Chapter 21
The weeks after Lucy came back fell into a rhythm.
Mornings were for the restaurant. Lucy met with contractors, applied for permits, designed menus, interviewed potential staff. The Morrison building was slowly transforming from empty shell to something real.
Afternoons were for the community. Lucy volunteered at Emma's school, teaching cooking classes. She reconnected with old customers at The Bread Basket. She showed up to Wolves games, sitting in the family section with Rei, cheering for Jake's team.
Evenings were for Jake. Sometimes at his apartment, sometimes at Uncle Walter's (where Lucy was still staying while she figured out housing). Cooking together, watching movies, talking about their days. Learning each other again.
It was good. It was right. It was also terrifyingly fragile.
"You're overthinking again," Rei said one afternoon in early November. They were at their usual coffee spot, catching up.
"I'm not overthinking. I'm being realistic."
"You're catastrophizing. Jake has given you a second chance. You're rebuilding. It's going well. Stop waiting for it to fall apart."
"But what if it does? What if I mess up again?"
"Then you'll deal with it. But Lucy—you can't live your whole relationship in fear of making mistakes. That's not living. That's just existing."
Lucy knew Rei was right. But three months of guilt and regret didn't disappear overnight. She kept waiting for Jake to realize he'd made a mistake taking her back. Kept waiting for him to look at her and see the woman who'd left, not the woman who'd come home.
"He looks at you like you hung the moon," Rei said. "Last week at the game, he couldn't take his eyes off you. It's actually kind of gross how in love he still is."
"We're taking things slow."
"I know. But slow doesn't mean uncertain. Jake chose you, Lucy. Now you need to trust that choice."
That evening, Lucy had dinner with Uncle Walter. They were going through her grandmother's old recipe collection—Lucy wanted to incorporate some of them into Margaret's menu.
"This one," Uncle Walter said, holding up a card. "Your grandmother's ginger-scallion noodles. She made these every Sunday."
"I remember. She said they were about balance—the heat of the ginger, the freshness of the scallion, the richness of the oil. All in harmony."
"She'd want you to use this. She'd want Margaret's to feel like her, but also like you."
Lucy took the card, running her fingers over her grandmother's handwriting. "Do you think she'd be proud? That I sold the bakery, that I'm opening my own place?"
"Lulu, she'd be thrilled. She never wanted you to spend your life maintaining what she built. She wanted you to build something of your own."
"I wish I'd understood that earlier. I wasted five years—"
"You didn't waste anything. You honored her legacy for five years. You kept her dream alive. And now you're ready to dream your own dreams. That's growth, not waste."
Lucy hugged her uncle. "Thank you. For everything. For supporting me when I went to Paris. For supporting me when I came back. For never making me feel like I had to choose between your expectations and my own wants."
"That's what family does. We support each other's choices, even when we don't understand them."
After dinner, Lucy drove to Jake's apartment. He was making pasta—something simple but good, the kind of food that felt like care.
"How was your day?" Jake asked, stirring sauce.
"Good. Productive. The contractor says we can start renovations next week. The permits finally came through."
"That's great! You must be relieved."
"I am. Also terrified. This is really happening. I'm really opening a restaurant."
"You're going to be incredible at it."
They ate at Jake's small table, and Lucy felt the familiar warmth of domestic comfort. This is what she'd missed in Paris—not grand gestures or exciting adventures, but this. Quiet evenings with someone who cared. Simple meals and easier conversations.
"Can I ask you something?" Jake said after dinner.
"Always."
"Are you happy? Really happy? Not just going through the motions because you think you should be here?"
Lucy set down her wine glass. "Where is this coming from?"
"I just—I need to make sure. That you're here because you want to be, not because you felt guilty about leaving."
"Jake, I promise. I'm happy. Some days are hard, and I miss aspects of Paris—my friends there, the food culture, the beauty of it. But I don't regret coming home. Not for a second."
"Okay. I needed to hear that."
"Are you having doubts? About us?"
"No. Not doubts. Just—checking in. Making sure we're both still all in."
"I'm all in. Jake, I know I have to keep proving that. Keep showing you I'm not going to leave. And I will. For as long as it takes."
Jake pulled her close. "I believe you. I do. But Lucy—I think part of me is still scared. Still waiting for the other shoe to drop."
