Chapter One

Chapter One

Sophie adjusted the neckline of her dress for the third time, glancing at her reflection in the mirror of her tiny apartment. The pale blue number Camille had insisted she wear felt a little too tight and a little too daring. She sighed, wishing she could swap it for her usual jeans and an oversized sweater. But Camille's voice echoed in her head: "You're not baking tonight, Sophie. You're living!"

The notification from her phone startled her. A message from AmourApp: "Your date, Pierre, has arrived at Le Petit Bistro." Sophie groaned.

"Pierre. Of course he's named Pierre," she muttered, grabbing her bag and heading for the door.

The walk to Le Petit Bistro was short but felt endless. She clutched her coat tightly against the evening chill and reminded herself that this was just one date. One evening. She could survive anything for a couple of hours, right?

When she stepped into the warm glow of the bistro, her nerves didn't ease. Pierre was easy to spot: tall, immaculately dressed, and… waving enthusiastically from a corner table. Sophie forced a smile as she approached.

"Bonsoir," she said, her voice wavering slightly.

"Ah, Sophie!" Pierre's accent was rich and melodic, but his enthusiasm was almost overwhelming. He pulled out her chair with a flourish. "It is a pleasure to meet you. I hope you are ready for an evening of… how you say… enchantment?"

Sophie raised an eyebrow but sat down anyway. The waiter arrived, and Pierre ordered a bottle of red wine without consulting her. Bold move.

"So, Sophie, tell me about your passions," Pierre said, leaning forward dramatically. "What makes your heart… sing?"

She hesitated. "Well, I'm a pastry chef—or at least, I'm trying to be. I'm working on opening my own bakery."

Pierre's eyes lit up. "Pastries! A true art form. You must let me taste your creations sometime. I have a… refined palate."

Sophie nodded politely, though something about his tone made her stomach tighten. The evening dragged on with Pierre dominating the conversation. He spoke passionately about his "artistic soul," his "deep understanding of women," and his "vision for a perfect world." Sophie barely got a word in.

By the time dessert arrived, Sophie's patience had worn thin. Pierre had spent ten minutes analyzing the "spiritual energy" of their wine.

"Excuse me for a moment," Sophie said, standing abruptly. She made her way to the restroom, pulled out her phone, and texted Camille: "First date report: This is a disaster. He's analyzing wine like it's a philosopher's stone. I'm leaving here as soon as possible."

Camille's reply was instant: "It's just one date, Soph. Remember, it's a numbers game! Get back out there!"

Sophie rolled her eyes. She took a deep breath, fixed her hair in the mirror, and prepared to return to the table.

When Sophie returned to the table, she met Pierre's expectant smile, which only made her more aware of how long she'd been gone. "Ah, there you are!" he said, clapping his hands together. "I was just reflecting on how our meeting must have been written in the stars."

"Oh, were you?" Sophie muttered, taking her seat and reaching for her glass of wine.

"Absolutely! The energies aligned perfectly. Your aura—how shall I describe it?—it's radiant, but with a hint of mystery. A rare combination," he said, as if diagnosing her with some rare cosmic condition.

Sophie nodded absentmindedly and reached for her fork to pick at the remains of her dessert. "How… insightful."

Undeterred, Pierre launched into a monologue about his spiritual travels through the French countryside and how they had inspired his latest poetry collection. Sophie tried to focus, but her mind wandered to the warm comfort of her apartment, where a half-finished recipe for macarons was waiting on her kitchen counter. She wondered if it was too late to just sneak out and leave Camille to deal with the fallout.

Her internal musings were interrupted by Pierre's dramatic declaration. "Ah, but enough about me! We must discuss your aspirations, ma chère Sophie. Surely, with your passion for pastries, you must dream of being the next Julia Child or… or…" He faltered. "Who is the French one again?"

"Marie-Antoine Carême?" Sophie offered, suppressing a smirk.

"Yes! Him!" Pierre exclaimed, clearly having no idea who Carême was. "You see, Sophie, I can already tell we are kindred spirits. Dreamers! Creators!" He leaned in closer. "Perhaps even soul mates?"

The word hung in the air, and Sophie nearly choked on her wine. "Soul mates? Wow, Pierre, that's… bold."

"I don't believe in wasting time," he said, his gaze intense. "When you know, you know."

"Well," Sophie said, placing her napkin on the table and forcing a smile, "I think I know it's getting late. And I have an early morning at the bakery."

Pierre's face fell slightly but recovered quickly. "Of course. A woman with ambition! Admirable." He stood as she did, helping her with her coat before giving an exaggerated bow. "Until we meet again, Sophie. I shall await your call."

"Sure," Sophie said noncommittally, clutching her bag tightly as she made her way toward the door.

The moment she stepped outside into the crisp Parisian air, she let out a deep breath. She pulled out her phone, dialing Camille.

"Well?" Camille answered immediately, her voice laced with curiosity.

"Camille, I'm convinced Pierre's brain is fueled by poetry and delusion," Sophie said.

"Details! I need details!" Camille laughed.

Sophie glanced back at the bistro, where Pierre was still inside, seemingly reciting something to the waiter. "Let's just say he called me his soulmate after an hour. I'm pretty sure he proposed to the wine before I got here."

Camille's laughter erupted on the other end of the line. "Oh, come on, Sophie. One awkward date isn't so bad. Besides, now you've got a story to tell."

"Story or not, I'm done for tonight," Sophie said firmly.

"Fine, fine," Camille conceded. "But tomorrow, we're analyzing the whole thing over croissants. Same café?"

"Same café," Sophie agreed, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Sophie wasn't so sure. But as she climbed the stairs to her apartment, she couldn't help but smile. Paris might not have worked its magic tonight, but there was always tomorrow.