Chapter 23
April in Vermont was mud season.
The snow melted, leaving behind brown slush and unpredictable weather. But inside Margaret's, everything was blooming.
The restaurant had been open for three weeks, and every night was fully booked. Reviews were glowing—the Burlington Free Press called it "a revelation," the local food blogger said it was "worth the drive from anywhere in New England."
Lucy should have been thrilled. Instead, she was exhausted.
She worked sixteen-hour days. Arrived at 8 AM to prep, stayed until past midnight for cleanup. She barely saw Jake, who was dealing with his own post-championship chaos—interviews, sponsor meetings, planning for next season.
They texted constantly but saw each other maybe twice a week.
"This isn't sustainable," Daniel said one afternoon, watching Lucy nearly fall asleep standing up.
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. Boss, you need help. You need to delegate. You can't run this entire restaurant by yourself."
"I'm not by myself. I have you, I have the line cooks—"
"And you're still doing everything. Menu planning, inventory, scheduling, cooking every service. Lucy, you're going to burn out."
Lucy knew he was right. But letting go—trusting others with her dream—felt impossible.
That evening, she had a rare night off. Jake picked her up at 6 PM, looking concerned.
"When's the last time you slept more than four hours?" he asked.
"I sleep."
"Actual sleep. In a bed. For a full night."
Lucy couldn't remember. "I'll sleep when things calm down."
"Lucy—"
"I know. I know I'm overdoing it. But Jake, this is my restaurant. My dream. I have to make sure it's perfect."
"It is perfect. Everyone says so. The reviews, the customers, Uncle Walter who's been there five times in three weeks—everyone agrees Margaret's is incredible. You've proven yourself. Now you need to trust your team."
They went to his apartment, and Jake made dinner—simple pasta with vegetables, the kind of food Lucy used to make for him.
"I miss cooking for fun," Lucy admitted. "At the restaurant, everything is high-stakes. Every dish has to be perfect. I miss just—making food because I want to."
"Then do that. Cook for fun. For me, for Uncle Walter, for yourself."
"When? I barely have time to breathe."
Jake set down his fork. "Lucy, I need to say something. And I don't want you to take it the wrong way."
"That's a concerning way to start a sentence."
"You're doing the same thing you did with your grandmother's bakery. Working yourself to death because you think that's what success looks like. But Lucy—success isn't killing yourself for your business. Success is building something sustainable."
Lucy felt defensive. "This is different. This is my restaurant, my vision—"
"Which makes it even more important that you don't burn out. Because if you burn out, Margaret's fails. Not because the food isn't good or the concept isn't right, but because you worked yourself to exhaustion."
Lucy was quiet. Because Jake was right. She was doing exactly what she'd done at the bakery—defining herself entirely by the business, sacrificing everything else for it.
"I don't know how to do it differently," Lucy admitted. "How to care about something without consuming myself with it."
"You learn. You practice. You set boundaries. Lucy, take one day off per week. A real day off. Let Daniel and your sous chef handle a dinner service. Trust them."
"What if something goes wrong?"
"Then they handle it. Or they don't, and you deal with it the next day. But Lucy—you can't be there every second. That's not sustainable."
Lucy leaned into him. "When did you get so wise about work-life balance?"
"When I watched my girlfriend work herself to exhaustion and realized I'd done the same thing in my playing career. I know what burnout looks like, Lucy. And I see it in you."
"I'm scared to let go. What if I step back and the restaurant falls apart?"
"It won't. You've built something strong. You've hired good people. Trust them to do their jobs."
That night, Lucy made a decision. Starting next week, she'd take Sundays off. Let Daniel run dinner service. Trust her team.
It was terrifying. But Jake was right—she couldn't sustain this pace.
And she wanted a life beyond the restaurant. A life that included Jake, included rest, included being a person instead of just a chef.
Post-championship life was strange.
Everyone in Timber Falls wanted to talk about the season. The win. What came next. Jake couldn't go anywhere without being stopped for congratulations or photos.
"You're famous," Emma said at Saturday morning youth hockey practice.
"I'm not famous. I just coached a good team."
"Coach, you won a championship. That's famous."
Jake supposed she was right.
But the attention was uncomfortable. He'd become a coach to work with players, to teach the game he loved. Not to be a local celebrity.
"It'll die down," Marcus assured him. "Give it a few months. Everyone will move on to the next thing."
