"I do not." She swats my chest. "Take it back."
"Make me."
She does. The kiss turns heated, hands wandering, until we both pull back breathless.
"We should go before someone comes looking," she whispers.
"Breakfast?"
She grins. "My favorite place. Meet you there in twenty minutes?"
We sneak out separately—her through the front door with her purse and coat, me ten minutes later claiming I need coffee from town. By the time I reach the diner, she's already at a corner booth, studying the menu with a small smile.
I slide in across from her, and under the table, her foot finds mine.
An hour later, after French toast and terrible coffee, we're talking about everything. Lucy's hands move as she describes her vision for the New Year's window display at The Frost & Ivy.
"Winter wonderland meets cozy reading nook," she says, stealing my bacon. "Fairy lights and fake snow and maybe some of those vintage skis from the antique shop."
I watch her face light up the way it always does when she talks about the shop. "Sounds perfect."
"Yeah?" She tilts her head. "Not too much?"
"Those customers are lucky to have you."
Pink floods her cheeks. She looks down at her plate. "We'll see if I can pull it off."
Something hesitates in her voice. I file it away.
"What are you doing New Year's Eve?"
"Oh." She blinks. "Usually just family stuff at home. Watch the ball drop with Dad and whoever else is around."
"Come to the team party."
"The team party?" Her eyebrows lift. "In Boston?"
"Yeah. I'll fly you out. You can stay at my place." I pause. "As my girlfriend, if you want. Official labels and everything."
She blinks. "Girlfriend?"
"I'd like that." The words come easier than expected. "Unless you want casual."
"No." She laces her fingers through mine across the table. "I like girlfriend. You're sure? It won't be weird introducing me to your teammates?"
"They'll love you." I bring her hand to my mouth. "So you'll come?"
"Yes. I'll come."
She immediately starts planning. Wants to make cookies for the team. Of course she does. I tell her about the ugly sweater tradition and watch her face light up as she plots her outfit.
Easy. Comfortable. The kind of morning I never thought I'd want.
Happiest I've been in five years. Maybe longer.
The thought should terrify me. We've only been together two days. But it doesn't feel rushed. It feels inevitable.
By evening, I text Lucy to see if she wants dinner. Her response comes fast: "At the shop. Drowning in paperwork. Send help."
