Chapter 7 #3
"Terrified. Also excited. Also guilty. The full range of emotions." Lucy took a sip of wine. "Uncle Walter told me that my grandmother made him promise to remind me that the bakery was supposed to be a gift, not a burden. That she wanted me to have choices."
"And?"
"And I think maybe I'm ready to choose. Not necessarily to sell—I don't know yet. But to at least explore what's possible instead of just assuming I have to keep everything exactly as it is forever."
"That's huge, Lucy."
"So is turning down the NHL to coach in Timber Falls."
"I called Steve this morning. Made it official."
"How does it feel?"
"Right. Scary but right." Jake reached across the table and took her hand. "I keep waiting to regret it. To wake up and realize I made a huge mistake. But all I feel is relieved. Like I've been holding my breath for six years and I can finally exhale."
"I feel like that too. Like I've been frozen in place since my grandmother died and I'm finally starting to thaw."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, hands linked across the table.
"So," Jake said finally. "This is our first official date."
"It is."
"How am I doing?"
"Pretty well. The food was good, the company is better, and you haven't made any terrible jokes yet."
"The night is young."
Lucy laughed. "Do you have any terrible jokes prepared?"
"I have several hockey puns but I'm saving them for when you're too invested to run away."
"I'm already too invested to run away."
Jake's smile was soft and genuine. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
They cleaned up together—Lucy washing while Jake dried, both of them moving around the small kitchen with surprising ease. When everything was put away, Jake pulled out his laptop.
"I have a proposition."
"Should I be worried?"
"I want to show you something." Jake opened his laptop and pulled up a streaming service. "You said yesterday that you've never really gotten into classic westerns. I think that's a crime against cinema."
"Is this where you make me watch a three-hour John Wayne movie and expect me to be impressed?"
"Shane is only 118 minutes, thank you very much. And it's Alan Ladd, not John Wayne."
"I have no idea who that is."
"Which is why we're fixing this educational gap." Jake settled on the couch and patted the space next to him. "Come on. If you hate it after twenty minutes, we can watch something else."
Lucy sat down, leaving a careful inch of space between them. Jake noticed and closed the gap, his arm going around her shoulders like it belonged there.
"Comfortable?" he asked.
"Yeah. Very."
They started the movie, and Lucy tried to focus on the black and white images on screen. But she was acutely aware of Jake's presence—his warmth, his steady breathing, the way his thumb traced absent circles on her shoulder.
"My dad loved this movie," Jake said quietly during an early scene. "Used to quote it all the time. 'A man's gotta be what he is.' That was his favorite line."
"What do you think it means?"
"I think it means you can't be what someone else wants you to be. You have to figure out who you are and commit to that, even if it's not what anyone expected."
"Including yourself?"
"Especially yourself."
They watched in silence for a while. Lucy found herself actually getting into the story—the mysterious stranger helping a family, the quiet heroism, the way Shane tried to leave his past behind but couldn't quite escape it.
"Is this why you kept watching westerns at 3 AM?" Lucy asked during a quiet moment. "Because your dad loved them?"
"Yeah. It felt like staying connected to him.
Like if I watched the same movies he loved, I could understand what he was thinking.
What he wanted for me." Jake paused the movie.
"But I think I was using them as a way to avoid dealing with his death.
Easier to watch Shane ride away than to accept that my dad already had. "
Lucy shifted to face him. "Jake—"
"I'm okay. I mean, I'm not okay—I'll probably never be fully okay with losing him so young. But I'm starting to be okay with moving forward. With building a life he didn't get to see but would hopefully approve of."
"He would be proud of you. I'm sure of that."
"How can you be sure?"
"Because you're kind and thoughtful and you care about people.
Because you teach hockey to seven-year-olds on Saturday mornings and you learned to make roast chicken just to impress me.
Because you chose the life you wanted instead of the life you thought you should want.
" Lucy took his hand. "That takes courage.
And any father would be proud of a son with that kind of courage. "
Jake kissed her then—soft and slow and grateful. When they pulled apart, he was smiling.
"You know what the best part of this is?" Jake asked.
"What?"
"I don't have to pretend anymore. That I'm fine, that I have it all figured out, that I'm just waiting for my real life to start. This is my real life. You, this apartment, coaching hockey, watching westerns at midnight with someone who actually wants to watch them with me."
"Midnight? You're optimistic about how long this movie is."
"There are several more classic westerns I need to show you. We might be here all night."
"I have to open the bakery at 6 AM."
"So we'll watch fast."
Lucy laughed and settled back against Jake's chest. They watched the rest of Shane, and then—because neither of them wanted the night to end—they started High Noon. By the time the clock struck midnight, Lucy was struggling to keep her eyes open.
"I should go," she said, not moving.
"You should. But I don't want you to."
"I know. I don't want to go either. But 4:45 AM comes early."
"Stay," Jake said. "Just to sleep. I'll set an alarm for 4:30. You can go straight down to the bakery."
Lucy knew she should say no. This was only their first date. But she was comfortable and happy and the thought of leaving this warmth for her cold apartment didn't appeal at all.
"Okay," she said. "But just to sleep."
"Just to sleep," Jake agreed.
He set the alarm, gave Lucy one of his t-shirts to sleep in, and they settled into his bed—small but comfortable. Jake pulled her close, his arm around her waist, her back against his chest.
"This okay?" he asked.
"More than okay."
They lay there in the dark, listening to the quiet sounds of Timber Falls at night—the occasional car, the wind in the trees, the soft creaking of the building settling.
"Jake?" Lucy whispered.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For tonight. For everything."
