Once on the ground level, I scan the street and sure enough, I see Finn’s broad-shouldered silhouette walking away, most of the way down the block.

If I were the girl I was last week, even two days ago, I would chase him down, demand to know where he was going. But I am not. My father is handling it. Tonight, I will see Oliver and we’ll kiss in the low light of his dorm room and his hands will press all the bad thoughts out of my head. Let Finn have his fun, I don’t care. He’ll be dealt with by people who aren’t me.

I could call a car to Oliver’s, but I stroll leisurely along the river, letting the last of the day’s June sun warm my skin. The air tonight smells of croissants and lilac, and I think that I would be content staying in Paris forever if I wouldn’t miss Haxahaven quite so much.

The pitched roofs of the Sorbonne are glowing gold with the day’s dying light by the time I arrive. My veins thrum with anticipation as I cross the cobblestoned paths that lead to his room. I picture the look of surprise on his face when he opens the door to see me in my beautiful gown. His mouth will form a soft O of surprise, but his green eyes will be sharp as they take all of me in. I hope he hasn’t combed his hair today. I like it best when the waves fall messy over his forehead. It’s only been a few days, but I ache for his face, for his touch, already. I can’t wait to make everything up to him; he deserves the world, and tonight I will begin the process of giving it to him piece by piece.

I’m only nineteen and I’m still learning what love is, but I know that I love him. I know, because it’s easy. It doesn’t feel like bruised ribs in a basement, or sharp knuckles brushing against mine on a boardwalk in Coney Island.

No one told me love would feel like coming home, but that’s what Oliver has always been to me, a home.

But it feels like fear, too. It’s a nerve-racking feeling, this constant game of do you like me too? Do you feel it too? Please tell me it’s not just me. Please say you haven’t changed your mind.

My heart is in my throat when I finally make it to his door. I take a breath and rap three times. Will I kiss him right away? Is that too forward?

He leaves me too much time to decide. It’s strange he doesn’t come immediately. He may be at dinner—this is, after all, a surprise—but I knock once more just to be sure.