"We're home," he said.
Lucy blinked sleepily. "Sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep."
"It's okay. You had a long day."
At the door, Lucy turned to him. "Thank you. For tonight. For giving us another chance. For not giving up on me."
"Thank you for coming back. For being brave enough to admit you were wrong."
"So we're doing this? Really doing this?"
"We're really doing this. Slowly. Carefully. But really."
They kissed goodnight—longer this time, less tentative. When they pulled apart, both were smiling.
"Wednesday morning?" Lucy asked.
"8:17. Our tradition."
Lucy went inside, and Jake drove home feeling hopeful for the first time in months.
They had a long road ahead. Trust to rebuild, patterns to establish, a relationship to recreate. But they were trying. And that was enough.
For now, that was more than enough.
Wednesday morning arrived with the first real snow of the season.
Lucy woke at 7 AM, made coffee, and got ready with more care than she had for any morning in months. The gray sweater again—it was becoming her Jake sweater. Dark jeans. Minimal makeup. Hair down.
At 8:10, she walked to The Bread Basket. Through the windows, she could see Sarah prepping for the morning rush.
The bell chimed when Lucy walked in. Sarah looked up and smiled.
"Lucy! Welcome home. Jake told me about your Wednesday tradition."
"He did?"
"Fresh pork buns at 8:17. They're ready."
Lucy looked at the steamer where six perfect pork buns were waiting. Her grandmother's recipe, made by someone else, but still familiar. Still home.
At 8:17 exactly, the door chimed again.
Jake walked in, snow dusting his shoulders, looking for her immediately. When their eyes met, he smiled.
"Hi," Lucy said.
"Hi. Right on time."
"Some traditions are worth keeping."
They ordered—six pork buns for Jake, coffee for both of them—and sat at Lucy's old corner table. The one she'd used for five years, where she'd done paperwork and made plans and built her grandmother's legacy.
"This feels right," Jake said, biting into a pork bun. "Being here. With you. Continuing our tradition."
"It feels right to me too. Different than before, but right."
"Different how?"
