He grabbed his gear bag and practically jogged to his truck.
The drive to The Bread Basket took nine minutes instead of the usual seven. Jake parked in his usual spot across the street and checked his phone: 8:29.
Twelve minutes late. Which shouldn't matter—it was just pork buns, just a routine, just a bakery—but it felt like he'd broken some unspoken contract. Three years of showing up at the same time, and now he'd shattered the pattern.
He sat in his truck for a moment, hands on the steering wheel, trying to figure out why his heart was beating too fast.
This was Marcus's fault. All that talk about sitting down, staying, actually talking to Lucy. It had gotten into Jake's head, made him nervous about something that should be simple.
Just go in. Order your pork buns. Leave.
Except if he was going to sit down—if he was actually going to try what Marcus suggested—shouldn't he have a plan? Something to talk about beyond the weather and hockey?
His phone buzzed. Marcus, in the team group chat:
Reaper's running late. Someone check if he's okay. This is unprecedented.
Owen immediately replied:Should we send a search party?
Ryan:Maybe he's finally learned to sleep in
Marcus:Or maybe he's doing something INTERESTING. Like having a CONVERSATION with a HUMAN FEMALE.
Jake typed back:I hate all of you
Marcus sent back a string of heart emojis.
Jake pocketed his phone and got out of the truck. The Bread Basket's windows glowed warm against the gray November morning. Through the glass, he could see Lucy behind the counter, talking to Mae. Her hair was down today instead of in its usual bun, falling past her shoulders in dark waves. She looked tired but also somehow more... present? Alert? Like she'd actually slept for once.
Jake pushed open the door. The bell chimed.
Lucy looked up, and for just a second, her entire face transformed—surprise, followed by something that might have been relief, followed by careful neutrality.
"Hey," Jake said.
"Hey. I thought you weren't coming today."
"Practice ran late."
"Oh. Right." Lucy wiped her hands on her apron—a nervous gesture that Jake had seen her do a hundred times but never really noticed until now. "The usual?"
This was it. The moment where he either ordered his six pork buns and black coffee and left, or he did something different.
Settling or choosing, Tommy had asked.
"Actually," Jake said, and his voice came out rougher than intended. "Can I get the usual, but... could I eat it here? If that's okay?"
Lucy blinked. Mae, restocking napkins nearby, froze mid-motion.
"You want to eat here?" Lucy repeated.
"If you have space. I can take it to go if—"
"No! I mean, yes. Space. We have space." Lucy gestured to the small café area—four tables, eight chairs, currently empty except for the Knitting Circle in the corner. "Sit anywhere."
"Thanks."
Jake moved to a table by the window—far enough from the Knitting Circle to avoid their scrutiny, close enough to the counter that he could see Lucy. He set down his gear bag and immediately felt awkward. What did people do when they sat in cafés? Read? Work on laptops? Stare meaningfully into space?
