"I've always been wise. You just usually ignore me." Mae released Lucy's shoulders and grabbed her own apron. "Also, Rei's picking you up at 6:30 so you can't chicken out."
"I wasn't going to chicken out."
"You were totally going to chicken out. You were going to text at 6 PM saying you had a headache or the oven broke or you got kidnapped by aliens."
Lucy laughed despite her nerves. "Okay, maybe I was considering the alien kidnapping excuse."
The day passed in a blur of customers and prep work. Mr. Peterson with his bran muffin. The Knitting Circle with their gossip. Tom and Jerry arguing about the best way to organize a tool shed (an argument Lucy had witnessed at least fifty times).
At 2 PM, Uncle Walter came in for his afternoon coffee.
"I heard about tonight," he said, settling at Lucy's corner table.
"Of course you did. Does everyone in this town know my business?"
"Yes. It's one of the benefits of small-town living." He smiled. "I'm proud of you, Lulu."
"For what? Going to dinner?"
"For trying. For showing up. That's more than you've done in five years."
Lucy sat down across from him, suddenly exhausted. "What if I'm terrible at it? What if I've forgotten how to be around people outside of customer interactions? What if I'm boring?"
"Then you'll practice until you're not." Uncle Walter reached across and squeezed her hand. "Nobody expects you to be perfect. They just want you to be there."
"What if Jake—" Lucy stopped herself.
"What if Jake what?"
"Nothing. Never mind."
"Lucy Chen, you're allowed to like someone. You're allowed to want something for yourself that has nothing to do withthis bakery or your grandmother's legacy or any of the responsibilities you've been carrying."
Lucy felt tears prick her eyes. "What if I'm bad at it?"
"At what? Liking someone?"
"At all of it. At being a person who has a life outside this building."
Uncle Walter's expression softened. "Then you'll learn. Same as you learned how to run this business, same as you learned all your grandmother's recipes. You're not starting from scratch, Lulu. You're just... picking up something you set down for a while."
After he left, Lucy stood in the quiet bakery and looked around. Five years. Five years of living in this building, breathing flour and yeast, structuring every moment of every day around the business.
And it had been good. It had been safe. But Uncle Walter was right—she'd been using it as an excuse not to live.
Tonight was a start.
At 5 PM, Lucy closed the bakery and went upstairs to her apartment. She showered, actually dried her hair instead of letting it air-dry into its usual chaotic state, and pulled out the blue sweater Rei had texted about.
It was soft cashmere, a gift from her grandmother three Christmases ago. Lucy had barely worn it, convinced it was too nice for everyday life. But tonight wasn't everyday life.
Tonight was her showing up.
She paired it with her nice jeans—not the ones with flour stains, not the ones she wore for bakery work, but the dark wash pairthat actually fit properly. Added small silver earrings. A touch of mascara.
When she looked in the mirror, she barely recognized herself.
At 6:30, right on schedule, there was a knock at her door.
