"Really."
Lucy's smile could have powered the entire town. She bought three butternut squashes, chatting with Martha about the unseasonably warm October they'd had, then led Jake to the next stall.
They spent an hour wandering the market. Lucy bought ingredients—apples, fresh herbs, a jar of local honey. Jakebought a loaf of sourdough from a vendor Lucy recommended, and a small potted succulent that the plant lady insisted was "impossible to kill."
"Famous last words," Jake said, examining the succulent.
"You'll be fine. Just water it once a week and put it by a window."
"What if I forget to water it?"
"Then it dies and you learn a valuable lesson about responsibility."
Jake laughed—actually laughed, not the polite chuckle he usually gave—and Lucy looked pleased with herself.
They were browsing a stall selling handmade pottery when Lucy's phone buzzed. She glanced at it, and her expression shifted.
"Everything okay?" Jake asked.
"Yeah, just—" Lucy sighed. "Uncle Walter. He wants to know if I've thought about hiring more help. He's been on this kick lately about me working too much."
"Are you working too much?"
"Probably." Lucy picked up a blue ceramic mug, turning it over. "But I don't know how to not work too much. The bakery is... it's everything. It's my grandmother's legacy. If I let it slip, if I mess something up—"
"It doesn't all fall apart," Jake said quietly. "You're allowed to have help. You're allowed to have a life outside that building."
"Says the guy who lives in a studio apartment and watches old movies at 3 AM."
Jake blinked. "How did you—"
"You're not the only one who's been paying attention for three years." Lucy set down the mug, her expression softening. "I hear you sometimes. Through the wall. We're neighbors."
Jake felt his face heat. "You're my mystery neighbor?"
"And you're mine." Lucy smiled. "I've been wondering about you for three years. Whether you were okay. What kept you up at odd hours. Whether you were running from something or toward it."
"Both," Jake admitted. "I think I've been running from and toward things for so long I forgot how to just stand still."
"Me too."
They stood there in the middle of the farmers market, surrounded by people buying vegetables and homemade jam, and Jake felt something click into place. This was it. This was what Marcus had been talking about. Not the grand gesture or the perfect moment—just two people, equally stuck, equally scared, finally being honest.
"I have a game tonight," Jake said. "Nashville scout will be there. It's probably my last real shot at the NHL."
"That's huge."
"Yeah. And I don't know if I want it anymore. Which feels like betraying everything I've worked for. Everything my dad wanted for me."
Lucy was quiet for a moment. Then: "Can I tell you something my grandmother used to say?"
"Please."
"She said that sometimes the bravest thing you can do is choose a different path than the one you planned. That changing your mind isn't failure—it's growth."
"She sounds wise."
"She was. And she would have liked you."
