Lucy wakes up to a sunlit apartment and a stomach full of butterflies on Thursday. The feeling reminds her of youth- being kissed for the first time, getting asked to prom, receiving her college acceptance letter. Then too, there had been the dancing of nerves beneath her skin. Excitement for what's to come.
Since their trip to Lyon, Garcia Flynn has remained fixed in her mind and the ramifications of that were apparently evident. When she had Skyped Amy last night, she was quickly labeled "dreamy-eyed" by her little sister. That was even before Lucy had told her about the date.
Amy, always talking of women's equality and breaking social norms, was supposed to tell her older sister how pathetic she was being. Or at least, she could have had the decency to remind Lucy of her own words- falling for a man abroad only leads to heartbreak at home.
But no, Amy simply demanded to see her planned date outfit. Lucy had obliged, holding up the paisley blouse and high waisted denim jeans.
"That?" Amy had leaned into the webcam so close, that Lucy could practically see her sister's remarkably small pores on the monitor. "Lucy, this is a date, not a picnic in 1962."
"I was trying to look breezy but fine." Lucy had huffed, tossing the shirt onto the bed. "Then what do you suggest I wear?"
Amy had demanded Lucy haul the laptop over to her makeshift closet- a rolling rack lined up against the bedroom wall. Squinting over the options, she deemed the burgundy mini dress with its long sleeves and boat neck "suitable. But only if you pair it with those camel-colored over-the-knee boots you were going to wear with the top."
Lucy had frowned. "Isn't that a bit- I don't know… Suggestive?"
"Yes," Amy had nodded, fervently. "It's a first date, Luce. You aren't meeting your future-in-laws so it's not like you need to be conservative. I swear, Luce, you're hopeless. But trust me, you'll look tres chic."
"Thanks, Ames." Lucy had begrudgingly agreed to the outfit and accepted her sister's good luck wishes, knowing she'd need it.
Lucy knew she could command a room with her passion for history, but a date… She wasn't as convinced of her own ability. She could so clearly picture herself stumbling over her words as she attempts to delicately eat her salad and sip her wine. It's going to end in disaster, she tells herself as she gets home from class.
It's still the early afternoon so she has plenty of time to get ready. She showers, discarding her blazer-pant combo on the floor, and steps into the little wine-colored dress once she's dry.
Running a curling iron through the ends of her hair, she fusses over her appearance. She wonders if the amount of effort she's put in will be painfully obvious. But then, she thinks of Amy telling her that if she keeps dressing like a nun soon enough she'd end up getting recruited for the convent because "the universe listens, Lucy." So she swipes on a crimson lipstick and crosses her fingers for good luck as she locks up the apartment.
Just as he promised, Garcia is waiting on the sidewalk in front of her building. She feels the gentle hum of anticipation in her veins as she walks toward him. Stopping short of him, she's suddenly awkward and clasps her hands in front of her. Like a schoolgirl.
Amy would kick her right now.
"Hi."
A heart-shattering smile crosses Garcia's face who easily slides a hand along her arm, linking his elbow through hers a moment later. "You look beautiful, Lucy."
"Thank you." She lets him gently guide her in the direction of the restaurant as she watches him in her peripheral vision. It's hard no to notice the neat part of his hair and the smooth skin of his jaw, the lack of stubble. The signs that he too, has put in an effort. For her. Suddenly, she's glad for the bounce of curls in her hair and the slightly high cut of her dress.
"Your book has been quite a hit around the archive." Garcia says as they pause at the crosswalk of a traffic-filled intersection.
"I doubt that." Lucy chuckles. "Have your colleagues outcasted you yet? Certainly the man that bestows upon them such a tome must lose some popularity points."
"No," Garcia shakes his head, emphatically. "In fact, they're all so intrigued that you're practically a celebrity there, now. One of my co-workers actually said he wants to see if he can enroll in your class, that's how much he enjoyed your fiscal analysis of Lincoln's national banking system."
Lucy looks at him sideways and sees that he's not kidding. She smiles and just lets herself revel in his praise, momentarily. "So besides tormenting your fellow archivists, what else have you been up to lately?"
"We just received a satchel that's sparked quite the dialogue. Inside was a journal that we're using to help clue us in to the owner's identity. It's a mystery I am excited to solve." Garcia points toward a building just across the street. "Up on the right."
She strides alongside him as they cross the street toward the candle-lit restaurant.
"Sometimes I wish I would have explored more career opportunities besides teaching." She muses aloud. "Your job sounds so fascinating."
