I step onto the stones of the patio, and one of my heels sinks into the gap between the pavers. What possessed me to wear the heels I brought for my interview to meet Ben today? Vanity. It was vanity and the need to show I've grown up and matured and had something to offer. My outside had to reflect the growth and improvements I've made. I'll never be able to catch up with Ben's accomplishments, and I didn't have hundreds of thousands of subscribers watching my videos, but I've made progress of my own and used these years wisely.

"Do you think this will work?" Ben asks.

He's standing too close and I can't move. I can't breathe.

"What's that are over there?" I point into the furthest corner of the yard. "Did Mike and Angie help you design the outside as well?" 

"I haven't done much here," says Ben and moves away from me. "The previous owners had a professional landscape designer come in. I wanted to have a house with a pool, but this was a compromise I was willing to live with." He walks around, pointing at different parts of the yard that isn't large but has everything for a party.

The distance he creates between us helps my insides cool down even though the sun is blasting above. In the coolness of the house, my skin became hot and impossibly sensitive and my hand turned into an erogenous zone the instant he grabbed it and tugged me behind him as a child. Skin to skin, palm to palm—the sweet torture that tested my resolve and had to be terminated. He's not available. He's not yours. He's not even a friend anymore, an acquaintance at best.

Observing Ben change on the screen over the years should've prepared me for seeing him in person, but it did not. Ben, at twenty-three, was attractive with his lean physique, boyish smile, and serious impossibly blue eyes. Ben, at twenty-eight, was overwhelming. The light stubble on his cheeks, the longish professionally cut hair, the broader chest were the same as on the screen but so much more potent in person—the fans were right to obsess over him.

"Last time, I used the barbeque to grill, and we set up the table and chairs in the gazebo." He's walking further away, and I don't follow. I can't follow.

I should be focusing on the patio, the gazebo, the barbeque, and the fire pit Ben is pointing at, but I'm stuck. Both the heel of my shoe and my mind can not move—victims of Ben-induced paralysis. In my mind, I'm pulling him back to me, kissing him, and reacquainting myself with the changes five years have brought to his body, but I can't do it. Shouldn't do it. Won't do it.

My selfishness won once, and I had him for a short while and messed it up. I had the time to learn from my mistakes and to hatch a plan. I need to get a job in Chicago, prove I'm planning to stay, establish the fact that I've changed, and that he can trust me. I'm going to convince him that I'm ready for the forever he wanted then. Maybe dressing up today was less about my growth and more about seeing if he'd want me again, but it was for naught as the heels and the perfume aren't doing the job. Apart from the two-second hug in the foyer, Ben's maintained a neutral, friendly conversation. No declarations of love or passionate kisses. Time is on my side now. I can wait until later. Later, when he can't say I'm not ready for something serious.

"Do you think we should set the party up here?" Ben asks.

"How about we see what the weather's like, and we can decide then. I'll order the extra chairs and tables once we have the headcount, and we can set up the day before."

"Let me show you the rest of the house then." He walks past me, and I try to extricate my heel and follow, but it's not working, and I'll have to unbuckle the strap that goes around my ankle and remove the shoe

"Are you coming?"

"Hold on, my shoe," I say and give it another pull.

Ben's back outside, then on his knee by me. One hand on my calf and the other one on my ankle, he tugs on the shoe, and I grab onto his shoulder as he frees the heel, and I lean too far to one side to stand straight on my own.

With both of my feet on the pavers, Ben starts to stand up, and my hand trails from his shoulder down his chest, and it takes me a moment to react and yank it away before it lands on his waist. I turn away unable to control my reaction to touching him and cradle the hand that just traced his body.

We've been here before, and last time I rushed, I overstepped, I dragged him into my pool of desire. This time I'm going to be in control, and I'm going to do this right.

"Thank you for your help," I say. "I might have to see the rest of the house another day. It's getting late." I look at the sun that's shining brightly in the middle of the sky, "I don't want to impose, and I have lunch plans. Let's keep in touch, and I'll be back to help you set up before the party."

