's staying here in Paris, there's a chance we can still meet up.

I swallow nervously and rehearse what to say as the phone rings, but it eventually goes to voicemail.

Hesitating at the beep, I decide to go for it. "Hi Jake...uh, it was so great to see you tonight! Sorry, we didn't get a chance to connect at the end there. Ummm...I was wondering when you're heading back to London. Or wherever you're staying, I guess I assumed you're still in London? Anyways I was hoping we could get together in the morning...grab some coffee? There's something I wanted to talk to you about....Or uh, if that won't work I'll be heading back to the cottage tomorrow and, well, if you want to come for a visit at some point I'd like that very much....ok bye for now."

I hang up and stare at the phone with a grimace. I definitely rambled. Like, really rambled. Oh god, I think suddenly, what if he's not even single anymore? It's been three months after all. With a groan, I collapse on the bed.

I must have fallen asleep because when I come to, I find myself in the same position, but it's now light out.

"Ugh!" I grab my phone to look at the time, realizing I slept right through my alarm.

I hustle to the bathroom and turn the shower on while I brush my teeth. It's a long drive from Paris to Locquirec, and I've got to get going since I don't want to get home super late.

Taking one more hopeful peek at my phone I see there are no missed calls or texts.

No word from Jake.

~*~

Rolling down the windows in anticipation before I reach Locquirec, I breathe in the first hint of salty ocean air. It makes my heart swell.

Home.

It smells like home.

Gravel crunching, my Peugeot comes to a stop and I step out and gaze at my cottage. Familiar blue shutters, but the front door now painted bright red. I gaze with fondness at the roses along the front porch I recently had Philippe plant for me.

Mémé's home, and the place I believe she felt most at peace. The place where she felt nearest the memory of the one who had captured her heart. The home they had both dreamed of.

Automatically fingering the necklace at my throat, I walk to the front door with my overnight bag. Leaning against the house on the front porch is a large, rectangular package. It's wrapped in brown paper, tied up with twine, and there's an envelope taped to the outside. Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I use both hands to bring it inside.

A low but excited meow greets me as my tabby kitten Minette trots into the entryway.

"Hi! Did you miss me?"

Setting down the package, I pick her up and plant a kiss on her nose, much to her displeasure, but she continues to vie for my attention by rubbing her soft head against my neck, purring contentedly.

Carrying her with me, I move into the kitchen and read the note left by the pet sitter. "Sounds like you were a good girl Minette."

She lets out a teeny meow in response and when I set her down she trots over to the back door.

"One sec, baby girl, I know you want to go play."

I'm anxious to see what's in the package. Opening the attached envelope the tiny card contains a message written in handwriting that I know well. It reads simply:

For you, my love.

My breathing becomes shallow as tears gather behind my eyes. "Oh Jake," I whisper, pressing the card to my lips. Hope springs in my chest at his words.

Removing the brown packaging, I find myself staring at the painting that I was heartbroken to part with - the painting of Adelaide and Elise. Moving my hand over it gently, I can hardly believe it's in my possession once more.

Glancing around, I wonder how it could have come to be here. I don't see any shipping information on the packaging. Maybe someone from the gallery dropped it off? That's a long trip, but...

Minette meows and scratches at the glass door again leading outside.

"Alright baby girl, hold on." Opening the door, I follow after her with a warning to not venture far.

Standing at the edge of my yard I take in the view I will never grow tired of. The very first glimpse of twilight permeates the horizon, the day growing hazy, wilting into night. Shadows play on the sand, the tide lapping slowly, peacefully.

I see him then, down on the beach.

A familiar tall figure.

La Fin.

~*~

(Continue to Epilogue)