9. Lucy
LUCY
NOW
The first thing I noticed was that every muscle in my body felt pleasantly heavy. Not sore. Just used.
As if I had spent the entire night forgetting how to hold myself together.
I frowned before I even opened my eyes.
The pillow beneath my cheek didn't smell like the lavender detergent I'd been using since college. It smelled warm. Clean. Familiar in a way that tugged at something buried deep in my chest.
Cedar.
Soap.
Ty.
My eyes snapped open.
Soft morning light filtered around the edges of the blackout curtains, turning the hotel room into a muted haze of gray and gold. The television was off. The air conditioner hummed quietly beneath the window.
The other side of the bed was empty.
My heartbeat stumbled.
No, no, no. Please let last night have been the most vivid, wildly inappropriate dream my subconscious had ever manufactured.
I squeezed my eyes shut again. Maybe if I waited another second...
The electronic lock clicked. The sound sliced through every hopeful thought in my head.
The door opened. Ty stepped inside carrying two paper coffee cups in one hand and a small white bakery bag in the other.
His hair was still damp from a shower, curling slightly at the ends.
He'd traded yesterday's team-issued polo for a faded charcoal Frosthawks hoodie and dark joggers, looking unfairly relaxed for someone who had apparently just detonated my emotional stability.
He stopped the second he saw me sitting upright. "Oh." A smile spread across his face before he could stop it. Soft. Genuine. Sleep still lingering around the edges. "You're awake."
Every memory crashed into me at once. His laugh. His hands. His mouth. The way he'd looked at me like eight years hadn't happened.
Heat rushed into my face so fast I thought I might actually combust.
Dear God.
It hadn't been a dream. It had been so much worse. It had been real.
Ty lifted one of the cups slightly. "I figured you'd still be asleep." His voice was careful now, quieter than usual. "Thought I'd surprise you."
He crossed the room and offered me the coffee. Automatically. Like he'd done it a hundred times before.
I stared at the cup instead of taking it. Medium. Dark roast. One pump vanilla. A splash of oat milk. No foam.
My stomach dropped.
Eight years.
Eight fucking years.
And somehow he remembered.
"You still drink it this way, right?" he asked, suddenly sounding almost unsure of himself.
My fingers closed around the warm paper cup before my brain caught up. The heat seeped into my hands. Into my chest. Into places I'd spent years convincing myself had healed.
"Thanks," I whispered. I looked down before he could see what that tiny act of kindness had done to me. I took a careful sip simply because I needed something to do. It tasted exactly the way I liked it.
Ty smiled, relief softening his shoulders. "I wasn't sure if they'd have the—"
"Don't." The word came out sharper than I'd meant.
His smile faltered. Silence settled between us.
I hated it immediately. Because for one reckless, impossible moment—when he'd walked through that door carrying coffee—it had felt normal.
Like some alternate version of our lives where we'd never broken each other's hearts. Where mornings like this happened all the time. Where he knew my coffee order because he'd bought it yesterday. And last week. And every Saturday morning for years.
I swallowed hard.
That life didn't exist.
Ty shifted his weight. "Lucy..." His voice wrapped around my name with a familiarity I'd spent years trying to forget.
I forced myself to meet his eyes. Blue. Still impossibly blue. Still capable of undoing entire sections of my nervous system.
He rubbed the back of his neck. "About last night—"
"We will never speak about that again." The words were already out before he finished his sentence.
His mouth closed.
I kept going because if I stopped, I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to start again. "It didn't happen."
A muscle jumped in his jaw. "Lucy—"
"It changes nothing. We work together," I continued, my voice steadier now. Safer. "I'm still responsible for doing my job. You're still responsible for doing yours."
His eyes never left mine. "So..." he said quietly.
"So nothing."
The word echoed between us.
Nothing.
Nothing about the way my heart was still racing.
Nothing about the fact that I wanted to reach across the tiny space separating us and kiss him for remembering my coffee order.
Nothing about waking up happier than I had any right to be.
Nothing about the terrifying realization that sleeping with Ty Burns had reminded me exactly why getting over him had taken eight years.
"It can't happen again," I finished.
His shoulders lowered almost imperceptibly. "Okay." That one word hurt far more than an argument would've. No teasing. No trying to convince me. No promises. He nodded once. "I understand."
I wasn't sure whether I wanted him to.
He set the bakery bag on the desk. "I grabbed you one of those blueberry muffins you used to like."
Used to. Because neither of us knew if I still did.
He walked toward the door.
Every step felt wrong. Every instinct inside me screamed at me to tell him to stay. To sit down. To drink the coffee. To pretend, just for another five minutes, that we'd somehow found our way back to being us.
Instead, I stood frozen beside the bed.
His hand settled on the doorknob. He opened the door. Then, so quietly I almost wondered if I'd imagined it, he said over his shoulder, "See you later, Shortcake."
The nickname connected with my gut with a punch.
Suddenly I wasn't twenty-five anymore.
I was seventeen, standing barefoot in my childhood bedroom while Ty leaned against my window after sneaking out before sunrise, grinning like he'd gotten away with something.
See you later, Shortcake.
Always whispered. Always followed by a wink. Always carrying the unspoken promise that he'd be back.
The door clicked shut behind him.
