The gentle hum of Paris at dawn was a stark contrast to Sophie's inner turmoil. She had spent the better part of the night replaying Julien's parting words over and over in her head. Why did they feel so different from the other dates? Why did they feel... real?
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, breaking her train of thought. Camille's name flashed on the screen. Sophie groaned, already knowing what was coming.
"Morning, sunshine!" Camille chirped when Sophie answered. "So? How was it? Tell me everything; you didn't finish last night!"
Sophie flopped back against her pillows. "It was... nice."
"Nice?" Camille gasped. "That's it? What happened? Did he bore you to death with book trivia? Did he have bad breath?"
"No, nothing like that!" Sophie protested. "He was... lovely. We talked; we laughed. It was probably the best date I've had in a long time."
"Then why do you sound like you just lost a croissant competition?" Camille teased. "Shouldn't you be excited?"
"I don't know," Sophie admitted. "I guess it just feels... unfamiliar. I'm not used to this anymore."
Camille was silent for a moment, a rare occurrence. "Soph, it's okay to feel that way. It's been a while since, Adrien, and you've been through a lot. But Julien seems like a good guy. Maybe this is your chance to start fresh."
Sophie sighed. "Maybe."
"Well," Camille said, her voice brightening, "if nothing else, at least you've got another date lined up! Right?"
"I think so," Sophie said hesitantly. "He asked, and I said yes, but…"
"No buts!" Camille interrupted. "You're doing this. You deserve it."
Later that afternoon, Sophie was in her kitchen, kneading dough with more force than necessary. Baking had always been her solace, her way of working through emotions she couldn't quite articulate. Her task was to perfect her grandmother's almond croissant recipe.
But as she rolled out the dough, her thoughts were all about Julien. His warm smile, his quiet confidence, the way he seemed genuinely interested in her stories. It was so unlike the over-the-top performances of her previous dates.
The sound of a knock at her door jolted her from her reverie. She wiped her hands on a towel and opened the door to find Camille standing there, holding a bottle of wine and a mischievous grin.
"I figured you could use some company," Camille said, breezing past Sophie into the apartment. "And maybe a little liquid courage for your next date."
Sophie laughed despite herself. "You're impossible."
"That's why you love me," Camille quipped, setting the wine on the counter. She eyed the croissants in progress. "Are these for Julien?"
"Maybe," Sophie admitted, her cheeks reddening. "I thought I'd bake something for him as a thank-you for last night."
"Very smooth," Camille said approvingly. "Nothing says 'I'm interested' like buttery, flaky goodness."
By evening time of the same day, Paris was bathed in the soft glow of twilight, and Sophie was standing outside a quaint little bookshop tucked away in a cobblestone alley. The bell above the door jingled as she stepped inside, and the familiar smell of old books greeted her like an old friend. Julien looked up from behind the counter, his warm smile instantly melting away the stress of her day.
"Sophie," he said, his voice laced with genuine surprise. "I wasn't expecting you."
"I, um, thought I'd stop by," she said, holding up a bag. "I brought you something."
Julien's eyebrows lifted in curiosity as Sophie handed him the bag. He peeked inside and let out a soft chuckle. "Almond croissants. You're spoiling me."
"Well, it's not every day I get someone that saves me from going on disastrous dates," she replied; her tone was teasing but grateful.
Julien laughed, setting the bag down. "Then I'll consider this my hero's reward. I was just about to close up. Would you like to join me for a cup of tea?"
Sophie hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "I'd like that."
They sat at a small table in the corner of the shop, steaming mugs of tea and the croissants between them. The conversation flowed easily, their laughter punctuating the otherwise quiet space. Sophie shared stories she hadn't told anyone in years—about her childhood summers spent baking with her grandmother, her disastrous attempts at culinary school, and her dreams of opening a bakery.
Julien listened intently; his gaze was never wavering. "It's quite an interesting story, I must say; your pastries taste so much better than the ones I usually get from the store across.," he said. "And you're still chasing your dream. That's inspiring."
Sophie blushed, looking down at her mug. "I guess. Sometimes it feels like I'm just fumbling around, hoping something sticks."
Julien shook his head. "You're too hard on yourself. It's clear you're passionate about what you do. That's more than most people can say."
"What about you?" Sophie asked, changing the subject. "Have you always wanted to run a bookshop?"
Julien smiled wistfully. "Not always. I studied architecture, but after a while, I realized it wasn't for me. I wanted something quieter, something that let me connect with people on a more personal level. So, books felt... right."
"That's brave of you; seriously," Sophie said. "Walking away from something you've worked so hard for."
"Not as brave as pursuing your dream in a city like Paris," Julien countered. "It takes guts to put yourself out there."
Sophie smiled, feeling a warmth she hadn't felt in a long time. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the distant sounds of the city filtering through the shop's windows.
Julien hesitated at the door as they said their goodbyes. "Sophie," he said, his voice softer than usual. "I know we said we'd keep things casual, but... But I really like you a lot, and I would like you to go out with me more often. Just us?"
Sophie's heart skipped a beat. She looked at him; his eyes were hopeful but guarded. Then she felt something she hadn't in years, something more like a spark.
"I'd like that," she said, with a genuine smile.