"I hope so."
In mid-April, Jake got a call from an AHL team in Providence. They were interested in talking to him about an assistant coaching position.
"Higher level, better pay, real advancement opportunities," the caller explained. "We've been impressed with what you did in Timber Falls. We think you have a future in professional hockey."
Jake thanked them and said he'd think about it.
Then he immediately knew he wouldn't take it.
Providence meant leaving Timber Falls. Leaving the Wolves, leaving Emma and Owen and the kids he coached on Saturdays. Leaving Lucy, right when she was building her restaurant.
The answer was easy. He was staying.
But the call made him think about the future. Where was his career going? He'd achieved his goal—won a championship, proven himself as a coach. What came next?
He talked to Lucy about it over dinner at her apartment (Uncle Walter had finally convinced her to find her own place, a small one-bedroom above a bookstore on Main Street).
"They offered you a job?" Lucy asked.
"Not officially. Just a conversation. But yeah, basically."
"Are you going to take it?"
"No. I'm staying here."
Lucy looked relieved. "You didn't hesitate."
"I don't need to. This is where I want to be. But Lucy—I do want to keep growing as a coach. Keep learning, keep improving. I don't want to stagnate."
"So what does that look like?"
"I don't know yet. Maybe coaching clinics, maybe mentoring other young coaches, maybe developing the Timber Falls youth program into something bigger. I just know I want to keep building something meaningful."
"That sounds good. Thoughtful. Very you."
"What about you? What's next for Margaret's?"
Lucy had been thinking about this. "Long-term? I'd love to expand. Not into a chain—I'm not trying to be the next Panera. But maybe a second location in Burlington. Or a catering arm. Or a cookbook. Something that grows the concept without losing what makes it special."
"That's ambitious."
"Says the man who won a championship in his first year as head coach."
"Fair point."
They talked late into the night about dreams and futures and possibilities. And Jake realized something: they were finally aligned. Both building careers they loved in the place they wanted to be. Together. Committed. Real.
"Lucy?" Jake said around midnight.
"Yeah?"
"Move in with me."
Lucy blinked. "What?"
"Move in with me. You just got this apartment, I know. But—I want to wake up next to you every morning. I want to come home to you every night. I want us to actually live together instead of just sleeping over at each other's places."
"Jake, this is—that's a big step."
"I know. But we've already done the hard part. We've proven we can survive distance, survive doubt, survive our careers pulling us in different directions. Moving in together feels like the logical next step."
"Is it, though? Or are we rushing because we almost lost each other and now we're overcompensating?"
"I don't think we're rushing. I think we're finally ready. Lucy, I love you. I want to build a life with you. Not just date you, not just be your boyfriend. Build an actual life. Together."
Lucy was quiet for a long moment. "Can I think about it?"
"Of course."
"Not because I don't want to. But because—because I want to make sure we're doing this for the right reasons. Not out of fear of losing each other again."
"That's fair."
But Jake felt stung. He'd put himself out there, asked for something big, and Lucy needed to think about it.
Was she having doubts? Still not fully committed? Still keeping one foot out the door in case she needed to run?
"Jake?" Lucy said softly. "I can see your brain spiraling. Don't."
"I'm not spiraling."
"You are. I see it. But Jake—me wanting to think about it isn't me doubting us. It's me wanting to be thoughtful about a major life decision. We've been back together for five months. That's not that long."
"It's long enough to know."
"For you maybe. For me—I'm still rebuilding your trust. I'm still proving I'm staying. Moving in together feels like—like if I mess up, if I get scared and want space, I've nowhere to go. I'm just—there. Committed. No escape route."
"Do you need an escape route?"
"I don't know. Maybe? Jake, I'm being honest here. I'm scared. Of commitment, of being vulnerable, of trusting that this will last. And moving in together—that's a level of commitment I'm not sure I'm ready for yet."
Jake wanted to argue. Wanted to say she should be ready, that they'd been through enough to earn this next step.
But he also understood. Lucy's fear was valid. She'd left once. She was terrified of hurting him again. Moving in meant no safety net, no separate space to retreat to when things got hard.
"Okay," Jake said. "Think about it. Take all the time you need. I'm not going anywhere."
"Promise?"
"Promise. Lucy, I love you. I'm not going to stop loving you just because you're not ready to move in yet."
"Thank you. For understanding."