"Yeah. That's my grandmother's handwriting."
Jake traced his finger over the faded ink, careful not to smudge it. "It's beautiful. You can tell someone loved writing this."
"She loved cooking. Loved feeding people." Lucy handed Jake his cappuccino. "She used to say that food was love made visible. That when you cooked for someone, you were giving them a piece of your heart."
"That's poetic."
"That was her. Poetic and practical in equal measure." Lucy picked up the plate of muffins. "Come on. Let's sit before these get cold."
They settled at Lucy's small dining table—really just a table for two shoved against the window overlooking Main Street. Snow was still falling, covering Timber Falls in a clean white blanket.
"Here's how this works," Lucy said, trying to channel her grandmother's confidence. "These are butternut squash muffins. Savory, not sweet. Sage, brown butter, a hint of maple. You take a bite, you tell me honestly what you think. No polite lying allowed."
"I don't think I'm capable of polite lying."
"Good." Lucy pushed the plate toward him. "Then tell me the truth."
Jake took a muffin, broke it open—releasing a puff of steam and that incredible aroma—and took a bite.
Lucy watched his face, her heart hammering. She'd made these muffins hundreds of times. She knew they were good. But suddenly, Jake's opinion felt more important than all the customers who'd bought them over the years combined.
Jake chewed slowly, his expression thoughtful. Then he took another bite. Then another.
"Well?" Lucy asked when she couldn't stand the silence anymore.
Jake set down the muffin. "Lucy, this is the best thing I've ever eaten."
"You're being polite."
"I'm being honest. This is incredible. The sage—it's earthy but not overwhelming. The brown butter adds this nutty richness. And the squash makes it tender without being dense." He took another bite. "This is art."
Lucy felt her face heat. "It's just a muffin."
"It's not just anything. This is what you mean about food being love made visible. I can taste the care in every bite."
They ate in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the snow fall outside. Lucy's nerves were starting to settle, replaced by something warmer. Something that felt like possibility.
"Can I ask you something?" Jake said finally.
"Yeah."
"Yesterday at the farmers market, you said your grandmother would have liked me. How do you know? We never met."
Lucy considered this. "Because you notice things. The way you noticed the coffee would pair with the muffins. The way you remembered Emma's name and asked about her. The way you've been coming to the bakery every Wednesday for three years and always say thank you, even though I'm just doing my job." She paused. "My grandmother believed that how you treat people when you don't have to says everything about who you are. And you're always kind. Even when you look exhausted. Even when you clearly haven't slept."
"You notice that? That I don't sleep?"
"We share a wall, Jake. I hear you moving around at 3 AM. I've been hearing you for three years."
Jake ran his hand through his hair, looking embarrassed. "I didn't realize I was that loud."
"You're not loud. I'm just a light sleeper. And also chronically awake at weird hours."
"The bakery schedule."
"The bakery schedule," Lucy agreed. "And the insomnia. And the anxiety about whether I'm doing everything right."
"Do you ever just let yourself do things wrong?"
