Chapter 9
Ryder
I wake before my alarm. Lucy sleeps beside me, one hand tucked under her cheek, dark hair spilling across my pillow. Morning light catches the curve of her shoulder. I trace the line of her spine with my eyes and feel content in a way I haven't in years.
Two days of this. Only two days since the cabin, since everything changed, and already I can't imagine waking up any other way.
She snuck through the bathroom again last night after everyone went to bed.
Left her book on the nightstand when she finally fell asleep.
I can still smell her vanilla shampoo on my sheets.
The best sleep I've had since before the accident.
Lucy stirs before my alarm goes off. Her eyes flutter open, and when she sees me watching, a slow smile curves her lips.
"Morning, stalker."
"Morning." I brush hair from her face. "You snore."
"I do not." She swats my chest. "Take it back."
"Make me."
She does. The kiss turns heated, hands wandering, until we both pull back breathless.
"We should go before someone comes looking," she whispers.
"Breakfast?"
She grins. "My favorite place. Meet you there in twenty minutes?"
We sneak out separately—her through the front door with her purse and coat, me ten minutes later claiming I need coffee from town. By the time I reach the diner, she's already at a corner booth, studying the menu with a small smile.
I slide in across from her, and under the table, her foot finds mine.
An hour later, after French toast and terrible coffee, we're talking about everything. Lucy's hands move as she describes her vision for the New Year's window display at The Frost & Ivy.
"Winter wonderland meets cozy reading nook," she says, stealing my bacon. "Fairy lights and fake snow and maybe some of those vintage skis from the antique shop."
I watch her face light up the way it always does when she talks about the shop. "Sounds perfect."
"Yeah?" She tilts her head. "Not too much?"
"Those customers are lucky to have you."
Pink floods her cheeks. She looks down at her plate. "We'll see if I can pull it off."
Something hesitates in her voice. I file it away.
"What are you doing New Year's Eve?"
"Oh." She blinks. "Usually just family stuff at home. Watch the ball drop with Dad and whoever else is around."
"Come to the team party."
"The team party?" Her eyebrows lift. "In Boston?"
"Yeah. I'll fly you out. You can stay at my place." I pause. "As my girlfriend, if you want. Official labels and everything."
She blinks. "Girlfriend?"
"I'd like that." The words come easier than expected. "Unless you want casual."
"No." She laces her fingers through mine across the table. "I like girlfriend. You're sure? It won't be weird introducing me to your teammates?"
"They'll love you." I bring her hand to my mouth. "So you'll come?"
"Yes. I'll come."
She immediately starts planning. Wants to make cookies for the team. Of course she does. I tell her about the ugly sweater tradition and watch her face light up as she plots her outfit.
Easy. Comfortable. The kind of morning I never thought I'd want.
Happiest I've been in five years. Maybe longer.
The thought should terrify me. We've only been together two days. But it doesn't feel rushed. It feels inevitable.
By evening, I text Lucy to see if she wants dinner. Her response comes fast: "At the shop. Drowning in paperwork. Send help."
I grab Thai takeout from her favorite place and head to The Frost & Ivy. The CLOSED sign is up, but I can see the lights on in the back office. I knock on the glass door.
She appears from the back, looking harried. When she sees it's me, relief washes over her face. She unlocks the door and lets me in.
"You're a lifesaver," she says, eyeing the takeout bags.
But when I get a good look at her, my smile fades.
The shop's back office looks like a bomb site. Papers everywhere. Her laptop shows what looks like mortgage documents. An empty mug sits on folders marked "Henderson Property Sale." She's cross-legged on the floor behind her desk, staring at her phone like it betrayed her.
"Hey." I set the takeout on her desk. "You okay?"
She startles. Red-rimmed eyes. "God. Is it seven already?"
"Quarter past."
"Shit." She scrambles up, shoving papers. "Sorry. Lost track. Just need five minutes to..."
"Lucy." I catch her hand. "Talk to me."
"Nothing. It’s fine. Just organizing paperwork." She won’t meet my eyes.
"Bullshit."
Her jaw tightens. "Excuse me?"
"You're a terrible liar." I gesture at the chaos. "What's going on?"
She almost brushes me off. Then her shoulders cave and she sinks into the reading chair. I pull over the desk chair and sit close enough that our knees touch.
