Lucy made it exactly three steps into her apartment before she texted Rei.
Lucy:I invited him to my apartment tomorrow to taste-test muffins.
Rei's response was immediate:YOU WHAT
Lucy:It's not a big deal. Just baking research.
Rei:LUCY CHEN YOU INVITED A MAN TO YOUR APARTMENT
Lucy:We're neighbors! Technically he's already at my apartment, just on the other side of the wall.
Rei:THIS IS HUGE
Lucy:It's muffins.
Rei:IT'S A STEP
Lucy:Okay yes it's a step. A small step.
Rei:IM SO PROUD. What are you going to wear???
Lucy:Rei it's noon on a Sunday. I'm going to wear whatever's clean.
Rei:wear the gray sweater. the soft one. and actual jeans not your flour pants.
Lucy:I'm making muffins in my kitchen. I'm going to have flour on my pants regardless.
Rei:LUCY
Lucy:Fine. Gray sweater. Real jeans. But I'm not doing my hair.
Rei:baby steps. I'll take it.
Lucy set down her phone and looked around her apartment. When was the last time she'd had someone over who wasn't Rei or Uncle Walter? When was the last time she'd cared what her living space looked like?
The apartment was clean—Lucy was too disciplined for it not to be—but it was also... sad? Impersonal? The furniture was her grandmother's, the decorations were minimal, the only personal touches were the stack of cookbooks on the coffee table and the framed photo of her grandmother on the mantle.
It looked like someone who was afraid to take up space.
Lucy spent the rest of Saturday cleaning things that didn't need cleaning, rearranging furniture that was fine where it was, and generally spiraling about the fact that Jake Morrison would be in her apartment in less than twenty-four hours.
By evening, she was exhausted from anxiety and ready for bed. But then she remembered: Jake had a game tonight. The Nashville scout would be there.
Lucy pulled out her laptop and found the Timber Falls Wolves website. They streamed home games online for a small fee—mostly for parents and family members who couldn't make it to the arena.
She'd never watched a full game before. Had barely paid attention the two times Uncle Walter had dragged her to the rink. But tonight felt different.
Tonight she wanted to watch.
The game started at 7 PM. Lucy made herself a grilled cheese (dinner of champions), settled on her couch, and pulled up the stream.
The Timber Falls Ice Center looked different on camera—smaller, more intimate than she remembered. The stands were maybe three-quarters full, which the announcer noted was a good crowd for a Saturday night.
And then the teams took the ice.
Lucy spotted Jake immediately. Number 19, dark hair just visible under his helmet, skating with a precision that made it impossible to look away. The announcer mentioned the Nashville scout in attendance, talked about Jake's NHL history, called him "one of the most consistent players in the ECHL."
Consistent. Reliable. Professional.
