Chapter 6 Lucy #2
My thumb hovers over send. This is it. This is me choosing. Me fighting for what I want instead of waiting for someone else to decide I'm worth the effort.
I hit send before I lose my nerve.
The three dots appear right away. He's typing. Stopping. Typing again.
Finally: "Yes."
One word. But I read volumes into it. The hesitation. The question. The same uncertainty I'm feeling.
I type: "Can we talk?"
The dots appear again. Longer this time.
"When?"
My heart hammers against my ribs. This is happening. I'm doing this.
"I'm at the shop. Can you come?"
The dots stop. Start. Stop again.
Then: "Give me twenty minutes."
I set the phone down with shaking hands. Twenty minutes. I have twenty minutes to figure out what I'm going to say. How to thank him for yesterday. How to ask for what I want. How to be brave when every instinct is screaming at me to play it safe.
I flip the sign to CLOSED. Lock the door. Make myself busy straightening shelves that don't need straightening.
The next twenty minutes are the longest of my life.
I check my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I'm wearing jeans and an oversized sweater, my hair pulled back in a messy bun. No makeup. I look like someone who woke up at six and has been overthinking for nine hours.
Too late to change now.
At exactly twenty minutes, I hear his truck pull into the alley behind the shop. Footsteps on the back stairs. A soft knock.
I unlock the door.
Ryder stands there in jeans and his leather jacket, hair a bit messy like he ran his hands through it on the drive over. His eyes meet mine, and everything in my chest goes tight.
"Hi," I say.
"Hi." He doesn't move. Just looks at me with an expression I can't read. "You wanted to talk?"
"Yeah." I step back. "Come in."
He walks past me, and I lock the door behind him. The shop feels smaller with him in it. The air thicker. I'm aware of every breath, every movement.
We stand there in the quiet. Three feet apart.
"So," he says.
"So." I twist my hands together. "I wanted to thank you. For yesterday. For the charity game. For..." I trail off. "For everything."
"You don't have to thank me."
"I do. You risked favors for me. You're risking your shoulder. You fixed a problem I couldn't solve." I force myself to meet his eyes. "Why?"
He's quiet for a moment. Then: "You know why."
"I need to hear you say it."
"Because seeing you hurt made me want to fix it.
Because I couldn't stand the thought of you thinking you failed.
" He takes a step closer. "Because making you smile has become more important than protecting my own interests.
Because the thought of you disappointed made my chest cave in.
" Another step. "Because somewhere between catching you off that ladder and watching you with Maisie and listening to you talk about your dreams, I started falling for you. "
The words punch through me.
"You're falling for me," I repeat.
"Have been since I got here. Maybe longer." His voice is rough. "I know the timing is terrible. I know I'm leaving. I know Connor will kill us both. But Lucy." He closes the remaining distance. "I can't stop thinking about you. Can't stop wanting you. Can't pretend this isn't happening."
My heart hammers so hard I'm sure he can hear it. "I've been thinking about the snowstorm. About what almost happened by the fire. About yesterday in the kitchen."
"Lucy—"
"Let me finish." I take a breath. "I know we said we shouldn't. I know all the reasons this is wrong. Connor. Your career. The fact that you're leaving." Another breath. "But I realized something today."
"What?"
"I've spent my whole life waiting to be chosen. Waiting for my mom to be proud before she died. Waiting for Connor to see me as an adult. Waiting for customers to validate my shop. Waiting for you to notice me." I meet his eyes. "I'm done waiting."
He stares at me. Doesn't speak.
"I want you," I say. The words come easier than I expect.
"I've wanted you since I was fifteen and didn't know what to call it.
And I'm tired of pretending I don't feel this.
I'm tired of making myself smaller so other people stay comfortable.
" I step closer. "Yesterday you put me first. You called in favors and risked your recovery and almost kissed me where Connor could see. "
"I did."
"So now I'm reaching back." My voice shakes but I hold his gaze. "I don't know how this works with you in Boston and me here. I don't know what happens when you leave. But I'd rather have two weeks with you than spend the rest of my life wondering what we could have been."
The silence stretches. He's going to say no. Going to tell me I'm crazy. Going to walk away.
