Chapter 22
January brought bitter cold and the final push toward Margaret's opening.
The Morrison building had transformed. What was once an empty shell now had a working kitchen, dining room tables, a bar. The exposed brick Lucy loved was complemented by warm lighting and dark wood. It looked exactly how she'd imagined.
"This is incredible," Rei said, walking through during the first week of January. "Lucy, it's perfect."
"It's not finished yet. I still need—" Lucy gestured vaguely, "—everything. Staff, final menu, supplies, marketing, a liquor license that's taking forever—"
"One thing at a time. What's most urgent?"
"Staff. I have Mae for front of house. But I need a sous chef, line cooks, bartender. And I have no idea how to find qualified people in Timber Falls."
"Post on the culinary school job boards. Reach out to your Paris connections. Someone will know someone."
Lucy spent the next week doing exactly that. She posted job listings, reached out to Chef Laurent (who actually responded with three recommendations), and interviewed what felt like a hundred people.
Finally, in mid-January, she found her sous chef.
Daniel was thirty-two, trained at CIA (Culinary Institute of America, not the spy agency, as he clarified immediately), had worked in Boston restaurants for ten years, and was looking to get out of the city.
"Why Timber Falls?" Lucy asked during his interview.
"Burnout. I've been working sixteen-hour days in high-pressure kitchens for a decade. I want something smaller, more personal. Your concept—French technique with local ingredients and Asian influence—that speaks to me. It's innovative without being pretentious."
"The pay isn't Boston money."
"I don't need Boston money. I need to love cooking again. Your passion for this project—that's what I need to be around."
Lucy hired him on the spot.
With Daniel on board, they built the rest of the team. Two line cooks—both young, eager, willing to learn. A bartender named Chris who'd moved to Vermont for the skiing and needed work. Mae ran front of house hiring, bringing on three servers who she promised were "reliable and good with people."
By early February, Lucy had a full staff and a finalized menu. Margaret's was happening. Really happening.
"March fifteenth," Lucy told Jake one evening at his apartment. "That's our soft opening. Friends and family, iron out the kinks. Then official opening March twenty-second."
"That's six weeks away."
"I know. Six weeks to finalize everything, train staff, do a million practice runs—" Lucy felt panic rising.
"Hey." Jake pulled her close. "You've got this. You've been working toward this for months. The restaurant is beautiful, your team is solid, your menu is incredible. It's going to be perfect."
"What if it's not? What if I fail spectacularly and embarrass myself in front of the entire town?"
"Then you'll adjust and try again. But Lucy—you're not going to fail. You're too good at this."
"How do you know?"
"Because I've tasted everything you've made. Because I've watched you build this from nothing. Because you're Lucy Chen, and when you commit to something, you make it happen."
Lucy kissed him, grateful for his certainty when hers was wavering.
"Tell me about playoffs," she said, changing the subject. "That's coming up soon too, right?"
"First round starts early March. If we keep winning, we could make it to finals."
"Which would be when?"
"Late March, early April. Right around your opening."
"So we're both going to be insanely busy at the exact same time."
"Looks like it."
"That's—that's not great for us, is it?"
Jake was quiet for a moment. "It's going to be hard. But Lucy—we knew this wouldn't be easy. We're both building careers, chasing dreams. Sometimes that means less time together."
"I don't want to lose us in the chaos."
"We won't. As long as we're intentional about making time, as long as we keep communicating—we'll be fine."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
But Lucy could see the worry in his eyes. They were both about to be consumed by their respective careers. Would their relationship survive it?
The Wolves were on a tear.
They won their next six games, cementing their first-place position. Jake's coaching was getting attention—articles in local papers, interest from higher-level teams.
"You're becoming famous," Marcus said after a particularly glowing piece in the Burlington Free Press.
"I'm not famous. I'm just doing my job."
"You're doing it better than anyone expected. Jake, you could probably get a job in the AHL if you wanted."
"I don't want. I'm happy here."
And he was. Coaching the Wolves, being part of Timber Falls, building a life with Lucy—this was exactly where he wanted to be.
But the success brought pressure. Expectations. Everyone assumed they'd make playoffs, that they'd go deep, that this was finally Timber Falls' year.
"Don't listen to the hype," Tommy advised. "Just focus on one game at a time. The rest will take care of itself."
