"Ready."
They walked out into the cold November morning. The farmers market was only four blocks away, held every Saturday in the parking lot behind the old Methodist church. It was small—maybe twenty vendors on a good day—but it was a Timber Falls institution.
"So," Lucy said as they walked. "Tell me about youth hockey this morning. Did Emma nail that spin move?"
"You remember Emma?"
"You talked about her at dinner last night. The seven-year-old who learns tricks from YouTube."
Jake felt something warm spread through his chest. Lucy had been listening. Really listening.
"She nailed it on the third try. Her dad almost fell out of the bleachers he was so excited."
"That's sweet. You're good with the kids."
"They're easier than adults. They still think hockey is fun instead of work."
"Is that what it is for you? Work?"
The question was gentle, but it cut deep. Jake shoved his hands in his pockets.
"Sometimes. I'm trying to remember what it feels like when it's not."
"And? Any luck?"
"Getting there. Slowly."
They'd reached the market. Even at 8:40 AM, it was already busy—locals getting their weekly vegetables, tourists buying maple syrup and artisanal cheese, families browsing handmade crafts.
"Where do you usually start?" Lucy asked.
"Produce. I don't cook much, but I like seeing what's seasonal."
"I love seeing what's seasonal. Gives me ideas for the bakery menu."
They wandered through the stalls, falling into an easy rhythm. Lucy would stop to examine apples or squash, talking to vendors about growing conditions and harvest timing. Jake found himself fascinated by how much she knew, how easily she connected with people.
At the third produce stand, run by an older woman named Martha, Lucy picked up a butternut squash and turned it over in her hands.
"These are perfect," Lucy said. "Mind if I buy a few? I'm thinking butternut squash muffins for next week."
"You make butternut squash muffins?" Jake asked.
"Every fall. My grandmother's recipe. They're savory, not sweet—sage and brown butter. People either love them or hate them."
"Which category do I fall into?"
"I don't know. You've never tried them." Lucy glanced at him, something playful in her expression. "Want to be my taste-tester?"
"When?"
"I'm baking test batches tomorrow. It's my day off, but I usually spend it in the kitchen anyway." She paused. "You could come by? If you want. No pressure."
Jake's brain short-circuited for a second. Lucy was inviting him to her apartment. To taste-test baked goods. On a Sunday.
"Yeah," he said. "I'd like that."
"Really?"
