15. Lucian #2
“Not even with the name of your bakery on it?” I ask.
“I don’t even have a bakery yet.”
“But when you do, I will gladly wear a shirt that has your bakery on it. You can even call me Mr. Cupcake.”
Her eyes spark with amusement. “Even if it’s pink? ”
“Especially if it’s pink. Anything to get you more business. Besides, real men aren’t afraid of pink.”
She tries to fight a smile. “I bet you’d start a trend of rugged hockey players in pink cupcake shirts.” She reaches over and steals another waffle off the plate where I’m stacking them as they come out of the iron.
“Speaking of things to start, we could make this a tradition since you live right next door,” I suggest, looking out the window toward her place. “Saturday morning waffles, then hit the farmers’ market like two functional adults who’ve sworn off cold cereal.”
The picture comes easily: the quiet rhythm of weekend mornings, shared coffee cups, sleepy grins. Spending all my free time with her sounds exactly like the life I want.
She blinks. “We can’t go to the farmers’ market together.”
“Why not?”
“Because that’s something real couples do.”
“Right, usually right after one of them steals the other’s waffle and acts all innocent about it.”
She looks at the second waffle on her plate and then at my empty plate. “Lucian! Why didn’t you tell me you hadn’t eaten yet?”
“I want you to eat,” I say, feeling a rush of pride that she’s enjoying them so much. Grandpa was right. But when was he ever not right?
“You deserve to eat after that injury,” she says, forking the next hot waffle onto my plate.
I watch her take care of me and guilt swells in my chest, making my ribs hurt even more. “Neesha, about last night…” I begin reluctantly. “I know I should’ve told you I was a hockey player from the beginning. I was an idiot for keeping it from you.”
She pauses. “Yeah, you were.”
“I was afraid you'd write me off before giving me a chance. Let me earn your trust back? One real date where I promise to tell you everything.”
She pauses, laying down her fork. “I don’t give second chances, Lucian.”
“I know.” I move closer toward her, keeping my voice gentle.
“But what if this wasn’t a second chance?
What if it was just finishing what we started?
Because that practice date at Maple Fest was nice, but we got interrupted by so many townspeople we might as well have been in the middle of a parade.
It wasn’t a practice date, and you know it. ”
She’s quiet, glancing at her waffle before she looks at me.
“Look, I get it if you can’t trust me,” I say.
“But you trusted me enough to stay here last night when I was hurt. You trusted me enough to take care of me.” I pause, then play my last card.
“Besides, you still owe me a real tour of Maple Falls. You can still use that escape clause if you want to bail. But I promise you, I’m not going to bring up icing or cake the entire night. ”
Her lips twitch slightly at the recollection, and I know I’ve got a chance.
“Plus,” I add, leaning back against the counter with a slight grin, “think about it—one real date with me would prove to everyone in town that you’re completely over Nate. Before you leave for Seattle, you’d have shown the whole town that you’ve moved on. That’s worth something, right?”
She stares at me for a second, considering. I don’t love volunteering to be the guy she uses to make the town think she’s over Nate. But if that’s what it takes to show her how she deserves to be treated, I will.
“How about I plan us the perfect fall date—something unforgettable.” It’s a big promise, and I have no idea if I can live up to it. But I want to, more than anything.
She looks at me skeptically. “Is that why you asked me so many questions on our way to Maple Fest?”
“I may have been trying to get some good intel from you,” I say .
She studies me for a moment, and I can practically see the wheels turning in her head, measuring the risks of accepting my offer. Then she looks away, shaking her head. “I don’t know, Lucian.”
I take her hand in mine, the way I did when we danced at the Maple Fest. “Hey, I know Nate has made you scared of trying again. But I’m here to show you that you deserve so much better than him. With me, you don’t have to guard your heart. I’ll protect it like it’s my own.”
For a second, she doesn’t say anything.
“Is this still a practice date?” she asks, looking at me from under her dark lashes.
“If that’s what you need it to be,” I say, even though I don’t want a practice date at all. When it comes to her, I want the real thing. All of her. No masks, no safety nets.
She’s quiet for so long I think she’s going to say no.
“Let me think about it,” she says.
I start to smile, but she holds up a hand. “Just for the record, I’m not ready for anything serious. But I will admit that night at Maple Fest was nice. Even if you are exactly what I said I’d never date again.”
A knock at the door breaks the moment between us. “Were you expecting someone this early?” Neesha asks as she looks from the door to me.
