Chapter 20 #2
So Lucy told him. About the Morrison building, about her vision for Margaret's, about French-American fusion and honoring her grandmother while creating something new.
"I saw the building today," Lucy said. "And I could see it, Jake. I could see exactly what it could be. Not a bakery like my grandmother's. Something new. Something mine."
"That sounds incredible."
"It will be. If I can pull it off. If I can figure out funding and permitting and hiring and everything else that goes into opening a restaurant." Lucy paused. "But even if it fails, even if the restaurant doesn't work—I'm still staying. Because this is home. You're home."
Jake was quiet for a moment. Then he took Lucy's hand. "I missed you. Every single day. I told myself I was moving on, that I was over it, but I wasn't. I'm not. I love you, Lucy Chen. Even when I didn't want to, even when it hurt—I loved you."
"I love you too. I never stopped. Not for a single day in Paris."
"Then why did you stay so long? If you knew after July that you'd made a mistake, why did you wait three months to come back?"
Lucy had been expecting this question. "Because I was scared.
Scared of admitting I was wrong. Scared of being the person who couldn't hack it in Paris.
Scared of facing you and seeing disappointment in your eyes.
" She squeezed his hand. "But staying in Paris when I was miserable—that was more scary than coming home and risking your rejection. "
"I'm not rejecting you."
"No?"
"No. But I'm also not going to pretend the past three months didn't happen. We need to rebuild, Lucy. Slowly. Carefully. No rushing into things, no pretending we're exactly where we left off."
"Okay. How do we do that?"
"We start over. Not completely—we can't erase our history. But we start fresh. Date again. Learn each other again. Build trust."
"I can do that. Jake, I'll do whatever it takes."
Jake pulled her close, and Lucy let herself sink into him. This was home. This was right. This was what she'd been missing for seven months.
"I have one condition," Jake said into her hair.
"What?"
"Wednesday morning pork buns. 8:17 AM. Our tradition. We keep it."
Lucy laughed through her tears. "Deal. Though technically The Bread Basket isn't mine anymore."
"I don't care. We'll buy them from Sarah. The tradition matters more than who's making them."
They sat on the tailgate of Jake's truck until the stars came out, holding each other, talking about everything and nothing. About Jake's coaching, about Lucy's restaurant plans, about how to navigate their second chance.
"Can I take you to dinner this week?" Jake asked. "A real date. Not Giuseppe's because he'll make a scene. Maybe we drive to Burlington? Do something outside Timber Falls where everyone isn't watching?"
"I'd like that. But Jake—I'm not ashamed of trying again. I don't need to hide from the town."
"I'm not hiding. I just want one date where Mrs. Henderson doesn't interrupt to tell us about her grandson who's also single."
Lucy laughed. "Fair. Burlington it is."
Jake drove Lucy back to Uncle Walter's. At the door, he kissed her softly—tentative, testing, like they were teenagers again.
"Goodnight, Lucy."
"Goodnight, Jake."
"Wednesday morning?"
"8:17. I'll be there."
Lucy watched Jake drive away, then floated into Uncle Walter's house.
Uncle Walter was waiting in the living room, pretending to read but obviously waiting up.
"So?"
"We're trying again. Slowly. Carefully. But we're trying."
Uncle Walter pulled her into a hug. "I'm so happy, Lulu. You did the right thing."
"I hope so. I really hope so."
That night, Lucy lay in bed and thought about second chances.
She'd come back to Timber Falls hoping for one. And Jake had given it to her. Not easily, not without conditions, but genuinely.
Now she just had to prove she deserved it.
Tuesday morning, Jake woke up feeling lighter than he had in months.
Lucy was back. They were trying again. It was terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.
At practice, the team immediately noticed the change.
"Coach is smiling," Owen whispered loudly. "That's weird."
"I smile," Jake protested.
"Not like that. That's a different kind of smile."
Marcus skated over after practice. "You talked to Lucy."
"Yeah."
"And?"
"And we're trying again. Taking it slow, but trying."
Marcus pulled Jake into a hug. "I'm happy for you, man. You both deserve this."
"I hope so. Marcus, I'm terrified. What if I'm making a mistake? What if she leaves again?"
"Then you'll survive. But Jake—you can't let fear of what might happen keep you from what's happening now. Lucy's here. She's trying. That's all you can ask for."
That afternoon, Jake did something he'd been putting off. He went to The Bread Basket.
Sarah was behind the counter, and she smiled when Jake walked in.
"Jake! Long time no see. The usual?"
