Chapter 9
Lucy: Can't sleep. Keep thinking about the bakery sale. Is it normal to feel like you're making the biggest mistake of your life?
Jake stared at his phone in the darkness of his apartment. He'd been awake too—restless energy about tonight's game, about Lucy's decision, about everything changing so fast.
Jake: I think it's normal. Change is terrifying even when it's right.
Lucy: What if it's not right? What if I'm being selfish?
Jake: You're not being selfish. You're being brave.
Lucy: I don't feel brave. I feel like I'm about to throw up.
Jake: Want company? I'm awake anyway.
Lucy: No. I need to sit with this. But thank you.
Jake: Call if you need me. Any time.
Lucy: I know. That helps more than you realize.
Jake set down his phone and stared at the ceiling. Lucy was having second thoughts. Which was normal—she was selling her grandmother's bakery, the business that had defined her entire adult life. Of course she was scared.
But something about her texts felt different. Not just scared. Panicked.
He pushed the feeling aside and got ready for youth hockey practice. Emma and the kids would be a good distraction from the anxiety churning in his gut.
By 8 AM, Lucy had baked three extra batches of pork buns, reorganized the entire kitchen, and nearly had a panic attack in the walk-in cooler.
Mae found her there at 8:15, sitting on a box of butter, staring at the walls.
"Boss? You okay?"
"I'm selling the bakery."
"I know. You told me yesterday."
"No, I mean—I'm really selling it. I called Shayna Friday morning and accepted. The paperwork is being drawn up. In a few weeks, this won't be mine anymore."
Mae sat down on another box. "How do you feel about that?"
"I don't know. Yesterday I felt free. Today I feel like a traitor."
"To who?"
"My grandmother. The town. Myself. Everyone." Lucy looked at Mae. "What if I'm making a huge mistake?"
"What if you're not? What if this is exactly what you're supposed to do?"
"How do I know the difference?"
Mae was quiet for a moment. "I don't think you do. I think you just have to trust yourself and see what happens."
The morning rush was steady. Mr. Peterson came in at his usual time, and Lucy found herself studying his face when she handed him his bran muffin—would he still come here after she sold? Would the new owners keep his regular order memorized?
The Knitting Circle arrived at 8:30, and Mrs. Patterson called out: "Lucy, dear, is it true? About the bakery?"
Lucy felt everyone's eyes turn to her. "Yes. I've accepted an offer to sell."
The entire bakery went silent.
"You're selling?" Mr. Peterson looked stricken. "But this place has been here for forty years."
"It's not going anywhere. The new owners want to expand, open more locations—"
"It won't be the same," Mrs. Patterson interrupted. "Your grandmother built this place. It's a Timber Falls institution."
"I know. But I think she'd want it to grow, to reach more people—"
"She'd want you to keep it in the family," another voice said. Lucy turned to see Tom from the hardware store. "Your grandmother trusted you with her legacy. Are you really going to sell it to some corporation?"
"It's not a corporation, it's a development company that specializes in—"
"It's the same thing," Jerry said, and he didn't sound kind anymore. He sounded disappointed. "You're giving up."
Lucy felt like she'd been slapped. "I'm not giving up. I'm choosing a different path—"
"You're abandoning us," Mrs. Patterson said, and her voice was sharp. "We've supported this bakery for decades. We were loyal to your grandmother and to you. And now you're selling to outsiders."
"That's not fair—"
But the Knitting Circle was already gathering their things, leaving their half-drunk coffees on the table. Mr. Peterson put down his muffin, barely touched, and headed for the door.
"Wait—" Lucy started, but they were already leaving.
The bakery, which had been full and warm two minutes ago, was suddenly empty except for Mae and a few younger customers who looked uncomfortable.
Lucy stood behind the counter, shaking.
"They'll come around," Mae said quietly. "They're just shocked."
"They think I'm betraying everyone."
"They're scared of change. People always are."
But Mae's reassurances didn't help. Because Lucy was thinking the same thing: was she betraying everyone? Was she being selfish, choosing her own dreams over her grandmother's legacy?
Her phone buzzed. Uncle Walter.
Uncle Walter: Heard about the bakery news spreading. How are you holding up?
Lucy: People are upset. They think I'm abandoning them.
Uncle Walter: Come over after you close. Let's talk.
Lucy pocketed her phone and tried to focus on work. But customers kept coming in—not many, but enough—and every single one had the same reaction. Surprise. Disappointment. Some version of "but your grandmother built this place."