I stood perfectly still. Coffee warming my hands. Tears burning unexpectedly behind my eyes.
Get a grip, I thought before setting the flimsy cup down on the nightstand.
I paced in small circles of the room doing a bit of time zone math. It was early in New York, which meant it was the ass-crack of dawn back in Northbend.
It didn’t matter. This was a crisis. Naomi would understand.
I flung myself onto the bed and barked at Siri to FaceTime Spirit Animal.
The call connected to a black screen and a grunt from my ride-or-die. "What?" Naomi's voice was thick with sleep. "Lucy? Are you okay? What the fuck time is it?"
"It's early."
"It's..." I heard rustling on the other end before the glow of a bedside lamp flooded the screen. Naomi squinted into the camera, hair piled into the world's messiest bun, one side of her face still buried in her pillow. "...five-thirty."
"In Minnesota."
"Which means it's six-thirty where you are." She frowned harder. "You hate calling people before eight. What's wrong?"
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.
Naomi's expression changed instantly. The sleep disappeared from her eyes. "Lucy."
"I did something."
"You sound guilty."
"I am."
She pushed herself upright against the headboard. "Did someone die?"
"No."
"Did you get fired?"
"No."
"Did you punch somebody?"
I blinked. "What?"
"I don't know." She shrugged. "I'm eliminating possibilities."
Despite everything, a tiny laugh escaped me. I hated that she'd found me so quickly.
"What happened?" she asked again, softer this time.
I stared at the hotel ceiling. "I slept with Ty."
Silence. Complete. Absolute.
Naomi didn't blink. Then she frowned. "No, you didn't."
"I did."
She snorted. "Stop messing with me."
"I'm not."
"Lucy."
"I'm serious."
"No, you're not."
"I wish I wasn't."
Another beat of silence stretched between us.
She leaned closer to her phone like changing the angle would somehow reveal I was joking. "You slept with Ty."
"Yes."
"The Ty."
"There has unfortunately only ever been one."
"The one you've spent eight years pretending doesn't exist?"
"Yes."
"The one you told me yesterday you intended to avoid for the remainder of the road trip?"
"Yes."
"The one who works for your father."
I groaned. "Can we not make a list?"
"I think the list is important."
"It isn't helping."
"No," she agreed. "It probably isn't." She sat there studying me for another long moment. “You've been crying."
I looked away. "I am not crying."
"You have mascara running down your cheek."
I rubbed beneath both eyes.
Naomi smiled despite herself. "Got you."
"I hate you."
"No, you don't."
That landed a little too close to an old conversation with Ty. My smile disappeared.
Naomi caught it immediately. "Oh," she said softly.
"It wasn't just sex." I closed my eyes. Damn it.
"And?" she asked.
"He brought me coffee."
Naomi waited.
"He remembered how I take it."
"...Lucy."
I laughed once. It sounded suspiciously like it might become another cry if I wasn't careful. "Eight years, Naomi."
"I know."
"He remembered. I thought..." I swallowed. "I thought maybe I'd imagined everything when I woke up."
"But you hadn't."
"No."
"He came back."
"With coffee."
"And a blueberry muffin."
Naomi closed her eyes briefly. "Oh, Ty."
"I know."
"No," she corrected gently. "You don't."
I frowned.
"He wasn't thinking about a one-night stand."
"Don't."
"I'm not saying you're getting back together."
"Good."
"I'm saying the two of you walked into this morning wanting completely different things."
"I don't know what he wanted."
"I do."
I looked at her. "He wanted breakfast."
"He wanted another hour."
I looked away. “Stop.”
"He wanted to believe this morning meant something."
"It can't."
"Because he's Ty?"
I hesitated. "...yes."
Naomi tilted her head. "You are trying awfully hard to convince me this doesn't matter."
"It can't matter."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
She gave me a look I'd been on the receiving end of since we were thirteen years old. "Have fun lying to yourself."
I folded my arms. "I'm not lying."
"I'm sure that'll make work delightful."
My phone chimed with the unmistakable notification ton.
FROSTHAWKS TEAM TRAVEL
Lobby departure in 30 minutes.
Naomi saw my face fall. "Time to go?"
I nodded. "Yeah."
"You okay?"
"No." I picked my coffee back up, now only lukewarm. "But, I'll survive."
"I know you will."
"I'll call you tonight."
"You better."
"And Naomi?"
"Yeah?"
"...don't tell anyone."
She barked out a laugh. "I've been keeping your secrets since braces."
That finally earned the smallest smile of the morning. "I love you."
"I know." She smiled back. "I love you too."
The screen went dark. The room became quiet again. I looked at the second coffee cup still sitting untouched on the desk. He hadn’t taken it with him.
I stared at it for one long second before forcing myself to look away.
I showered. Pulled my hair into a low ponytail. Applied just enough makeup to hide the evidence of the morning. Buttoned myself back into the version of Lucy Thomas everyone expected.
Professional.
Composed.
Untouchable.
By the time I wheeled my suitcase toward the hotel room door, there wasn't a single visible sign that anything had changed.
Only I knew better.
Somewhere between leaving New York and landing back in Northbend, I’d have to figure out how to look Ty Burns in the eye again—and somehow pretend nothing had happened when every part of me knew it had.