I'm proud of you for thinking about it instead of just reacting.
Love you mom.
Love you too. Call me tomorrow.
Jake set down his phone and looked at the Nashville scout's business card. Monday. He had until Monday to decide.
But sitting in his apartment, thinking about tomorrow—about Lucy and muffins and the life he was starting to build—Jake suspected he already knew what his answer would be.
The question was whether he was brave enough to choose it.
Chapter 6
Sunday morning arrived with snow.
Lucy woke at 5:30 AM—her body's internal clock refusing to acknowledge that this was supposed to be her day off—and lay in bed listening to the soft patter of flakes against her window. First snow of the season. Her grandmother used to say that first snow was good luck, a blessing from the universe.
Lucy hoped she was right.
By 9 AM, she'd already cleaned her apartment twice, changed her outfit three times (finally settling on the gray sweater and dark jeans Rei had insisted on), and started her first test batch of butternut squash muffins. The apartment smelled like sage and brown butter and autumn, warm and inviting in a way that made Lucy's chest feel tight.
She was roasting the squash for the second batch when her phone buzzed.
Rei:how are you feeling?
Lucy:Nervous. Terrified. Like I might throw up.
Rei:that's how you know it matters
Lucy:What if I'm boring? What if we run out of things to talk about? What if he tastes the muffins and hates them and realizes I'm actually a terrible baker and has been lying to himself for three years?
Rei:Lucy. Breathe.
Rei:You're not boring. You're interesting and smart and funny when you let yourself be. He's been eating your food for THREE YEARS. He's not going to suddenly decide you're a terrible baker.
Rei:And if you run out of things to talk about, which you won't, you can talk about the weather. Or hockey. Or literally anything because you're both humans with interests and thoughts.
Lucy:When did you become so wise?
Rei:I've always been wise. You're just usually too busy stress-baking to notice.
Lucy:I'm stress-baking right now.
Rei:I know. But this time it's for a good reason. Now go make those muffins amazing and let yourself have fun. You deserve this.
Lucy set down her phone and looked around her kitchen. The first batch of muffins sat cooling on a rack—perfectly golden, the aroma of sage and browned butter filling the apartment. The butternut squash for batch two was almost ready. Her grandmother's recipe card sat on the counter, flour-stained and worn, the familiar handwriting like a hug across time.
You can do this, Lucy told herself.It's just muffins. It's just a guy. It's just your entire heart on the line.
She laughed at herself. When had she become this person? When had Jake Morrison—steady, quiet, Wednesday-morning-pork-bun Jake—become someone who made her nervous?
Probably around the time she realized she'd been half in love with him for three years without admitting it.
At 11:30, Lucy pulled the second batch from the oven. Perfect. Both batches had turned out exactly right—tender crumb, savory-sweet balance, that hint of sage that made them special.
She arranged them on a plate, then immediately rearranged them. Then arranged them again.
"Stop it," she said out loud. "They're muffins, not a marriage proposal."