Then he closes the distance between us.
His hands cup my face. His eyes search mine. "You're sure about this?"
"I'm terrified." The admission comes easy. "But I'm sure."
He searches my face. Looking for doubt maybe. For hesitation. He won't find it. Not anymore.
"Lucy Wright," he says. "You're the bravest person I know."
Then he kisses me.
It's different from what almost happened by the fire.
Slower. Deeper. Like he's trying to memorize the taste of me.
His hands slide into my hair and I melt against him.
I taste coffee and mint and something uniquely him.
His tongue traces my bottom lip and I open for him.
The kiss deepens and heat floods through me.
When we break apart, we're both breathing hard.
"So what now?" I ask.
"Now we figure this out." His thumb traces my bottom lip. "But we do it smart. We keep it quiet. We don't give Connor reason to suspect. Not yet."
"Okay."
"And Lucy?" He tilts my chin up so I have to meet his eyes. "I don't know what this is yet. But I know I don't want it to end when I leave. We'll figure something out."
The words make my chest ache in the best way. "Promise?"
"Promise."
He kisses me again. This time it's hungrier. His hands slide down my sides and I press closer. Heat builds between us. The kiss deepens and I lose myself in the taste of him, the feel of his body against mine. His hands find the hem of my sweater, and I arch into his touch.
A car door slams outside.
We spring apart. Both breathing hard. My lips feel swollen. His hair is messed up from my fingers.
"I should go," he says. "Before someone sees my truck."
"Probably."
But neither of us moves. We stand there wrapped in each other's space, both reluctant to break the contact.
"And Lucy?" He tilts my chin up. "Thank you. For taking the risk. For being brave enough to fight for this."
"Thank you for being worth fighting for."
He kisses me one more time. Quick and hard. Then he's gone, slipping out the back door.
I stand in my empty shop with my heart racing and my lips swollen and the taste of him still on my tongue.
I did it. I reached for what I wanted. I fought instead of waiting to be picked.
And whatever happens next—whatever complications come, whatever pain might be waiting at the end—right now, in this moment, I'm proud of myself.
I'm done being small. Done settling for crumbs. Done waiting for permission to want things.
I'm Lucy Wright. I own a business. I know my worth.
And I want Ryder Blackwood.
My phone lights up.
Ryder: "Tonight. After everyone's asleep. I'll be parked at the end of the street."
The message makes my stomach flip with anticipation and nerves.
Me: "What time?"
Ryder: "10:30. Think you can sneak out?"
Me: "Yes."
Ryder: "Good. Wear something warm."
The words make heat pool low in my belly. Because we both know we're done with just talking.
At dinner, I pick at my food while Connor talks about the charity game ticket sales. Emma shoots me knowing looks. Dad asks about the shop's holiday numbers. I give answers that sound normal even though nothing feels normal anymore.
Ryder sits across from me. Our eyes meet once and the air goes thick.
After dinner, I escape to my room. Shower. Stand in my closet trying to decide what to wear. Something comfortable but also something that makes me feel confident. Brave.
I settle on jeans and a soft sweater. My warmest coat. Hair down because he seems to like it that way.
I wait in my room, reading the same page of a book three times without absorbing a word. Listen to the sounds of the house settling. Connor's TV turning off. Emma putting Maisie to bed. Dad's door closing.
At ten-twenty, I slip out of my room. Take the back stairs. The house is dark and quiet. My heart hammers with every step.
I ease out the front door, closing it silently behind me. The night is cold and clear. Christmas lights glow from neighboring houses. My breath makes clouds in the air.
At the end of the street, headlights flash once. I walk toward them, pulse racing.
Ryder's truck idles at the curb. He leans over and opens the passenger door.
I climb in. The cab smells like him. Cedar and mint and winter air.
"Hi," he says.
"Hi." My voice barely works.
"You ready?"
"I think so."
He shifts into drive and pulls away from the curb. His hand finds mine across the console. Laces our fingers together. The touch says everything we're not saying out loud.
This is happening. We're doing this. No more pretending. No more waiting.
And whatever comes next, this is my decision.
He's mine.
I'm his.
For the first time in my life, I'm brave enough to reach for what I want.