***

I forgot how brutal the jetlag was coming back to Chicago every summer. Today I promised myself to stay awake at least until nine, maybe eight, and not go to bed at six like I did yesterday.

I'm already tired. Refusing to be seduced by several chain coffee shops on my way, I hold off till I open the door of 'Maison Parisienne'.

"Here's your coffee." The waitress deposits the cup drowning in milky froth in front of me, "Would you like anything else?"

"The soft-boiled eggs, please, and an eclair."

"One order of eggs "A la coque" and one eclair. Anything else?"

"Yes, who can I talk to about a large order of desserts for a party in a week?"

"I'll send Mary your way—she'll help you, enjoy your lunch."

Double espresso and not café au lait was what I used to order here when Dad and I came to indulge in authentic food and the best French desserts in Chicago. I picked up the habit of adding milk to my coffee over the last five years living with Mom, and when the hot creamy liquid pools on my tongue, I'm glad I stuck to my new tastes.

But I'm not here only for the coffee and the memories, because no matter how much Ben insists on cooking everything himself, he needs to listen to me. I'm ordering desserts from here, and if we have twice the desserts we need, he'll be the one responsible for figuring out what to do with the leftovers.

"Your eggs, miss." The three eggs and sticks of bread stacked into a square, like little logs, smell delicious. I dip the bread into the gooey liquid yolk, and its warmth, on top of what the hot cup of coffee already done, offsets the chill from the air conditioner.

The last piece of bread is as sumptuous as the first one was and I move the empty plate away. It's me vs. the eclair. I pick it up, but before my favorite dessert reaches my open mouth, someone jostles my elbow. The eclair splats on the jacket of the older guy who is the cause of the accident, balances on his arm, and lands on the floor.

"Pardon, I'm so sorry, mademoiselle, I'm so sorry." His accent is unmistakable, and I reply in French to ease his obvious embarrassment.

"It's ok. You are the one who got the brunt of it." I grab a napkin and start wiping the creme off his sleeve.

"You're French," he says. "What a coincidence." He's calming down from his original frazzled state.

"We're in the best French cafe in Chicago—it's not such a coincidence after all."

"You're right, Mademoiselle, so right, let me get you another eclair and a cup of coffee, perhaps?"

"I was looking forward to this eclair for quite some time, so I'm not going to say no. And another cup of coffee is exactly what I need to fight the jetlag. Thank you," I say.

"You've just arrived? Welcome to Chicago, how do you like it so far?"

"Just arrived, yes, but I've lived in Chicago most of my life."

"But your French, it's perfect."

"Well, thank you, my dad was American and  Mom is French, so I'm equally fluent in both languages. I'm Amelie."

"Jacque." We shake hands, and he pulls up a chair to my table. "Do you mind? It's such a pleasure to speak in French with you; I don't get to do it much, but I'm retiring and going back to France this fall, so I'm closer to my son and grandchildren."

"That must be a relief. I moved to France five years ago to live with my mother and her family, and I'm so glad I did."

"Where at?"

"St. Nazaire, on the coast."

"Oh, my, a beautiful, beautiful place to call home. My alma mater l'Université de Bretagne-Loire is right there."

"No way, that's where I graduated from last month."

"You don't say. What's your degree in?"

"Ph.D. in Social Sciences."

"And the topic of your dissertation?"

"International Marriage through in Literature and History: a comparative analysis."

"And what are your plans now?"

Either the conversation is getting a bit too like an interview, or it's the fact that everyone keeps asking me about these same things, but I bristle up.

"Find a job and take it from there."

"I'm sorry." Jaque leans forward and lowers his voice. "I know I'm prying here, but would you be interested in teaching at a University here?"

"It's one of the options I'm looking into. Still trying to decide between the commercial sector and academia. I've interviews lined up this week for marketing research positions and next week one at UChicago for an assistant professor of Social Thought."

