Chapter 9 #2
After the game, Lucy waited outside the locker room with Rei and the other partners. When Jake finally emerged, he looked exhausted and was holding his left arm carefully.
"Hey," Lucy said.
"Hey."
"Your shoulder—"
"It's fine. Just a tweak."
"Rei said—"
"Rei's right. It's nothing serious." But Jake's voice was flat, distant. Nothing like the warm tone he'd had all week.
They walked to his truck in silence. Lucy wanted to say something, anything, but she didn't know what. The day had been so overwhelming—the town's reaction, her own doubts, watching Jake get hurt—that she felt paralyzed.
"Want to come over?" Jake asked as they reached his truck. But he sounded like he was asking out of obligation, not desire.
"Do you want me to?"
Jake was quiet for too long. "I don't know. I'm tired and sore and I'm not great company right now."
"That's fine. I'm not great company either."
They stood in the parking lot, the cold November wind cutting through their jackets, and Lucy felt the distance between them like a physical thing.
"The town is upset about me selling," Lucy said. "Really upset. The Knitting Circle walked out this morning. Mr. Peterson barely touched his muffin. People think I'm betraying my grandmother."
"You're not betraying anyone."
"How do you know? What if they're right? What if I'm being selfish?"
"Lucy—"
"And what if I encouraged you to turn down Nashville for nothing? What if your shoulder is worse than Rei thinks? What if I ruined your last chance at the NHL?"
Jake turned to face her fully. "You didn't ruin anything. I made my own choice."
"But what if it was the wrong choice? What if we both made the wrong choices?"
"Is that what you think?"
Lucy looked at him—really looked. He was holding his shoulder, exhausted from the game, probably in pain. And she'd just questioned the decision he'd made, the future he'd chosen.
"I don't know what I think anymore," Lucy admitted. "I thought I was ready to sell the bakery and travel and start over. But everyone's so disappointed in me. And you got hurt. And everything feels like it's falling apart."
"Nothing's falling apart. People are just adjusting to change."
"Are they? Or am I destroying everything—the bakery, your career, us—because I'm too scared to just stay put and be satisfied with what I have?"
Jake flinched. "Us? Lucy, we're fine. This is just a hard moment—"
"Is it? Or is this reality setting in? We've known each other for three years but we've been together less than a week. Maybe we moved too fast. Maybe we don't actually know each other at all."
"I know you. I've watched you for three years—"
"You've watched me work. That's different from knowing me." Lucy felt tears start to fall. "What if we're just two lonely people who convinced ourselves we were in love because the timing was convenient?"
"Is that what you think this is?"
"I don't know! I don't know anything anymore.
I thought I was making the right choice about the bakery but everyone's telling me I'm wrong.
I thought you were making the right choice about Nashville but what if you weren't? What if we're both just scared and we latched onto each other instead of facing our actual problems? "
Jake was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was carefully controlled. "I think you're spiraling. I think you had a bad day and you're questioning everything because that's what you do when you're scared."
"Maybe. Or maybe I'm finally seeing clearly."
"Lucy—"
"I should go. You need to rest your shoulder. I need to think."
"About what?"
"About everything. About whether selling the bakery is right. About whether we're right." Lucy took a step back. "I'm sorry. I just—I need some space to figure this out."
Jake looked like she'd punched him. "Space. Okay. If that's what you need."
"I think it is."
They stood there for another moment, neither quite willing to walk away first. Then Lucy forced herself to turn and leave.
She made it halfway down the block before she started crying.
Jake watched Lucy walk away and felt something crack in his chest.
He got in his truck and sat there for a long time, not starting the engine, just breathing.
Marcus knocked on his window. Jake rolled it down.
"What happened?"
"She wants space."
"Space? You guys just started dating."
"I know. But she's panicking about the bakery and she thinks we moved too fast and—" Jake's voice cracked. "She thinks we're just two lonely people who convinced ourselves we were in love."
"That's bullshit and you know it."
"Is it? We barely know each other, Marcus. We had three real conversations and then jumped into this thing. Maybe she's right. Maybe it's too fast."
"Or maybe she's just scared and she's pushing you away because that's easier than dealing with her actual fears."
"Either way, she wants space. So I'm giving it to her."
Marcus climbed into the passenger seat uninvited.
