Chapter 14
Lucas
The church kitchen smells like vanilla and butter, and I'm pretty sure I'm the only person here who feels completely out of place. Harper's got me stationed at a mixing bowl the size of a small bathtub, while June directs operations with the efficiency of a five-star general.
"More flour," June says, appearing at my elbow with a measuring cup. "And don't overmix. Muffins need a gentle touch."
I've been making drinks for fifteen years, but apparently baking is an entirely different skill set. "How do I know when it's enough?"
"When it looks like this." Harper demonstrates with her own bowl, stirring with careful, deliberate movements. "Think of it like... building something delicate. Too much force ruins the foundation."
I try to copy her technique, aware that Maya's two best friends are watching my every move. This isn't just about muffins. This is some kind of test.
"So," June says casually, measuring ingredients for the next batch. "Maya seems happier lately."
"Does she?" I keep my voice neutral, hand still on the mixing spoon.
"Much happier." Harper's tone is deceptively light. "More settled."
The words hit exactly where they're aimed. "Good. She deserves to be happy."
"She does." June sets down her measuring cup and looks at me directly. "The question is, are you planning to help her stay that way?"
There it is. The real conversation underneath the baking lesson.
"I'm planning to try," I say carefully.
"Trying's not enough," Harper says, not looking up from her mixing. "Maya's been hurt before. By men who tried without really committing. She needs someone who's all in."
"I am all in."
"Are you?" June tilts her head, studying my face. "Because yesterday she told me she's terrified this won't work. That she'll screw it up somehow. And the only reason someone that smart would think something that stupid is if she's getting mixed signals."
I set down the spoon. "I'm not giving her mixed signals."
"Then why does she think you'll change your mind once things calm down?" Harper's question is direct, challenging.
Because Maya's been convinced by too many people that she's not good enough. That she's too much trouble, too complicated, too broken.
"I wouldn't change my mind," I say quietly.
"We know that," June says gently. "But does she?"
Before I can answer, the kitchen door swings open and Maya walks in, and every coherent thought in my head evaporates. She's wearing jeans and a soft green sweater that brings out her eyes, her hair pulled back in her trademark messy bun.
She looks beautiful.
"Sorry I'm late," she says, tying an apron around her waist. "Got caught up working on the festival website. How can I help?"
June and Harper exchange a look that I'm probably not supposed to catch, then June smiles brightly.
"Lucas was just telling us how committed he is to making sure you're happy."
Maya's eyes widen slightly, and she looks at me with surprise and something warmer.
"Was he?" she asks softly with a smirk on her lips.
I meet her gaze across the kitchen, and for a moment, it's just us in this room.
"Always," I tell her, meaning every word.
Maya moves to the counter beside me, and the familiar warmth of her presence settles the tension I didn't realize I was carrying. Harper hands her a mixing bowl while June starts organizing more ingredients.
"Your dad would be proud, you know," Harper says quietly, glancing around the busy kitchen. "Seeing you be part of the community like this."
The mention of my father is unexpected, and I have to focus on my mixing to keep my expression steady. "Yeah, maybe."
"Definitely," June adds, measuring flour with precise movements. "He always said the bar was about more than just serving drinks. It was about being the heart of the community."
I keep stirring, buying time. Talking about my father has never been easy, especially the parts about living up to his legacy. "Dad always said a good bartender doesn't just serve drinks. He serves as counselor, mediator, safe harbor. The bar should be where people come when they need community."
"And you've done that," Harper says firmly. "Look how you handled Maya's situation with Evan. Look how you're here, helping with bake sales and festival planning. Your dad would see that you didn't just take over his business. You became the man he raised you to be."
The words should be comforting, but they hit a sore spot I've been carrying for years. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm enough. If I'm doing it right."
"What do you mean?" Maya's voice is soft. Concerned.
I set down the mixing spoon and lean against the counter. "My dad had this presence, you know? When he walked into a room, people just... trusted him. Looked to him for guidance. I'm just trying to serve drinks and keep the lights on."