"The building." Her voice is small. "Mrs. Henderson's selling."
"This building?" I look around. "Your landlord is selling the shop?"
"I've been renting from her for two years. She wants to move to Florida, be closer to her daughter." Lucy picks at her jeans. "She offered me first right of refusal. There's a clause in my lease."
"That's good, right?"
"Would be if I had the money." Her voice breaks. "I've saved almost everything. Worked every extra shift, lived at home with Dad to save on rent, put every spare dollar aside. I have a hundred and eighty-five thousand."
The number staggers me. Two years of brutal saving.
"How much do you need?"
"Purchase price is two hundred thousand. Fair for the property, the location." She finally looks at me. Devastation makes my ribs ache. "I'm fifteen thousand short. Option to buy expires December twenty-third. Day after tomorrow."
"What happens if you can't buy?"
"Developer's already made an offer. Cash deal. He wants to convert the building to condos." Her hands twist together. "I lose the shop. Everything I've built."
I pull her against me. Let her press into my shoulder.
"The bank denied me for an additional loan," she says into my shirt. "I'm already carrying debt from the renovation two years ago. My family can't help. Connor's house is mortgaged and Dad's living on a fixed income. I've been trying for weeks to figure this out, but there's nothing left to try."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because it's not your problem." She pulls back, wiping her eyes.
"I've been dealing with this since Thanksgiving.
Mrs. Henderson told me then she wanted to sell.
I've been scrambling to get the money together, trying to make the numbers work.
Didn't want to dump it on you when you just got here.
You're supposed to be on vacation, spending time with Connor, not solving my financial disasters. "
"You're not a disaster."
"I'm fifteen thousand dollars from losing my dream, Ryder. That feels pretty disastrous."
I hold her while she cries. Make her eat the Thai food I brought. Let her show me the spreadsheets where every dollar is accounted for, every option already exhausted.
Later, when exhaustion finally claims her, she falls asleep in the reading chair, papers still scattered around us.
I watch her for a moment—the way her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks, the gentle rise and fall of her chest. Then I carefully tuck the shop's throw blanket around her shoulders and step outside into the cold December night.
The solution is clear. I have the money. More than enough. Five hundred thousand sitting in savings while I figure out life after hockey. Fifteen thousand is nothing.
But I know Lucy. Know her pride. If I offer directly, she'll refuse. Will see it as charity. As me swooping in to save her.
So I pull out my phone and open my banking app.
Wire transfer. Same day. I type in Mrs. Henderson's information from the papers Lucy left on the coffee table. Add a note: "Payment toward Lucy Wright's purchase of 147 Main Street."
The transfer goes through. Money will be in Mrs. Henderson's account by morning.
I go back into the shop. Lucy's still asleep, curled in the reading chair under the blanket. I settle into the chair beside her and pull out my phone to check the time. Nearly midnight.
We should get back to Jim's house before anyone notices we're both gone. But watching her sleep, peaceful for the first time all evening, I can't bring myself to wake her yet.
The realization hits clean.
I'm in love with her.
Not falling. Not halfway. Completely. Lucy Wright with her impossible dreams and her stubborn pride and her way of making me feel like more than a washed-up player counting down to retirement.
My hands shake as I tuck the blanket higher. She murmurs in sleep and curls closer.
I should tell her. The words press against my teeth.
My throat locks the way it always does when emotions get too big. Same paralysis through my parents' divorce. My sister's wedding. Every moment that required more than showing up.
Actions are easier. So I hold her and tell myself tomorrow will be enough.
Around one in the morning, I finally wake her. She blinks up at me, disoriented, then remembers where we are. We lock up the shop and drive separately back to Jim's house—can't risk Connor seeing us arrive together. She goes in first. I wait five minutes, then follow.
The house is dark and quiet. I slip upstairs to my room, and a few minutes later, I hear the soft click of the bathroom door. Lucy appears, already in her sleep clothes, exhaustion and worry still etched on her face.
She crosses to my bed without a word and climbs in beside me. I pull her close, and she tucks herself against my chest with a sigh.
"Thank you for tonight," she whispers. "For listening. For being there."
I press a kiss to her hair. Want to tell her it's already handled, that she doesn't need to worry anymore. But I know she needs to discover it herself, to feel like she figured it out.
So I just hold her tighter and let her fall asleep in my arms.