"Thank you for giving me a chance. For seeing something in me that I'd forgotten was there."
"What's that?"
"Someone worth choosing."
Lucy turned in his arms to face him. "You were always worth choosing. You just needed to believe it."
They kissed one more time—slow and sweet and full of promise—and then settled back into comfortable silence.
Lucy fell asleep in Jake Morrison's arms, in his studio apartment above the hardware store, feeling safer and happier than she had in five years.
And for the first time since her grandmother died, she wasn't afraid of what came next.
Jake woke at 4:25 AM—five minutes before the alarm—with Lucy still in his arms.
For a moment, he just lay there, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, feeling her warmth against him, marveling at the fact that this was real.
Lucy Chen was in his bed. They'd had a date.
He'd cooked dinner and hadn't burned anything.
They'd watched westerns and talked about their fathers and their fears and their futures.
And she'd stayed.
The alarm went off. Lucy stirred, making a soft sound of protest.
"Morning," Jake whispered.
"Too early to be morning."
"You have to open the bakery."
"I hate the bakery."
"No you don't."
Lucy sighed and turned to face him. Her hair was a mess, her eyes still half-closed, and Jake thought she'd never looked more beautiful.
"I have to go," she said, not moving.
"I know."
"But I don't want to."
"I know that too."
They lay there for another few minutes, neither quite ready to leave this quiet space they'd created.
Finally, Lucy forced herself to sit up. "Okay. I'm going. For real this time."
She changed back into her clothes from last night while Jake made coffee. When she emerged from the bathroom, looking more awake but still tired, he handed her a to-go cup.
"Fuel for the morning."
"You're my hero."
They walked to his door together. Lucy paused with her hand on the doorknob.
"Jake? Last night was perfect."
"Even the three-hour western movie marathon?"
"Especially that." She kissed him softly. "Can we do this again? Soon?"
"How about Wednesday? After your morning rush? I could take you to lunch."
"Like a date during daylight hours?"
"Radical, I know. But I figure we should try all the variations."
Lucy smiled. "Wednesday lunch. It's a date."
She left, and Jake listened to her footsteps on the stairs, then heard the door to the bakery open and close below him.
He looked around his studio apartment. The dishes from dinner were clean and put away. The flowers he'd bought were on the counter, still fresh. The bed was rumpled from where they'd slept.
It was the same apartment he'd lived in for three years, but somehow it felt completely different.
It felt like home.
Jake's phone buzzed. Marcus, naturally.
Marcus: How was the date?
Jake: It's 4:45 AM. How are you awake?
Marcus: Couldn't sleep. Too excited to hear about your romantic evening. DETAILS PLZ.
Jake: It was good. Really good.
Marcus: That's it? That's all I get?
Jake: What do you want me to say?
Marcus: Did you burn the chicken? Did she like it? Did you watch old movies? Did you KISS?
Jake: No, yes, yes, and yes.
Marcus: I'M SO PROUD
Marcus: See you at practice. Prepare to be interrogated by the entire team because I'm telling everyone.
Jake: Please don't.
Marcus: Too late. Already texting the group chat.
Jake's phone immediately exploded with notifications as the team group chat came to life.
Owen: COACH JAKE HAD A DATE???
Ryan: This is beautiful. True love conquers all.
Dmitri: good job Reaper
Jake smiled and put his phone away. Let them talk. For once, he didn't mind being the center of attention.
He had coffee, made himself breakfast (eggs that only burned slightly), and got ready for practice. When he walked to the rink at 6:30 AM, the sky was just starting to lighten, casting Timber Falls in soft pink and purple hues.
The Bread Basket's lights were on. Through the window, Jake could see Lucy moving around the kitchen, already deep into her morning routine.
She looked up as he passed and waved. He waved back.
Three years of Wednesday mornings, and this was the first time they'd acknowledged each other outside the bakery.
It felt like everything and nothing had changed.
Jake got to the rink and found the team already there, all of them grinning at him like idiots.
"So," Marcus said. "Tell us everything."
"There's nothing to tell."
"You cooked her dinner. In your apartment. And she STAYED, according to the very loud footsteps I heard going down your stairs at 4:30 this morning."
"You're creepy."
"I'm invested in your happiness. There's a difference."
Practice was good despite the relentless teasing. Tommy put Jake through his paces—having him run plays while explaining defensive strategy, teaching him how to read the game from a coaching perspective instead of a player's.
It was hard but exhilarating. Like learning hockey all over again but from a different angle.
After practice, Tommy pulled Jake aside.
"You look different."
"Different how?"
"Happy. Present. Like you're finally playing for the love of it instead of trying to prove something."
"Maybe I am."
"Good. That's the Jake I remember from when you were a kid. The one who showed up to every practice early because you loved being on the ice." Tommy clapped him on the shoulder. "Welcome back."
Jake showered and changed, then checked his phone. A text from Lucy.
Lucy: Just got off the phone with Shayna Barrett. Meeting her Thursday afternoon to discuss the bakery sale.
Jake: How do you feel?
Lucy: Terrified. Also relieved. Also like I might throw up. The full range.
Jake: Want company? I could come with you. Moral support.
Lucy: Really?
Jake: Really. Unless you want to do it alone, which is also completely valid.
Lucy: No. I'd love company. Thank you.
Jake: Anything for you.
Lucy: That's a dangerous promise.
Jake: I mean it.
Jake pocketed his phone and walked home through the cold morning. Timber Falls was waking up—shops opening, people starting their days, the comfortable rhythm of small-town life.
This was his town. His home. His choice.
And for the first time in three years, Jake Morrison wasn't waiting for his life to start.
He was living it.