Loving Madeline

Chapter 373: More Than I Expected

Jack’s POV

It was torture standing in front of the class, pretending to focus on my discussion while every fiber of my being was pulled toward her. Charlotte. She sat there, calm and composed, eyes fixed on her notes—or maybe anywhere but me. And yet, I could feel her presence like gravity, drawing all my thoughts away from the topic at hand.

I wanted her to look at me the way she used to—like I was her whole world. That spark in her eyes, the soft curve of her smile when I teased her, the way her hand would absentmindedly reach for mine when she was nervous. God, I missed that.

My gaze drifted to the tray of pastries at the corner of the room, and a bittersweet ache gripped me. She always loved pastries. I still remember the first time I taught her how to make them in her tiny kitchen—flour in her hair, her laughter echoing off the walls, her arms wrapped around my waist as she tried to mimic my movements. We burnt the first batch, and she claimed it was the best thing she’d ever tasted because we made it together.

That memory, so warm and innocent, clashed cruelly with the cold distance between us now. Back then, life was simple. We were happy. And now, she was a stranger with familiar eyes—eyes that no longer searched for mine.

I never believed in destiny—or fate. To me, life had always been about choices, timing, and the consequences that followed. But that belief began to crumble the moment I found out Charlotte and I were staying in the same hotel. Of all the places in the world... and her room? It was right across from mine. I stood there in the hallway for what felt like an eternity, staring at her door, wondering if the universe was playing some twisted trick on me—or giving me a second chance.

Coincidence? Maybe. But my heart refused to see it that way. It felt like something greater was at work, something I couldn’t explain. As if the invisible thread that once tied us together had never truly broken—it had only frayed, waiting for the right moment to pull us back into each other’s orbit.

And now that she’s here in Paris, I can’t ignore what this means. I won’t make the same mistakes. I won’t let pride, fear, or silence cost me the woman I never stopped loving. This time, I’ll fight for her. I’ll remind her of everything we were and everything we still could be. If fate really did bring us back together... then I’ll make sure it wasn’t for nothing.

I’ll admit it—I was hurt. She didn’t just say no to a date... she made it clear she didn’t even want to spend time with me. That rejection hit harder than I expected, and yeah, it pissed me off. I could’ve said yes to Deborah and distracted myself for the night, but I turned her down. I had planned to stay in my hotel room and wallow in silence, but then I reminded myself—I didn’t come all the way to Paris to sulk. I came here to live... and to see her again.

No matter how many times Charlotte pushed me away, I wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet. Not when I still saw that flicker in her eyes—the one that used to burn just for me. I can’t blame her for holding on to the past, for the pain I caused. If she still can’t forgive me, I deserve it. But I’ll keep trying. I have to.

Then came a text from Sophia—an invitation I wasn’t expecting. My heart skipped. Could Charlotte be there too? The thought alone was enough to make me ditch my plan of isolation. I threw on a jacket and made my way to the restaurant, nervous energy coursing through me.

But before I could even reach their table, a hand caught mine. I turned, startled—and there was Deborah, her smile a little too smug.

"I knew I’d find you here," she said, and before I could react, she tried to lace her fingers with mine.

I instinctively shoved my hands into my pockets, but she was quicker. With practiced ease, she looped her arm through mine. I didn’t want to cause a scene. Brushing her off then and there would’ve made me look like a jerk—but every part of me recoiled from the contact.

And then I saw her.

Charlotte.

Sitting at the table with Sophia and the others, a cocktail glass in her hand and a smile that faltered the moment her eyes met mine. In that single instant, everything inside me went cold.

She saw Deborah clinging to my side.

And I saw her heart harden all over again.

"Oh, I knew you’d come, Jack!" Sophia beamed, her eyes lighting up the moment she saw me. I gave her a small nod, grateful for the warmth in her voice—and even more grateful when she gestured for Deborah to take the empty seat beside her.

A silent thank-you brewed in my chest. Sophia might never admit it outright, but I could tell she was doing me a favor. She’d read the room, read me—and she placed Deborah just far enough away to spare me the discomfort.

I scanned the table, looking for an open seat, and that’s when one of the girls seated beside Charlotte glanced up at me. There was something knowing in her expression, something almost conspiratorial. Without a word, she stood, picked up her drink, and slid into a spot on the other leaving the seat next to Charlotte empty.

My heart thudded.

She’d made space for me.

She must’ve sensed it—how much I wanted to be near Charlotte. How much I meant it when I said I wanted another chance. And judging by the subtle smirks and side-eyes shared between the rest of the girls, I wasn’t the only one they were silently rooting for.

None of them looked thrilled about Deborah.

And for the first time that night, I felt like the odds might finally be shifting in my favor.

"You better slow down, Charlotte," I murmured, leaning in just enough so only she could hear. "I know you can’t hold your alcohol."

She scoffed and reached for the freshly poured glass of tequila, her fingers slightly trembling. "Why do you even care, Jack..." she muttered, her voice slurring just a little, the edge of bitterness still sharp beneath it.

"I came to Paris to enjoy myself," she continued, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. "And I couldn’t believe the universe decided to ruin my perfect plan by throwing you into it." Her smile was forced, her laughter hollow. But her eyes—God, her eyes held the pain I wish I hadn’t caused.

The words stung more than I was prepared for. I hadn’t realized my presence here—just existing in the same space—could make her feel worse instead of better. I wanted to believe some part of her was glad to see me. But maybe that was just wishful thinking.

"I care more than you think, Charlotte," I said softly, watching the way her expression flickered. "And if seeing me here makes things harder for you, I’ll talk to the organizers. I’ll cancel my remaining sessions if that’s what you want."

Her head jerked toward me, eyes wide, as if she couldn’t believe what she just heard. "You’d do that?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

I nodded, sincerely. "If it helps you breathe easier, then yes."

She gave a dry laugh, shaking her head. "The girls adore you. Don’t tell me you’d ditch them because of a stupid woman like me."

I leaned a little closer, lowering my voice as my gaze met hers. "You’re not stupid, Charlotte. You’re... extraordinary. And you have no idea how much I regret everything that made you feel otherwise."

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, the wall she’d built around herself seemed to crack. Her cheeks turned a deeper shade of red, and this time, I knew it wasn’t the tequila. It was the truth I’d just spoken. The truth was she wasn’t ready or never wanted to believe me.

"Just tell me you don’t want me to continue and I will do it for you," I added, and she suddenly shook her head.

"Even if I don’t want to see you again, I have no right to ask that from you," she said quietly, her voice tight, carefully measured—like she was trying to convince herself as much as me. "You’re good at what you do, and I’ll give you that. You’re an incredible chef, Jack Morigan."

She paused, her fingers brushing the rim of her glass, and then added with a forced laugh, "And I hate that all the girls here are completely crazy about you."

There it was—unfiltered and unintentional. The slip in her tone, the flicker in her eyes, the way she immediately avoided looking at me the second the words left her mouth. She realized too late what she’d admitted, and I could see the storm of regret flash across her face.

Charlotte was jealous.

She tried to cover it with sarcasm, with that practiced indifference of hers—but I saw through it. I always could when it came to her. Her pride might keep her from saying it outright, but her eyes... her eyes told me everything.

I didn’t smile. I didn’t gloat. I just let the weight of her words sink between us, heavy and electric. Because as much as she tried to push me away, this moment—this raw, unguarded glimpse—was proof she still cared.

Maybe not enough to forgive me yet.

But enough to feel something.

And that was more than I ever expected tonight.