"That's fair. I broke your trust. It's going to take time to rebuild it fully."
"How much time?"
"I don't know. As much time as you need. I'm not going anywhere."
They held each other in Jake's small kitchen, and Lucy felt the weight of her past choices. She'd hurt him. Really hurt him. And even though he'd forgiven her, the scar was still there.
All she could do was keep showing up. Keep choosing him. Keep proving that this time, she was staying.
Late November brought the first real cold snap and the Wolves' best start in franchise history.
They were 12-4, leading their division, playing with a confidence Jake had never seen before. Owen was thriving. Marcus was playing like he was ten years younger. The team believed in themselves.
And Jake was learning to believe in himself as a coach.
"You're a natural at this," Tommy said one afternoon, watching Jake run a practice. "The way you communicate, the way you adjust strategies—this is what you were meant to do."
"Thanks. It feels right. More right than playing ever did."
"That's how you know you've found your calling. When it feels natural instead of forced."
After practice, Jake found Emma waiting by the bench.
"Coach Jake, can I ask you something?"
"Sure, Em. What's up?"
"How did you know Miss Lucy was the one? Like, how did you know to give her another chance?"
Jake crouched down to Emma's level. "That's a pretty big question for a nine-year-old."
"My friend Sarah says her parents are getting divorced. She asked me how people know if love is real or not. And I thought about you and Miss Lucy."
Jake's chest tightened. "Well, I think—I think you know someone is right for you when being with them feels like coming home. When you're willing to work through hard things because they're worth it. And when you can imagine your life with them and it makes you happy."
"And Miss Lucy makes you happy?"
"She does. Very happy."
"Good. Because you smile more now than you did before. And Sarah says smiling is important."
After Emma left, Marcus appeared. "Kid wisdom. It hits different."
"She asked how I knew Lucy was the one."
"And? How did you know?"
Jake thought about it. "Because even when I was furious with her, even when I was hurt and trying to move on—I never stopped loving her. And I figured, if I can't stop loving her even when I want to, maybe that means something."
"It means you're stuck with her."
"Yeah. In the best way."
"How are things going? Really?"
"Good. We're building back slowly. It's not perfect—there are still moments where I'm scared she'll leave again. But we're talking about it. Being honest. And that's more than we did before."
"Progress."
"Yeah. Progress."
That evening, Jake drove to the Morrison building to pick Lucy up. She'd been there all day with contractors, finalizing renovation plans.
When he arrived, Lucy was standing in the middle of the empty space, looking around with an expression Jake couldn't quite read.
"Hey," he said. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah. Just—taking it in. This is really happening. In four months, this will be a restaurant. My restaurant."
"How does that feel?"
"Terrifying. Exciting. Like I'm finally doing what I'm supposed to be doing."
Jake wrapped his arms around her from behind. "You're going to be amazing."
"What if I'm not? What if I fail?"
"Then you'll try again. But Lucy—you're not going to fail. You're too talented, too determined, too good at this."
Lucy turned in his arms. "How are you so sure?"
"Because I've watched you work. I've eaten your food. I've seen how you light up when you talk about recipes and ingredients and creating things that bring people joy. That passion—you can't fake it. And it's what makes great chefs great."
"You've been watching cooking shows again, haven't you?"
"Rei got me hooked on Top Chef. Don't judge me."
Lucy laughed and kissed him. "I would never judge you for that."
They locked up the Morrison building and drove to Uncle Walter's for dinner. He'd invited them both, plus Rei and Marcus, for what he called a "family dinner."
The five of them crowded around Uncle Walter's dining table, eating pot roast and talking over each other.
"So March opening?" Marcus asked Lucy.
"That's the goal. Late March, early April. Depends on renovations and inspections."
"What's the menu going to be?"
"French technique with New England ingredients and my grandmother's influence. So like—duck confit with maple glaze and root vegetables. Pork buns reimagined as an appetizer. Butternut squash soup with brown butter and sage."
"That sounds incredible," Rei said. "I'm already planning my opening night outfit."
"Opening night is going to be chaos. I'll probably burn everything and cry."
"No you won't," Jake said. "You'll be brilliant. And we'll all be there to support you."
"That's what I'm afraid of. What if you all come and the food is terrible?"
"Then we'll lie and say it's amazing," Marcus said. "That's what friends do."