Nate stared at his phone, the faint hum of the line the only sound in his studio. Lia's words hadn't been what he expected, but they weren't what he feared either.
"It wasn't like that," Lia finally said, her voice shaking. "Julien leaned in, and I... I froze. I didn't kiss him back, Nate. I swear."
Relief coursed through Nate, but it was quickly replaced by unease. "Why didn't you tell him to stop?"
"I did!" Lia's voice rose defensively. "It all happened so fast. I pushed him away and left immediately. I'm telling you because I didn't want there to be secrets between us."
Nate sat back, exhaling deeply. He could hear the distress in her voice, the sincerity behind her words. Still, the image of someone else crossing a line with Lia burned in his mind.
"I believe you," Nate said finally, his voice soft but firm. "But I don't know if I can handle knowing someone else—someone there—thinks they have a chance with you."
Silence stretched between them, heavy and tense.
"Nate," Lia said, her voice quieter now, "you have no idea how much I miss you. Being here feels... surreal. And lonely. But I can't let this one stupid moment ruin everything we've built. Please don't let it."
Nate closed his eyes, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not giving up on us, Lia. But I need to know you're sure about this—about us. Because I'm all in, and I need to know you are too."
"I am," she said without hesitation. "You're my anchor, Nate. Even when I feel lost here, you're the one thing that keeps me grounded."
After the call, Lia sat on the small balcony of her Paris apartment, overlooking the quiet, cobblestone street below. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of fresh bread from the bakery nearby. She hugged her knees to her chest, guilt and longing swirling in her chest.
Julien's audacity had shaken her, not just because of his actions, but because it forced her to confront how vulnerable she felt. She was a stranger in a city that didn't yet feel like home, surrounded by people who seemed effortlessly confident in their place here. Julien's attention had been flattering in a way that made her uncomfortable, a stark reminder of how isolated she was without Nate.
She resolved to avoid Julien at all costs, but she knew she couldn't ignore her growing sense of displacement. Paris was supposed to be her dream, yet it felt like she was living someone else's life.
Back in Cedarwood, Nate tried to channel his emotions into his art, but it wasn't working. Every brushstroke felt strained, every color wrong. He decided to take a walk to clear his head, wandering through the quiet streets until he found himself at Cedarwood's library.
Inside, he spotted a familiar face: Anna, his old friend from high school who now worked as a librarian. She was sitting behind the counter, her nose buried in a book.
"Still reading instead of working?" Nate teased, leaning against the counter.
Anna looked up and grinned. "Some things never change. What brings you here?"
"Just needed a distraction," he admitted.
Anna studied him for a moment, her smile fading. "Trouble in paradise?"
Nate hesitated, then nodded. "Lia's in Paris, and it's... harder than I thought it would be."
Anna set her book aside, giving him her full attention. "Long-distance is tough. But if anyone can make it work, it's you two. You're one of the most stubborn people I know, Nate Sullivan."
He chuckled despite himself. "Not sure if that's a compliment."
"It is," Anna said with a smile. "Lia's lucky to have someone who cares so much. Just don't lose yourself in the process."
The following week, Lia found herself pulled into a whirlwind of new responsibilities at the museum. Margaux had assigned her to oversee the restoration of a 19th-century painting, a daunting task that required meticulous attention to detail.
To her surprise, one of the museum's senior restorers, a reserved but brilliant man named Victor Rousseau, took her under his wing. Victor was in his late forties, with a quiet demeanor and a deep love for art that reminded Lia of Nate.
"You have a good eye," Victor told her one afternoon as they worked side by side. "But you hesitate. Art restoration requires confidence. Trust your instincts."
Lia nodded, grateful for his guidance. She found herself looking forward to their sessions, which gave her a sense of purpose and belonging she hadn't felt since arriving in Paris.
Still, she avoided Julien like the plague, going out of her way to steer clear of any event he might attend. When they did cross paths, she kept their interactions strictly professional, refusing to give him any reason to think she was interested.
One evening, Lia called Nate while sitting in her favorite café. The connection crackled slightly, but hearing his voice made her heart ache in the best way.
"I wish you were here," she said, her fingers tracing the rim of her coffee cup.
"Me too," Nate replied. "Cedarwood's not the same without you."
They talked about their days, about Victor and Anna and the small moments that made up their lives. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough to remind them why they were fighting to stay connected.
Before they hung up, Nate hesitated. "Lia, my exhibition is being scouted by a New York gallery. They're interested in representing me."
"That's amazing!" Lia exclaimed, a genuine smile lighting up her face.
"It is," Nate said, though his tone was cautious. "But it might mean moving to New York."
Lia's smile faltered. "Oh."
"Nothing's decided yet," Nate added quickly. "I just... wanted you to know."
Lia swallowed hard. "I'm happy for you, Nate. Really. But I guess I just assumed Cedarwood would always be home."
"Home is wherever you are," he said softly.
As Lia navigated her growing responsibilities and Nate considered his future, Julien wasn't the only challenge on the horizon. Margaux, sharp-eyed and perceptive, had begun to take an interest in Lia's personal life.
"Love and art don't always mix well," Margaux said one day as they examined a new exhibit. "Paris has a way of testing both."
"I've heard that before," Lia said, her tone guarded.
Margaux's lips curved into a knowing smile. "Then take it as advice from someone who's seen many romances falter under the weight of ambition. Be careful, Lia. Even the strongest threads can fray."
Lia couldn't shake the feeling that Margaux knew more than she let on. And for the first time, she wondered if her mentor saw her as a protégé—or as a rival.