Chapter 3 — A Dinner in Paris
Lucas
The Seine shimmered under the golden light of vintage streetlamps, its gentle waves reflecting the crescent moon in rippling patterns. Lucas adjusted the cuff of his tailored shirt as he lingered near the entrance of the restaurant, the crew’s laughter spilling out behind him. He told himself it was to escape the noise, but part of him wasn’t ready to leave. Dinner had been lively—chaotic, even—the kind of camaraderie he usually kept at arm’s length. And yet tonight, he’d stayed. Longer than he intended.
From his quiet corner, he’d watched Mia lightheartedly tease Ethan about his perpetually loose tie, her vibrant scarf gesturing theatrically as she spoke. It was a tableau he often observed from a distance, preferring the detachment of his own thoughts. But tonight, his focus had wandered elsewhere.
Izzy.
She had been laughing, cheeks flushed from a mix of amusement and embarrassment, her posture gradually easing into the dialogue around her. She was magnetic in a way he couldn’t quite place—effortlessly warm yet deliberate in her movements, as though she consciously chose how much of herself to reveal. And beneath that warmth, he caught glimpses of something else. A flicker of restraint, of caution, that intrigued him more than he cared to admit.
The door opened, and she stepped outside, her leather jacket draped casually over one shoulder, her wavy dark brown hair loose instead of its usual sleek ponytail. The shift in her appearance struck him. She looked different—softer, unguarded. More herself.
She caught his eye. “You’re leaving already?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. Her voice was light, but there was an unspoken curiosity in her tone.
“Not quite,” he replied, gesturing toward the riverbank. “Thought I’d take a walk. Clear my head.”
Izzy hesitated, the corner of her mouth curving briefly into the faintest smile. “Mind some company? It’s been a long day.”
For a moment, Lucas considered giving his usual excuse—an early morning, a packed schedule. Instead, he nodded. “Not at all.”
They began down the cobblestone path, the uneven stones making each step deliberate. The air was crisp, carrying faint notes of freshly baked crepes from a nearby street vendor. A distant accordion’s melody drifted through the night like a whispered invitation. Lucas glanced at Izzy, who walked beside him, her fingers lightly brushing the edge of her jacket.
“This city…” she began thoughtfully, her gaze fixed on the softly illuminated waters. “It feels like a story waiting to be told. Every corner has a secret, every street a memory.”
Lucas raised an eyebrow, surprised by the poetic turn. “Do you always get this sentimental after dinner?”
She laughed softly, the sound warm and unrestrained. “Only in Paris, I suppose. It’s hard not to.”
A small smile tugged at his lips despite himself. “You notice the little details. Most people don’t.”
Izzy turned to look at him, her warm brown eyes searching his face. “Comes with the job. You meet so many people, hear so many stories—it’s hard not to notice the little things.” She glanced at the cobblestones as if studying their intricate patterns. “What about you, Captain Hayes? What draws you to all this? Flying, I mean.”
Lucas exhaled, the simplicity of her question catching him off guard. He hesitated, then said carefully, “It’s what I’ve always known. My father was a pilot. My grandfather too. I grew up hearing stories about the skies.” He hesitated again, memories stirring like the faint hum of a distant plane. “My dad used to take me to the airfield on weekends. I remember watching the planes take off, feeling like they could go anywhere. It stuck, I guess.”
“That explains the professionalism,” Izzy teased, her smile softening the moment. “You’ve got jet fuel in your veins.”
Lucas’s lips twitched upward briefly. “Something like that. But there’s more to it.” He paused, weighing his words. “Up there, things don’t feel as complicated. Everything makes sense. The rules, the structure—it’s predictable.”
Izzy’s steps faltered slightly, the shift so subtle it might have gone unnoticed. But Lucas caught it. She studied him for a moment, her expression thoughtful. “Sounds like you’ve had your share of chaos to contend with.”
The weight of her words settled between them. Lucas felt his jaw tighten briefly, his gaze shifting to the river. He didn’t reply immediately, letting the steady rhythm of their footsteps fill the silence. “Haven’t we all?” he said finally, his voice quieter now.
Izzy didn’t push. Her silence wasn’t an expectation—it was an invitation. For once, Lucas didn’t feel the usual need to fill it with measured words or polite deflection. Instead, he let the quiet expand around them, the accordion’s melody weaving through the air like a thread connecting them.
They reached the railing at the river’s edge, the Seine’s gentle waters lapping at the stone embankment below. Izzy leaned against the metal, her jacket slipping slightly from her shoulder as she stared out at the illuminated cityscape. Lucas stood a step behind, his hands in his pockets, his thoughts tangled in the unspoken weight of their conversation.
“I get it,” she said finally, her voice quiet but steady. “Wanting to escape, I mean. Sometimes you just need to put distance between yourself and… everything else.” She glanced at him, a flicker of vulnerability crossing her features. “It’s why I started flying in the first place. New places, new faces—it felt like freedom.”
“And now?” Lucas asked softly, his voice steady despite the tension coiling in his chest. “Does it still feel like freedom?”
Izzy hesitated, her fingers brushing the cool edge of the railing. “Sometimes,” she admitted, her voice tinged with something she wasn’t quite ready to name. “But sometimes it feels like running.”
The raw honesty of her words cut through Lucas’s usual defenses. He studied her profile, the way the city lights reflected in her eyes, the faint crease between her brows as she spoke. “You don’t strike me as someone who runs from things.”
A faint smile played at her lips, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “What makes you so sure?”
“Just a hunch,” he replied, his tone lighter than the moment felt.
She turned to him then, her smirk holding a playful edge. “For someone so reserved, you’re surprisingly good at reading people.”
“I could say the same about you,” he countered, his voice carrying a note of quiet admiration.
For a moment, the space between them felt charged, an unspoken understanding passing through the night air. But just as quickly as it surfaced, Lucas felt the familiar walls rising once more. He straightened, his posture stiffening as he glanced back toward the restaurant.
“We should head back,” he said, his tone measured again. “Early morning tomorrow.”
Izzy blinked, the shift not lost on her. “Right. Of course.” She pushed off the railing, slipping her jacket back onto her shoulder as they turned and retraced their steps.
Their earlier ease was replaced by a heavier silence, the cobblestones beneath them amplifying each step. Lucas felt the tension settling in his chest, the pull toward her clashing with the instinct to retreat.
By the time they reached the restaurant, the crew had dispersed, the chatter replaced by the quiet hum of the Parisian night. Izzy paused at the door, her hand lingering lightly on the frame as she looked back at him.
“Thanks for the walk,” she said softly, her voice carrying a sincerity that left him momentarily unsteady.
Lucas met her gaze, his words faltering. “Goodnight, Izzy.”
Her smile was faint but genuine as she slipped inside, leaving Lucas alone on the cobblestone street.
He lingered there, the distant strains of the accordion fading as he turned his gaze back to the river. The rippling waters reflected the scattered light above, their movement steady and unrelenting.
It was strange, he thought, how someone could unsettle him so completely with nothing more than a quiet conversation and an unguarded smile.
And yet, as the night settled around him, he found himself holding onto that thought.
Perhaps, for the first time in a long while, he didn’t entirely mind the turbulence.