By noon, Lucy was ready to call Shayna and cancel everything.
By 2 PM, she was crying in the kitchen while Mae handled the front.
By 4 PM, when she finally closed the bakery, Lucy felt like she'd been hollowed out.
She walked to Uncle Walter's house in a daze. He lived three blocks from Main Street, in a small Victorian that had belonged to his parents. When Lucy arrived, he had tea ready and his concerned face on.
"Tell me what happened."
Lucy told him everything—the Knitting Circle's reaction, Mr. Peterson's disappointment, the way people had looked at her like she'd betrayed them.
"They'll come around," Uncle Walter said, echoing Mae. "They're just processing."
"What if they don't? What if I sell the bakery and everyone hates me and I've destroyed my grandmother's legacy for nothing?"
"Lulu, listen to me. Your grandmother's legacy isn't a building. It's the food, the recipes, the care she put into everything. That doesn't disappear because you sell to someone who wants to expand it."
"But what if they change things? What if they mess it up?"
"Then they mess it up. That's not your responsibility. You can't control what happens after you let go."
"Maybe I shouldn't let go. Maybe I should keep the bakery and forget about culinary school and traveling and all those selfish dreams—"
"Those aren't selfish dreams, Lucy. They're your dreams. The ones you set aside five years ago.
The ones your grandmother wanted you to have.
" Uncle Walter grabbed her hands. "Don't let fear and guilt make this decision.
You already made the right choice. Now you just have to be brave enough to stick with it. "
Lucy wanted to believe him. But sitting in his living room, thinking about the disappointed faces of her customers, she wasn't sure anymore.
The game started at 7 PM and the Timber Falls Ice Center was packed.
Jake spotted Lucy immediately—sitting with Rei in the family section, wearing the leather jacket with his number on the back. But something was off. She looked tense, unhappy, like she'd rather be anywhere else.
Marcus skated past during warm-ups. "Your girl looks stressed."
"I know."
"Talk to her after?"
"Yeah."
The game was hard-fought. The opposing team—the Worcester Railers—played physical and aggressive. By the end of the first period, Jake's shoulder was screaming and his mind was split between the game and worrying about Lucy.
During the first intermission, Tommy pulled him aside.
"You're not focused. What's going on?"
"Nothing. I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You missed three plays in the first period that you normally make in your sleep." Tommy's expression softened. "Is this about Lucy?"
"The town's giving her hell about selling the bakery. She's questioning everything."
"And you're worried about her."
"Of course I'm worried. She's spiraling and I don't know how to help."
"Then help her after the game. Right now, you need to be here. With your team. Can you do that?"
Jake nodded, but it was a lie. His mind was with Lucy, imagining her sitting in the stands, doubting her decision, feeling alone.
The second period was better. Jake forced himself to focus, to be present. He assisted on a goal, made a crucial defensive play, and helped kill a penalty. By the time the third period started, the Wolves were up 3-2.
But in the third period, everything fell apart.
Jake went for a puck in the corner, got hit hard from behind, and felt something in his shoulder give. Not badly—not surgery badly—but enough that pain shot down his arm and he had to skate to the bench.
"You okay?" Tommy asked.
"Yeah. Just tweaked it."
"Take the rest of the period off."
"I'm fine—"
"That's an order, Morrison. Rest it."
Jake sat on the bench and watched his team play without him. They were good—Marcus made three incredible saves, Owen scored a goal that had the crowd screaming. They didn't need Jake to win.
And that realization hit harder than the hit that had injured his shoulder.
They didn't need him. The Wolves would be fine whether Jake was playing or coaching or had taken the Nashville offer. He wasn't essential. He wasn't the hero.
He was just a guy on a team. Doing his job.
The Wolves won 4-3. The team celebrated on the ice, but Jake couldn't shake the hollow feeling in his chest.
Lucy watched Jake get hit in the third period and felt her stomach drop.
He skated to the bench, clearly in pain, and didn't return to the ice. Rei grabbed Lucy's hand.
"He's okay. It's probably just a tweak."
"How do you know?"
"Because I'm the team PT and I know what serious injuries look like. That's a minor shoulder aggravation. He'll be sore tomorrow but fine."
But Lucy couldn't shake the image of Jake being hit, the way his face had tightened with pain. What if it was serious? What if his shoulder—the one that had ended his NHL career—gave out completely?
What if she'd encouraged him to turn down Nashville and now he'd ruined his last chance?