"How do you know?"
"Because you appreciate her pork buns. That was her main criteria for judging people."
Jake laughed again, and it felt good. Natural. Like something he used to do before he forgot how.
They bought Lucy's blue mug (Jake insisted on paying, Lucy insisted on splitting it, they compromised with Lucy buying them both coffee from the market's coffee stand), then walked slowly back toward The Bread Basket.
The morning had warmed slightly, the sun breaking through November clouds. Timber Falls looked almost pretty like this—the mountains in the distance, the old buildings lining Main Street, the sense of community that came from everyone knowing everyone else.
"Can I ask you something?" Lucy said as they approached the bakery.
"Yeah."
"Why did you come back here? After the NHL, after the injury—you could have gone anywhere. Why Timber Falls?"
Jake thought about it. "Because it's home. Even when I was trying to escape it, trying to prove I was meant for something bigger—it was always home. And after the injury, after everything fell apart, this was the only place that made sense."
"Do you regret it?"
"I used to. I spent three years thinking I was settling for less, that I'd failed." He stopped walking, turned to face her. "But latelyI've been wondering if maybe I didn't fail. Maybe I just ended up where I was supposed to be all along."
Lucy's eyes were bright with something that might have been tears. "I understand that. More than you know."
They'd reached the bakery. The morning had slipped away faster than Jake expected—it was already 10:30. His phone had buzzed twice with texts from Marcus that he'd ignored.
"So," Lucy said, clutching her farmers market bags. "Tomorrow? For butternut squash muffin testing?"
"What time?"
"Noon? I'll have the first batch done by then."
"Perfect. Should I bring anything?"
"Just your honest opinion. And maybe low expectations."
"I've been eating your pork buns for three years. My expectations are extremely high."
Lucy laughed, and Jake committed the sound to memory.
She started toward her apartment entrance, then turned back. "Jake? Good luck tonight. With the game and the scout. Whatever you decide—I hope you choose what makes you happy."
"Thanks. That means a lot."
She disappeared up the stairs, and Jake stood on the sidewalk for a moment, holding his sourdough and his impossible-to-kill succulent, feeling lighter than he had in years.
His phone buzzed. Marcus, of course.
Marcus:how was the NOT DATE?
Jake:Good. Really good.
Marcus:details????
Jake:I'll tell you later. I have to go home and figure out where to put a plant.
Marcus:A PLANT?? YOU BOUGHT A PLANT TOGETHER??? THIS IS SERIOUS
Jake pocketed his phone, smiling. It was serious. Or it could be. And maybe—maybe—that was okay.
