Rei:...
Rei:no reason. forget I said anything.
Lucy:Rei.
Rei:GOTTA GO PATIENT EMERGENCY BYE
Lucy set down her phone and laughed despite herself. Rei was about as subtle as a freight train.
Jake Morrison would be at dinner. So what? He was a customer. A regular customer who came in every Wednesday, said approximately ten words, and left. The fact that he'd complimented her pork buns last Saturday meant nothing.
Except it had been the first time in three years he'd said more than "thanks" and "keep the change."
Except Lucy had thought about it more than she wanted to admit.
Except she'd noticed things about him over the years without meaning to: the scar through his eyebrow, the way he always ordered exactly six pork buns (never five, never seven), the shadows under his eyes that suggested he didn't sleep well, the way he moved like someone who was perpetually braced for impact.
She didn't know him. Not really. But she'd been watching him for three years the same way he'd probably been watching her—with the strange intimacy of repeated, predictable encounters.
Maybe Friday dinner would be good. Maybe it was time to know him as more than just "pork bun guy."
Maybe it was time to know anyone as more than just a customer.
Lucy looked around her too-clean apartment and made a decision. Tomorrow, she'd work. Wednesday, she'd work. But Friday?
Friday she'd show up. To dinner. To life.
To whatever happened next.
It was a start.
Chapter 4
Wednesday morning arrived with the kind of crisp November cold that made Lucy grateful for the bakery's ovens. By 5:30 AM, she had the first batch of pork buns steaming and the kitchen smelled like home and comfort and her grandmother's careful hands.
Mae arrived at 6:45, earlier than usual, bouncing through the back door with her backpack and her perpetual optimism.
"Big day," Mae announced.
Lucy looked up from the croissants she was arranging. "It's Wednesday."
"Exactly. Hockey Guy day."
"His name is Jake. And it's just a normal Wednesday."
"Uh-huh." Mae tied her apron with the expertise of someone who'd done it a thousand times. "Except you're wearing lipstick."
Lucy's hand flew to her mouth. "I am not—"
"You are. It's subtle, but it's there. And you curled your hair."
"I did not curl my hair. It's just... doing a thing today."
"A thing." Mae grinned. "Right. And I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that Jake Morrison comes in every Wednesday at 8:17 and you've been checking the clock every three minutes since I got here."
"I have not—" Lucy stopped, because Mae was right and there was no point denying it. "Okay, fine. I may have put onactual pants instead of my flour-covered leggings. But that's just professionalism."
"You're wearing jeans with the little embroidered flowers on the pockets. Those are your 'cute' jeans."