"This is unbelievable, my God, unbelievable I tell you. That's the job I was thinking about for you. I teach Anthropology and am part of the Social Thought Committee there. I'm not a big believer in fate, but this meeting of ours is serendipitous, don't you agree?"

I agree. We chat and my new friend even helps me pick the best desserts for the party. I leave Jaque, four empty coffee cups, and three small plates with nothing but crumbles and exit the cafe with his card in my pocket and his contact information in my phone.

The first interview isn't until tomorrow, and I make good use of the rest of the day shopping for tiny clothes, baby shower decorations, and party favors. The high heels were not a good choice for a shopping spree, and I buy sandals in one of the stores and put them on. The trunk of my rental car is full, and a vision of what Angie's baby shower will be like begins to emerge.

I should be heading back to Angie's place, but there's one more thing I long to do. Before the evening darkens the sky, I indulge in a bit of nostalgia and stop by the building Dad and I lived in for almost twenty years before he died, then drive around the UChicago campus and by the apartment Angie and I used to share near it. I stop at the parking lot of the grocery store where I first talked to Ben and I'm ready to be done for the night but decide to make one more stop. I drive by the magnificent Aqua building Ben used to rent a place in and the park where we took our first walk together.

The sights are familiar, yet everything is not quite as I remember it. It's either shinier and brighter or duller and more mundane. The Chicago of my youth and childhood moved on without me, and I'll have to find new spots to call my own and make new memories.

The street parking near Angie's building is hard to find, and I park a couple of blocks away, grab only my handbag, my heels, and the box with the sticker of 'Maison Parisienne' from the car and leave the rest of the stuff in the trunk to take to Ben's new house later. It's seven-thirty and the effect of multiple coffees with Jaque has faded.

"Look who's back," Angie's wearing her workout clothes and the round belly peaks from underneath her T-shirt. "How was Ben, what did you do all day?" She can't give me one of her famous full-body hugs anymore, but we manage to improvise a side-hug, which is better than no hug at all. 

"Visited some old stomping grounds and got this for you." I give her the small box with croissants—the only thing I thought wouldn't melt in the car while I shopped.

Angie opens the box and sniffs it, then breathes out a sigh of relief. "I'll have those for breakfast. Old stomping grounds is well and good but what about Ben?"

"We started planning the baby shower, I got some decorations as—"

"Stop pretending, I'm not asking about the baby shower, I'm asking about Ben. How was it? Seeing him after these years?"

"You see him all the time, Angie, what d'you want me to say?"

"Anything?"

"It was nice seeing him again." I take off my sandals and walk around her. "I don't think I can stay awake much longer. We'll talk in the morning, OK? I promise." If I say anything, I might say everything, and until I know whose side Angie is on, I'm keeping my plans to myself.

I turn off the light and move the blow-up mattress a bit further away from the half-assembled crib I stubbed my toe on in the morning. I turn on the night light and it casts stars onto the ceiling. This kid is going to have a great place to call home.

For those who read Love Novice: 

Are you recognizing the event Am's referring to? Is it a good amount of reminders or too much of the old information from book 1?

For those who are reading Love Graduate as a standalone (it's my goal that it can be read as a standalone):

Are you following what's going on?

Are the events of the past that are referenced making sense or are you lost/confused?

Day 2: 1,564 words so far today.

It was slow because I could not figure out if I wanted to stick to Ben's POV only or to bring Am back into the story. I had several false starts but ended up adding Am's POV as well. I will see how this will go on the POVs but the first person present tense narration feels like the right choice right now.

I have over a thousand words I wrote yesterday from Ben's POV that will go into the next chapter, so hopefully, I will finish that tonight, if not - definitely tomorrow. 

My fingers are not bleeding. Yet.

Deciding this Chapter to @wiltingroses47 - thank you for the support, the comment, and the encouragement. Believe me, seeing words from you makes me smile every time I see them. Thank you!