"Actually, I need to ask you something. Wednesday mornings at 8:17—can you make sure you have fresh pork buns? It's—it's a tradition. With Lucy."
Sarah's expression softened. "Of course. I'll make sure they're ready. Jake—I'm glad you two are working things out. Lucy's been lost without you."
"She told you that?"
"She didn't have to. I could see it. She came back for a reason."
Jake paid for six pork buns and left. On his way out, he ran into Mrs. Henderson.
"Jake Morrison! Is it true? Are you and Lucy trying again?"
"We're taking things slow—"
"Nonsense! You're perfect for each other! When's the wedding?"
"Mrs. Henderson, we literally just decided to try dating again yesterday—"
"Details! Young love is so beautiful. Your father would be so happy. He always said you needed someone to keep you grounded."
"My dad never met Lucy."
"He would have loved her. Everyone does. Except that brief period where everyone was disappointed in her for selling the bakery and choosing Paris, but we're over that now."
Jake couldn't help but smile. "That's very gracious of you."
"I'm a very gracious person. Now, about the wedding—"
"Goodbye, Mrs. Henderson."
Jake escaped before she could continue planning a wedding for a relationship that was exactly one day old.
That evening, Jake drove to Uncle Walter's to pick Lucy up for their Burlington dinner date.
She answered the door in a dress Jake had never seen—dark blue, elegant, beautiful. Her hair was down, curled, and she looked nervous.
"Hi," Lucy said.
"Hi. You look beautiful."
"Thanks. You look good too."
They drove to Burlington mostly in comfortable silence, occasionally reaching for each other's hands across the console.
The restaurant was a small Italian place Marcus had recommended. Quiet, intimate, good food.
"This is nice," Lucy said, looking around. "I missed Italian food in Paris. The French are very protective of their cuisine."
"Tell me about Paris. The real Paris, not the Instagram version. What was it actually like?"
So Lucy told him. About the loneliness, the exhaustion, the constant pressure at Le Bernardin.
About her friends—Amelie, James, Yuki—who'd supported her even when she was drowning.
About Chef Laurent and his impossible standards.
About realizing that working in a Michelin kitchen wasn't her dream after all.
"I thought I wanted that life," Lucy said. "The prestige, the recognition, the career. But Jake—I was miserable. Working sixteen hours a day, coming home to an empty apartment, missing everyone here. Missing you."
"Why didn't you tell me? When I visited in July, why didn't you say you were unhappy?"
"Because I thought it was just an adjustment.
That I'd get used to it, that the misery would pass.
And also—" Lucy paused, "—I was too proud to admit I'd made a mistake.
I'd chosen Paris so publicly, turned down your relationship for this career.
Admitting it wasn't working felt like admitting I was wrong about everything. "
"You're allowed to be wrong."
"I know. Now. But in July? I was still trying to convince myself I'd made the right choice."
They talked through dinner—about Paris, about Timber Falls, about Jake's season as head coach. It felt like their early dates, back when everything was new and exciting.
But there was also an undercurrent of sadness. Of time lost. Of three months they'd spent apart that they couldn't get back.
"Can I ask you something?" Jake said over dessert.
"Always."
"What made you finally come back? What was the breaking point?"
Lucy thought about it. "Chef Alain—the head pastry chef at Le Bernardin—he told me I was making technically perfect food that had no soul. He asked me where my heart was, and I said Vermont. And he asked why I was in Paris if my heart was somewhere else. And I didn't have a good answer."
"So you quit."
"So I quit. Gave notice, booked my flight, and came home. Scared out of my mind that I'd burned all my bridges. That you'd have moved on. That I'd given up Paris for nothing."
"You didn't give it up for nothing. You gave it up for yourself. For the life you actually want."
"And that life includes you. I hope."
"It does. It absolutely does."
On the drive back to Timber Falls, Lucy fell asleep against the window. Jake glanced at her—relaxed, peaceful, home—and felt something settle in his chest.
This was right. They were right. The past three months had been hell, but maybe they needed that time apart. To grow independently. To figure out who they were separately before they could be together again.
Jake pulled up to Uncle Walter's and gently shook Lucy awake.
"We're home," he said.
Lucy blinked sleepily. "Sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep."
"It's okay. You had a long day."
At the door, Lucy turned to him. "Thank you. For tonight. For giving us another chance. For not giving up on me."
"Thank you for coming back. For being brave enough to admit you were wrong."
"So we're doing this? Really doing this?"
"We're really doing this. Slowly. Carefully. But really."
They kissed goodnight—longer this time, less tentative. When they pulled apart, both were smiling.
