But her hands were shaking.
At 11:58, there was a knock at her door.
Lucy checked her reflection one last time—gray sweater, hair down and mostly cooperating, minimal makeup because anything more felt like trying too hard—and opened the door.
Jake stood in the hallway, snow dusting his dark hair and shoulders. He was wearing a navy blue sweater that made his hazel eyes look almost green, and he was holding a small box.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi. You're early."
"Two minutes. I can come back—"
"No! I mean, no. Come in. Please." Lucy stepped aside, and Jake walked into her apartment for the first time.
He looked around, taking in the space—her grandmother's furniture, the cookbooks stacked on every available surface, the framed photo on the mantle, the kitchen visible through the open doorway with its professional-grade mixer and her collection of mismatched mugs.
"It smells amazing in here," Jake said.
"That's the muffins. They just came out." Lucy closed the door, suddenly aware of how small her apartment was, how close Jake was standing. "What's in the box?"
Jake held it out. "I stopped by the farmers market this morning. The coffee vendor—the one we got coffee from yesterday? She had these beans she said would pair well with sage and brown butter. I don't know if that's actually a thing, but I thought..." He trailed off, looking uncertain.
Lucy took the box. Inside was a bag of freshly roasted coffee beans, the vendor's label hand-written in careful script. Her chest felt too full.
"That's really thoughtful," Lucy managed. "Thank you."
"I figured if I'm going to be your official taste-tester, I should take the job seriously."
"Official taste-tester implies a long-term position."
"I'm hoping for tenure."
They stood there for a moment, smiling at each other like idiots, until Lucy remembered how to function.
"Right. Coffee. I should make coffee." She headed to the kitchen, grateful for something to do with her hands. "Make yourself comfortable. The muffins need to cool for another few minutes anyway."
Jake followed her to the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe while Lucy ground the beans and started her espresso machine—a professional-grade device that had been Uncle Walter's gift when she took over the bakery.
"This is a serious setup," Jake observed.
"I take my coffee very seriously."
"I've noticed. The coffee you make at the bakery is the best I've ever had."
"Better than the stuff Marcus makes?"
"Marcus makes coffee like he's punishing it for something. Yours tastes like you actually care about it."
Lucy smiled despite her nerves. "I do care about it. My grandmother taught me that everything you make for people should be made with care. Even something as simple as coffee."
"That's a good philosophy."
"It's exhausting sometimes. But yeah, it's good."
The espresso machine hissed and steamed. Lucy made two cappuccinos, the familiar ritual calming her hands. When she turned around, Jake was studying the recipe card on her counter.
"Is this the muffin recipe?" he asked.