"What if we lose? What if we don't make it as far as everyone thinks?"
"Then you lose. And you learn. And you come back stronger next year. Jake, you can't coach scared. You have to trust your system and your players."
In mid-February, Jake had a particularly rough game. The Wolves lost 6-2, their worst loss of the season. The locker room was silent afterward.
"That was unacceptable," Jake said, his voice tight. "We played lazy. Undisciplined. Like we've already won something when we haven't won anything yet."
The team looked chastened.
"Tomorrow, we're back on the ice. No off day. We're going to drill fundamentals until we remember how to play hockey. Questions?"
No one had questions.
After the team left, Marcus approached Jake. "That was harsh."
"They needed harsh. They're getting cocky."
"Maybe. But Jake—they're also tired. It's been a long season. Everyone's running on empty. Yelling at them might not be the answer."
"So what is the answer?"
"Balance. Push them when they need pushing. But also know when to back off and let them breathe."
Jake went home that night frustrated. He was a first-year head coach. He was making mistakes. And the playoffs were three weeks away.
Lucy was at his apartment when he arrived, cooking dinner.
"Heard about the game," she said. "Want to talk about it?"
"Not really."
"Okay. Then just eat. I made comfort food—mac and cheese with fancy cheese because I'm bougie now."
Despite himself, Jake smiled. "Bougie mac and cheese. That tracks."
They ate in silence, and gradually Jake felt his frustration ease. This was what he needed—not advice or analysis, just Lucy's presence. The comfort of coming home to someone who cared.
"I was too hard on them," Jake said finally. "The team. After the loss. I let my own anxiety about playoffs make me harsh."
"What are you going to do?"
"Apologize tomorrow. Explain that I was frustrated with myself, not them. And then we'll refocus. As a team."
"That's good coaching."
"How do you know? You don't know anything about coaching."
"I know about leadership. I ran a bakery for five years. Same principles—admit when you're wrong, communicate clearly, support your team."
"When did you get so wise?"
"Paris. Turns out three months of misery teaches you things."
Jake pulled her close. "I'm glad you came home."
"Me too. Even when it's hard. Even when we're both stressed and barely have time for each other. I'm still glad."
"Me too."
They spent the evening on Jake's couch, Lucy working on restaurant planning, Jake reviewing game footage. Separate but together. It wasn't romantic, but it was real.
And real was what they needed.
Late February brought Lucy's first major crisis.
The liquor license—which was supposed to be finalized in January—was delayed. Again. Some bureaucratic nonsense about paperwork and inspections.
"I can't open without a liquor license," Lucy told Daniel. "The whole concept includes wine pairings. We've built the menu around it."
"Can you soft launch without it? Just for friends and family?"
"Maybe. But the official opening is March twenty-second. If I don't have it by then—"
"Then we push the opening. It's not ideal, but it happens."
Lucy wanted to cry. She'd set the date, sent out announcements, invited press. Pushing it would look unprofessional.
She called the licensing board. They were unhelpful.
She called Uncle Walter. He suggested calling their state representative.
She called their state representative. She left a message.
Then she went to Jake's and broke down.
"Everything is falling apart," Lucy said, crying into his shoulder. "The license is delayed, my sous chef cut his hand yesterday and needed stitches, one of my servers just quit, and I'm running out of money faster than I planned."
Jake held her while she cried, not offering solutions, just being there.
"What do you need?" he finally asked.
"I need—I need to know this is going to work. That I'm not making a huge mistake. That Margaret's isn't going to fail before it even opens."
"You're not making a mistake. You're building something incredible. And yes, there are setbacks. That's normal. That's business."
"But what if—"
"Lucy. Stop catastrophizing. You're having a bad week. You're not failing. The license will come through. Your sous chef will heal. You'll find another server. And the restaurant will open, and it will be amazing."
"How are you so sure?"
"Because I've watched you work. I've seen your determination. And I know that when Lucy Chen commits to something, she makes it happen."
Lucy wanted to believe him. Wanted to feel his certainty instead of her own doubt.
"I'm scared," she admitted. "More scared than I was in Paris. Because this time, if I fail, there's no excuse. I'm home, I have support, I'm doing exactly what I want to do. If it doesn't work—"