"Wednesday morning?" Lucy asked.
"8:17. Our tradition."
Lucy went inside, and Jake drove home feeling hopeful for the first time in months.
They had a long road ahead. Trust to rebuild, patterns to establish, a relationship to recreate. But they were trying. And that was enough.
For now, that was more than enough.
Wednesday morning arrived with the first real snow of the season.
Lucy woke at 7 AM, made coffee, and got ready with more care than she had for any morning in months. The gray sweater again—it was becoming her Jake sweater. Dark jeans. Minimal makeup. Hair down.
At 8:10, she walked to The Bread Basket. Through the windows, she could see Sarah prepping for the morning rush.
The bell chimed when Lucy walked in. Sarah looked up and smiled.
"Lucy! Welcome home. Jake told me about your Wednesday tradition."
"He did?"
"Fresh pork buns at 8:17. They're ready."
Lucy looked at the steamer where six perfect pork buns were waiting. Her grandmother's recipe, made by someone else, but still familiar. Still home.
At 8:17 exactly, the door chimed again.
Jake walked in, snow dusting his shoulders, looking for her immediately. When their eyes met, he smiled.
"Hi," Lucy said.
"Hi. Right on time."
"Some traditions are worth keeping."
They ordered—six pork buns for Jake, coffee for both of them—and sat at Lucy's old corner table. The one she'd used for five years, where she'd done paperwork and made plans and built her grandmother's legacy.
"This feels right," Jake said, biting into a pork bun. "Being here. With you. Continuing our tradition."
"It feels right to me too. Different than before, but right."
"Different how?"
"Before, I was running the bakery. This was my space. Now it's Sarah's space, and I'm just—me. Not the owner. Not my grandmother's granddaughter. Just Lucy."
"Just Lucy is pretty great."
They ate in comfortable silence, watching Timber Falls wake up outside the window. Mr. Peterson shuffled in for his bran muffin. The Knitting Circle arrived in force, all of them staring at Lucy and Jake with obvious delight.
"They're talking about us," Lucy observed.
"They're always talking about us. We're the most interesting thing to happen in Timber Falls in years."
"That's sad."
"That's small-town life."
Mrs. Henderson approached their table. "Lucy Chen! And Jake Morrison! Together! At 8:17 AM! This is wonderful!"
"Good morning, Mrs. Henderson," Lucy said.
"Are you back? Really back? Not just visiting?"
"Really back. I'm opening a restaurant. Margaret's. In the Morrison building."
"Your grandmother would be so proud. And you and Jake—you're back together?"
"We're figuring things out," Jake said diplomatically.
"That means yes! I knew it! I told the Knitting Circle you'd work it out. True love always does."
After Mrs. Henderson left, Lucy looked at Jake. "Is this what our life is going to be? Constant commentary from the town?"
"Probably. Can you handle it?"
"I handled running a bakery for five years. I can handle town gossip."
They finished their pork buns, and Jake walked Lucy to the Morrison building to show him her restaurant vision.
"It's perfect," Jake said, looking around the empty space. "I can see it exactly how you described. How much is the lease?"
Lucy told him. "It's a lot. But Uncle Walter said he'd help with the deposit. And I have savings from the bakery sale and my Paris salary. I can make it work."
"When are you opening?"
"Spring, hopefully. March or April. I need to do renovations, get permits, hire staff, develop the menu—" Lucy felt overwhelmed just listing it all.
"One step at a time," Jake said. "That's how you do big things. One step at a time."
"You'll help? I mean—not financially. Just—support? Advice? Being there when I'm freaking out?"
"Always. Lucy, I'm all in. On us, on your restaurant, on building this life together. I'm all in."
Lucy kissed him there in the empty Morrison building, snow falling outside the windows, and felt something click into place.
She was home. Really home. Building the life she actually wanted, not the one she thought she should want.
It wouldn't be easy. Rebuilding trust with Jake, opening a restaurant, proving to the town she was really staying. None of it would be easy.
But Lucy was done taking the easy path.
She was choosing brave. Choosing hard. Choosing real.
And she was choosing Jake.
Every single day, she was choosing Jake.
"Come on," Jake said, pulling back from the kiss. "I have practice in an hour. But tonight—want to come over? I'll make dinner. Nothing fancy, but—"
"I'd love that. Should I bring anything?"
"Just yourself. That's all I need."
They walked back into Timber Falls together, hand in hand, and Lucy felt lighter than she had in seven months.
She was home. Really, truly home.
And she wasn't leaving again.
Not for Paris. Not for anything.
This was where she belonged.