"As I said, everyone around the archive regards you as their own personal hero despite not even finishing your book yet, so feel free to stop by anytime." Garcia reaches for the brass door handle of their destination. "You're always welcome to play archivist for the day, Professor."
She shoots him a grateful look, telling him she'll probably take him up on his offer.
Garcia gives his name to the hostess and they're led toward a table marked, Reserved. Lucy slides into the booth and then pretends to be well-versed enough in the culinary language of France as she scans the menu.
Her French is strong enough though that she's able to identify a pasta dish and she quickly decides on that though she still has a prickle of hesitation. When Garcia asks if she knows what she wants, she sheepishly points to the item she was eyeing.
"Does anything in there mean beef tongue or frog leg?"
Garcia laughs, a full chuckle that sends ripples of pleasure through her spine. "No, though, that is an understandable concern. At times, I find myself mixing up all languages in my head and wonder if I'll end up ordering cake or cat depending on what country I'm in." He grimaces.
"How many languages do you speak?" Lucy asks with interest.
"Including English, five." Garcia takes a sip of his wine, freshly poured by the waitress.
"Five?" Lucy echoes. "I can barely manage two. Although, I suppose three if you count the Latin I can read."
"A good choice of a language to learn." Garcia nods approvingly and Lucy feels the warmth of his praise.
By the end of their dinner, that very warmth has grown into a full-fledged flame of adoration. As he leads her out of the restaurant, he confidently entwines in their hands in a move that makes Lucy's insides flip.
His self-assuredness makes Lucy all the more smitten as they trace their steps to her apartment. The streets are still alive with traffic and pedestrians, armed with shopping bags or arm-in-arm with a loved one. It's one of the things she's instantly admired about the city- the livelihood.
As though reading her thoughts, Garcia suddenly asks. "Do you know how long you'll be with the university?"
"Until May." Lucy falters, wishing she could reply with a date of perpetuity but that would be a lie. "I plan to stay in Paris until July, at least. I want to be able to take the train and see more of Europe while I'm here."
"And then?"
They're both old enough and therefore wise enough to know that these aren't inconsequential questions. Even if he's casual in his tone. Maybe if she were ten years younger- a wide-eyed twenty-two-year-old who never knew loss they could pretend location didn't matter... That love could stretch across the globe and know no end. But Lucy knows better than that.
"I'll go back to the Bay Area. Maybe San Francisco or perhaps, Berkeley…" Lucy trails off, feeling like something is already ending. Something that never began. "I'm not really sure, yet."
She forces herself to brighten. "What about you? I know you moved here for your brother, think you'll be an expat indefinitely then?"
Her gaze stays fixed on the sidewalk so he can't see that she practically prickles with a need to hear him say no.
"I don't think so." He says slowly. "I want to go back to the States, eventually. Maybe somewhere warm, like the West Coast."
A flare of hope shoots up in her chest but then, she thinks of the eternal cloud of mist hanging over the Golden Gate Bridge. The Bay Area is almost always swept over with a chill, or at least a heavy dose of fog. The flare is promptly snuffed out.
Her mind jumps further along the West Coast- toward the sunny beaches of southern California. Suddenly, she wishes she could promise him an endless summer in San Francisco, like she could if she were from Los Angeles. But, she can't.
When he speaks again, the embers of nearly-extinguished hope are relit. "Or warmer, at least."
Unbidden, her fingers squeeze his ever so slightly. An understanding, a persuasion, an urging. She prays the feeling pulses through him from that one tiny gesture.
Glancing over, she finds a flash of recognition in his crinkled eyes and she thinks the hope is now lit within him too.
When they reach her apartment- too soon if you ask her, Lucy wants to invite him in. She wants to be the sort of confident woman that can make it clear what she wants. Like Amy.
But trepidation wins out and the invitation remains unextended. But judging by the chaste way he leads her to her door, practically already parting ways, she expects he would have been declined the offer anyway. Out of chivalrousness, perhaps.
"Thank you for tonight." She leans slightly against the doorframe. "I probably would have been holed up inside- too afraid to go try out my French on the locals. So it was nice to have your company, instead. Better even if I had summoned the strength."
"You are too charming for anyone to notice any language faux pas."
A kind smile crosses his face and she wonders if this is the part. The part of the date she hasn't looked forward to in nearly a decade.
She shakes her head, looking downward as she's unconvinced by his words. When she looks up, he's leaning in and a flurry of electricity is elicited in her solar plexus. But then, his lips are only brushing her cheek and he's whispering, "Goodnight, Lucy."
She faintly mumbles a goodnight and then he's gone.
She wonders if this was the end or the beginning.