“No,” I say, standing slowly and wincing.
“Stay,” Neesha says, nudging me back into my seat. “I’ll get it for you.”
When the door opens, Mrs. Nelson takes in the scene before her: Neesha in rumpled pajamas and messy hair, me shirtless at the kitchen table, and what’s clearly the aftermath of a sleepover.
“Oh, pardon me!” Mrs. Nelson gasps, clutching her chest like she’s witnessing something scandalous.
Neesha’s face turns what looks like five shades of red. “Mrs. Nelson! This isn’t what it looks like?—”
“Then what exactly is it?” Mrs. Nelson asks, blinking rapidly as she takes in Neesha’s pajama pants. “Because in my day, when a young lady was found in a gentleman’s kitchen wearing sleepwear, there was usually only one explanation.”
I clear my throat. “Mrs. Nelson, I can explain?—”
“Oh, I’m sure you can, young man,” she says, then squints at my bruised face. “Good heavens, what happened to you? Did she do that?”
Neesha’s mouth drops open. “Did I—what? No! I would never?—”
Mrs. Nelson crosses her arms, not buying it.
“I…” Neesha freezes, floundering for words. “I…was just helping a neighbor. Lucian got hurt last night.”
“And you expect me to believe a grown man can’t take care of himself?”
I stand slowly and walk toward the door. “Actually, Mrs. Nelson, it’s exactly what it looks like.”
Neesha shoots me a glaring what are you doing?
“I made her breakfast,” I explain. “A blatant attempt to win her over with my homemade waffles after she helped me last night. As you can see,” I point to my face. “I needed it. Neesha was kind enough to play nurse.”
Mrs. Nelson’s usual scowl returns. “Is that so?”
“We even had a chaperone.” I point to Henry, who chooses that precise moment to jump up and lick my hand like it’s covered in bacon. “Okay, maybe not the most reliable witness. His standards for appropriate behavior are pretty questionable.”
Neesha puts a hand over her mouth, hiding her reaction.
“Well,” Mrs. Nelson says primly, “I’ll just come back later. I’m getting signatures on this petition to stop Alexander MacDonald, the billionaire who claims he owns half the town. His plans include part of downtown—including the building where Neesha works.”
Neesha frowns. “Mary-Ellen told me we were making progress against him. She said the town is looking into environmental and historical protections. ”
“We’ve got a long way to go,” Mrs. Nelson says, shaking her head.
“He won’t even show up to defend his claims—just sends his lawyer, Jeremy Hunt, to do the dirty work at town hall meetings.
” Then she turns to me. “I’m sure you already know that if he wins, the team will have to move since he claims he owns your parking lot. ”
“I do,” I say. “Which is why I’d be happy to sign your petition, ma’am.”
“Wonderful.” She holds out her clipboard and pen.
I take the clipboard, then pause. “But I’d appreciate it if you could keep this situation here between us. I know how quickly news travels in small towns, and I’d rather not have everyone speculating on Neesha’s personal life.”
“Of course,” she says, straightening her cardigan.
“I’m glad we could get that ironed out,” I say, adding my signature to the bottom, then handing it back to her. “But there’s no need to rush off—we have plenty of waffles, if you’re hungry?”
“I’ve already eaten, thank you,” she says. “And I have to get to the post office before it closes after I finish with this. I have something very important to mail.” Then she gives us a quick wave as she turns to leave.
As soon as the door closes, Neesha drops her head into her hands. “You just saved me from the entire town finding out…”
“That we had a wild morning of waffle-making?” I suggest, my lips quirking.
“You know exactly what they’d think,” she says pointedly. “Is that why you asked Mrs. Nelson to keep it quiet?”
“I knew it mattered to you,” I say. “And I happen to know the truth is much more interesting.”
She tilts her head. “The truth being, that I spent the night with a hockey player, and nothing happened?”
“The truth being,” I say, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face, “that you showed up at my door with frozen vegetables and bandages because you didn’t want to see me in pain. And then you stayed to make sure I was okay.”
She gives me a soft smile. “I should go, but thank you for the waffles.”
I try not to let my disappointment show. “But what about the date?”
She hesitates at the door, her hand on the handle. “I’m still planning to leave for Seattle,” she says quietly, like she’s reminding herself as much as me.
“I know,” I say. “But you’re still here now. And I still owe you a real date.”
“Okay, one date,” she agrees, and this time, she looks excited.
“But fair warning, Neesha Gilmore—I plan to make it count.”