"Lucas." Maya touches my arm. "That's not true. You've created something special at The Willow Tap. People don't just come for the drinks, they come because they feel safe there. Because they know you care about them."
"She's right," June chimes in. "Mrs. Henderson calls it her second living room. The Peterson twins have their weekly argument there every Thursday because they know you'll mediate when things get heated."
"And," Harper adds with a meaningful look, "you took in a scared woman and made her feel safe. That's exactly what your father would have done."
I look at Maya, who's watching me with such understanding in her eyes. "I just don't want to let people down. Especially people who matter to me."
"You won't," she says with quiet certainty. "You couldn't. It's not in your nature."
The simple faith in her voice does something to me. Because she's seen me at my worst moments—worried, protective, probably overbearing—and she still believes in me.
"The bar means everything to me," I admit. "This town, these people. I can't imagine being anywhere else."
"Good thing Maya feels the same way," June says with a grin, "or this would be a very awkward conversation."
Maya blushes, but she doesn't deny it. "I'm starting to understand what you mean about community. The appeal of belonging somewhere."
"You do belong here," I tell her, and I realize how much I need her to believe that. Not just for her sake, but for mine. Because the thought of losing her, of her deciding this life isn't enough—it scares me more than I want to admit.
"Yeah?" she asks softly.
"Yeah. You belong here with me."
The kitchen goes quiet for a moment, Harper and June exchanging one of their wordless conversations while Maya and I stare at each other across a bowl of half-mixed muffin batter.
"Well," June says finally, wiping her hands on her apron with the kind of decisive movement that usually means she's about to meddle in someone's life. "Since we're all being honest here..."
"June," Harper warns, but there's no real heat in it.
"No, this needs to be said." June turns to face me directly, arms crossed. "Lucas, you're a good man. A great man, actually. But you're also a coward."
"June!" Maya looks mortified.
"It's true." June's voice is gentle but firm. "You love Maya. She loves you. The whole town can see it, her parents are expecting you together at the festival, and you're both tiptoeing around each other like teenagers afraid to hold hands at a school dance."
I feel heat creep up my neck. "It's not that simple—"
"Isn't it?" June interrupts. "Maya, when was the last time Lucas made you feel uncertain about his feelings?"
Maya blinks, considering. "I... he hasn't. He's been nothing but clear about how he feels."
"And Lucas, when was the last time Maya gave you any reason to think she doesn't want to be with you?"
"She hasn't," I admit reluctantly.
"Then what exactly are you both so afraid of?" June's tone is exasperated but fond. "That it might actually work out? That you might actually be happy?"
Harper sets down her mixing spoon and leans against the counter. "She has a point. You two have been through more drama in the last few weeks than most couples face in years, and you're still here. Still choosing each other."
"But the festival—" Maya starts.
"Is just an event," June finishes flatly. "With music and food and people having a good time. It's not a marriage proposal."
I look at Maya, who's got flour in her hair and uncertainty in her eyes, and realize June's right. I have been a coward. Not about my feelings—those are crystal clear—but about asking for what I want.
"Maya," I say quietly, ignoring the fact that her friends are hanging on every word. "Would you like to go to the festival with me? As my date?"
Her eyes widen slightly. "As your date?"
"As my girlfriend, if you want to be technical about it." The words come out steadier than I feel. "I want to dance with you. I want to introduce you to people as the woman I'm crazy about. I want to stop pretending this is casual when it's the most serious thing that's ever happened to me."
Maya's smile starts slow and builds to something radiant. "I'd love to go to the festival with you. As your girlfriend."
"Finally!" June throws her hands up in celebration. "I was about to lock you both in the pantry until you figured it out."
"You wouldn't dare," Maya laughs.
"Try me," June grins. "I've been watching this dance for weeks. It was getting painful."
Harper clears her throat. "Now that that's settled, can we please finish these muffins? The bake sale is tomorrow, and we still have six dozen to go."
But I'm barely listening because Maya just called herself my girlfriend, and the word sounds better than I ever imagined it would.
My girlfriend. Maya Bennett is my girlfriend.
I think I can live with that.