The front door chimed at 6:45. Rei Nakamura swept in like a small, determined tornado, her PT bag slung over one shoulder and her dark hair pulled into a high ponytail.
"You look like death," Rei announced.
"Good morning to you too."
"I'm serious, Luce. When's the last time you took a day off?"
Lucy pulled a double espresso and slid it across the counter. "I take Mondays off."
"That's one day a week. Normal people take two."
"Normal people don't run their own businesses."
Rei gave her a look—the one that meantwe're coming back to this—but mercifully grabbed the espresso and changed subjects. "So. News. The Wolves have a new rookie."
"Okay?"
"Twenty-one, fresh out of juniors, cute in a puppy-dog way."
"Rei."
"His name is Owen. Owen Fletcher. Boston money, thinks hockey is going to save him from his destiny of managing his family's investment firm."
Lucy started arranging the morning pastries in the display case. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because he's already been in here three times this week and it's only Wednesday. He's developing a crush on Mae."
"Mae is twenty and in college."
"I know. It's adorable. Also, you should probably warn her."
Lucy glanced toward the back room, where Mae would be arriving any minute to help with the morning rush. Mae Larson: environmental science major at UVM, part-time employee, chronic optimist. She'd been working at The Bread Basket for two years and had never once complained about the early hours or the terrible pay.
"I'll warn her," Lucy promised. "Anything else?"
Rei hesitated, then: "Jake Morrison has been asking about you."
Lucy's hands stilled on the Danish she was arranging. "What?"
"The team captain. Well, assistant captain. 'Reaper.'"
"I know who Jake Morrison is, Rei. He comes in here every Wednesday."
"For three years. And gets six pork buns and a black coffee and never says more than 'thanks.' Yeah, I know. But yesterday at PT, he asked me if you ever take breaks."
Lucy's heart did something weird in her chest. "Why?"
"I don't know. I told him to come in and ask you himself." Rei grinned. "He turned bright red and changed the subject."
"That's—" Lucy didn't finish the sentence because she didn't know how to finish it. Jake Morrison was a customer. A regular, sure, but still just a customer. The fact that he was also tall andbroad-shouldered and had these intense hazel eyes that made Lucy feel like he was seeing right through her whenever he looked at her—that was irrelevant.
"Earth to Lucy."
"I'm here. And it's nothing. He was probably just being polite."
"Jake Morrison is a lot of things, but 'polite' isn't really his vibe. The guy barely talks. They call him Reaper because he's stone-faced during games."
Lucy had been to exactly two Timber Falls Wolves games in her life, both times because Uncle Walter had gotten free tickets. She remembered almost nothing about the games themselves—hockey had never been her thing—but she did remember seeing number 19 on the ice, moving with a precision and intensity that had made it impossible to look away.
