"I'm fifteen thousand dollars from losing my dream, Ryder. That feels pretty disastrous."
I hold her while she cries. Make her eat the Thai food I brought. Let her show me the spreadsheets where every dollar is accounted for, every option already exhausted.
Later, when exhaustion finally claims her, she falls asleep in the reading chair, papers still scattered around us. I watch her for a moment—the way her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks, the gentle rise and fall of her chest. Then I carefully tuck the shop's throw blanket around her shoulders and step outside into the cold December night.
The solution is clear. I have the money. More than enough. Five hundred thousand sitting in savings while I figure out life after hockey. Fifteen thousand is nothing.
But I know Lucy. Know her pride. If I offer directly, she'll refuse. Will see it as charity. As me swooping in to save her.
So I pull out my phone and open my banking app.
Wire transfer. Same day. I type in Mrs. Henderson's information from the papers Lucy left on the coffee table. Add a note: "Payment toward Lucy Wright's purchase of 147 Main Street."
The transfer goes through. Money will be in Mrs. Henderson's account by morning.
I go back into the shop. Lucy's still asleep, curled in the reading chair under the blanket. I settle into the chair beside her and pull out my phone to check the time. Nearly midnight.
We should get back to Jim's house before anyone notices we're both gone. But watching her sleep, peaceful for the first time all evening, I can't bring myself to wake her yet.
The realization hits clean.
I'm in love with her.
Not falling. Not halfway. Completely. Lucy Wright with her impossible dreams and her stubborn pride and her way of making me feel like more than a washed-up player counting down to retirement.
My hands shake as I tuck the blanket higher. She murmurs in sleep and curls closer.
I should tell her. The words press against my teeth.
My throat locks the way it always does when emotions get too big. Same paralysis through my parents' divorce. My sister's wedding. Every moment that required more than showing up.
Actions are easier. So I hold her and tell myself tomorrow will be enough.
Around one in the morning, I finally wake her. She blinks up at me, disoriented, then remembers where we are. We lock up the shop and drive separately back to Jim's house—can't risk Connor seeing us arrive together. She goes in first. I wait five minutes, then follow.
The house is dark and quiet. I slip upstairs to my room, and a few minutes later, I hear the soft click of the bathroom door. Lucy appears, already in her sleep clothes, exhaustion and worry still etched on her face.
She crosses to my bed without a word and climbs in beside me. I pull her close, and she tucks herself against my chest with a sigh.
"Thank you for tonight," she whispers. "For listening. For being there."
I press a kiss to her hair. Want to tell her it's already handled, that she doesn't need to worry anymore. But I know she needs to discover it herself, to feel like she figured it out.
So I just hold her tighter and let her fall asleep in my arms.
Morning comes too fast. Lucy's phone buzzes on the nightstand—Mrs. Henderson's name flashing on the screen. Lucy's still curled against me, warm and soft. I nudge her awake and point to her phone, watching confusion cloud her sleepy face.
"Mrs. Henderson?" She sits up, pulling the sheet with her. "Hi. Yes, I know. I'm still working on..." She trails off. Listens. Her face does something complicated. "I'm sorry, what?"
I can't hear the other end, but I watch Lucy's expression shift from confusion to shock to something like hope.
"Someone paid fifteen thousand dollars? To your account?" She stands. Paces to the window. "Who? You don't know?" Pause. "Anonymous? But that doesn't... the transfer came from where?"
Her eyes cut to me.
"Boston," she says slowly. "The wire came from a Boston bank."
My pulse kicks in my temples.