"Jake. Listen to me. You spent three years in this town not letting anyone in.
Not building relationships, not putting down roots, just waiting for your real life to start.
And then you met Lucy—really met her, not just Wednesday morning transaction met her—and everything changed.
You chose to stay here. You chose to build a life. Don't let one bad day destroy that."
"She said we might not know each other. That maybe we're just convenient."
"Do you believe that?"
Jake thought about Monday night—cooking dinner, watching westerns, Lucy falling asleep in his arms. About Wednesday's lunch at Giuseppe's. About Thursday night, supporting her through the bakery meeting. About every moment of the past week.
"No," he said quietly. "I don't believe that. This is real. What we have is real."
"Then fight for it. Don't just give her space. Give her time, yeah, but let her know you're not going anywhere. That you're in this even when it's hard."
Marcus got out of the truck, leaving Jake alone with his thoughts.
Jake drove home slowly, his shoulder throbbing, his mind spinning. Lucy wanted space. Fine. He'd give her space.
But Marcus was right—he wasn't going anywhere.
Lucy climbed the stairs to her apartment and collapsed on her couch, still wearing Jake's jacket.
Her phone buzzed immediately. Rei.
Rei: What happened? Saw you leave separately.
Lucy: I told him I need space.
Rei: LUCY WHY
Lucy: Because I'm panicking and I don't know if anything I'm doing is right and I needed to be alone.
Rei: You're self-sabotaging. You know that right?
Lucy: Or I'm being realistic. We barely know each other.
Rei: You've been circling each other for three years. You know him better than you know yourself.
Lucy: I need to think.
Rei: Don't think. Just feel. What do you feel when you're with Jake?
Lucy stared at her phone. What did she feel? Safe. Seen. Like she could be herself—messy and scared and imperfect—and it would be okay.
Like she was home.
But she couldn't text that to Rei. Because admitting it would mean admitting she'd just pushed away the best thing to happen to her in five years.
Lucy: I feel confused. I need space to figure it out.
Rei: Fine. But don't take too long. Good men don't wait forever.
Lucy set down her phone and looked around her apartment. It was the same apartment she'd lived in for five years. The same furniture, the same decorations, the same everything.
Nothing had changed. Except her.
She'd been so sure this morning when she'd texted Jake at 5:30. Sure she was making the right choice about the bakery. Sure about them.
But then the town had reacted so badly. And Jake had gotten hurt. And everything she'd been so certain about suddenly felt fragile and temporary.
What if she sold the bakery and regretted it? What if she left for culinary school and came back to find that Jake had moved on, realized she wasn't worth waiting for?
What if she'd ruined everything by wanting too much, too fast?
Lucy pulled off Jake's jacket and buried her face in it. It smelled like him—soap and laundry detergent and something indefinably Jake.
She'd told him they might not know each other.
But that was a lie. She knew him. Knew he watched old westerns at 3 AM because they made him feel close to his dad.
Knew he held his left shoulder when he was stressed.
Knew he was terrified of letting people down but even more terrified of letting himself want things.
She knew him. And she was pushing him away anyway.
Because that's what Lucy did when she was scared. She pushed. She created distance. She convinced herself that wanting things was selfish and that she was better off alone.
Her phone buzzed. Not Rei this time. Uncle Walter.
Uncle Walter: Heard you and Jake had words after the game. Want to talk?
Lucy: How does everyone in this town know everything?
Uncle Walter: Marcus told Rei. Rei told me. I'm coming over.
Lucy: You don't have to—
But Uncle Walter was already knocking on her door.
Lucy let him in, and he took one look at her face and pulled her into a hug.
"Tell me what happened."
Lucy told him everything—the panic about the bakery, the fear that she'd encouraged Jake to make the wrong choice, the way she'd told him they might not really know each other.
"So you pushed him away," Uncle Walter said when she finished.
"I asked for space."
"You pushed him away. There's a difference." He sat down on her couch. "Lulu, you've been doing this your whole life. Whenever things get hard or scary, you convince yourself you're not worthy of good things. You sabotage before anyone else can leave you."
"I'm not sabotaging—"
"You just told a man you've been falling for for three years that maybe you don't really know each other.
After he cooked you dinner and supported you through a major life decision and turned down the NHL to stay in this town.
" Uncle Walter's voice was gentle but firm. "That's textbook self-sabotage, honey."
Lucy felt fresh tears start. "What if I'm making a mistake? About the bakery, about Jake, about everything?"
"Then you'll make a mistake. And you'll learn from it and move forward. But you can't live your whole life being so afraid of mistakes that you never try anything."
"My grandmother—"
"Your grandmother would want you to be happy. Not perfect. Not responsible. Happy." He squeezed her hand. "And I think Jake makes you happy. Real, messy, complicated happy. The kind that's worth fighting for."
"I told him I needed space."
"Then un-tell him. Go apologize. Be vulnerable and honest and tell him you're scared. Give him the chance to choose to stay."
"What if he doesn't want to anymore?"
"Then you'll deal with that. But Lucy, I've known Jake Morrison since he was eight years old. That boy has been waiting his whole life for someone worth staying for. Don't punish him because you're scared of being worth it."
After Uncle Walter left, Lucy sat on her couch for a long time, thinking.
She'd messed up. She knew she'd messed up. She'd let her fear and the town's disappointment and her own insecurities make her push away the person who'd been nothing but supportive.
She needed to apologize. To tell Jake the truth—that she was terrified and spiraling and she didn't actually want space, she wanted him.
But it was late. And he'd asked her if she really thought they didn't know each other, and she hadn't answered properly. She'd let him think she believed it.
Lucy pulled out her phone and started typing a dozen different texts. Deleted them all.
Finally, she sent: I'm sorry. Can we talk tomorrow?
Three dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then appeared again.
Finally: Yeah. Tomorrow.
Not "of course" or "I miss you" or any of the warm things Jake had been texting her all week.
Just: Yeah. Tomorrow.
Lucy curled up on her couch, still wearing her clothes from the game, and tried not to cry.
She'd wanted space. She'd gotten it.
And it felt terrible.
Jake lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, his shoulder throbbing.
He'd given Lucy the space she asked for. Had texted back a simple confirmation that they'd talk tomorrow.
But everything in him wanted to go to her apartment right now, knock on her door, and fight for this. Fight for them.
Marcus was right—this was real. What they had was real. Lucy was just scared.
But was Jake enough to make her not scared? Was he worth choosing when she had the whole world opening up in front of her?
His phone buzzed. His mom.
Mom: How was the game?
Jake: We won. I tweaked my shoulder.
Mom: Is it serious?
Jake: No. Just sore.
Mom: And Lucy? How is she?
Jake stared at that message for a long time. Then he called his mom instead of texting.
She answered immediately. "Jake? What's wrong?"
And for the first time in six years, Jake let himself break down. He told her everything—about Lucy pushing him away, about her doubts, about his own fear that maybe she was right and they'd moved too fast.
His mom listened without interrupting. When he finished, she was quiet for a moment.
"Do you love her?"
Jake's breath caught. "It's only been a week."
"I didn't ask how long it's been. I asked if you love her."
"Yes," Jake said quietly. "I think I've loved her since the first time she handed me a pork bun and smiled like it mattered."
"Then tell her that. Don't let her push you away because she's scared. Fight for her. Show her she's worth choosing."
"What if she doesn't want to be chosen? What if she really thinks we're just convenient?"
"She doesn't think that. She's just terrified of wanting something for herself. Of choosing her own happiness over everyone else's expectations." His mom's voice was gentle. "Sound familiar?"
Jake laughed despite himself. "Yeah. It does."
"You two are more alike than you realize. You both spent years thinking you didn't deserve to choose your own path. You're both finally brave enough to try. Don't let fear win now."
After they hung up, Jake lay in bed and thought about Lucy. About the way she'd looked at him Monday night after their first date. About how she'd fallen asleep in his arms. About how she'd held his hand through dinner on Wednesday and told him she believed in him.
That was real. All of it.
Tomorrow, he'd tell her that. He'd fight for her, for them, for the life they were building.
But tonight, he'd give her the space she'd asked for.
Even though it was killing him.
Jake closed his eyes and tried to sleep. Through the wall, he heard Lucy moving around in her apartment. Pacing, probably. Maybe crying.
Every instinct told him to go to her. But he stayed in his bed, giving her what she'd asked for.
Space.
Even though what they both really needed was to stop being so scared of wanting each other.