"Is this where you make me watch a three-hour John Wayne movie and expect me to be impressed?"
"Shane is only 118 minutes, thank you very much. And it's Alan Ladd, not John Wayne."
"I have no idea who that is."
"Which is why we're fixing this educational gap." Jake settled on the couch and patted the space next to him. "Come on. If you hate it after twenty minutes, we can watch something else."
Lucy sat down, leaving a careful inch of space between them. Jake noticed and closed the gap, his arm going around her shoulders like it belonged there.
"Comfortable?" he asked.
"Yeah. Very."
They started the movie, and Lucy tried to focus on the black and white images on screen. But she was acutely aware of Jake's presence—his warmth, his steady breathing, the way his thumb traced absent circles on her shoulder.
"My dad loved this movie," Jake said quietly during an early scene. "Used to quote it all the time. 'A man's gotta be what he is.' That was his favorite line."
"What do you think it means?"
"I think it means you can't be what someone else wants you to be. You have to figure out who you are and commit to that, even if it's not what anyone expected."
"Including yourself?"
"Especially yourself."
They watched in silence for a while. Lucy found herself actually getting into the story—the mysterious stranger helping a family, the quiet heroism, the way Shane tried to leave his past behind but couldn't quite escape it.
"Is this why you kept watching westerns at 3 AM?" Lucy asked during a quiet moment. "Because your dad loved them?"
"Yeah. It felt like staying connected to him. Like if I watched the same movies he loved, I could understand what he was thinking. What he wanted for me." Jake paused the movie. "But I think I was using them as a way to avoid dealing with his death. Easier to watch Shane ride away than to accept that my dad already had."
Lucy shifted to face him. "Jake—"
"I'm okay. I mean, I'm not okay—I'll probably never be fully okay with losing him so young. But I'm starting to be okay with moving forward. With building a life he didn't get to see but would hopefully approve of."
"He would be proud of you. I'm sure of that."
"How can you be sure?"
"Because you're kind and thoughtful and you care about people. Because you teach hockey to seven-year-olds on Saturday mornings and you learned to make roast chicken just to impress me. Because you chose the life you wanted instead of the life you thought you should want." Lucy took his hand. "That takes courage. And any father would be proud of a son with that kind of courage."
Jake kissed her then—soft and slow and grateful. When they pulled apart, he was smiling.
"You know what the best part of this is?" Jake asked.
"What?"
"I don't have to pretend anymore. That I'm fine, that I have it all figured out, that I'm just waiting for my real life to start. This is my real life. You, this apartment, coaching hockey, watching westerns at midnight with someone who actually wants to watch them with me."
"Midnight? You're optimistic about how long this movie is."
"There are several more classic westerns I need to show you. We might be here all night."
"I have to open the bakery at 6 AM."
"So we'll watch fast."
Lucy laughed and settled back against Jake's chest. They watched the rest of Shane, and then—because neither of them wanted the night to end—they started High Noon. By the time the clock struck midnight, Lucy was struggling to keep her eyes open.
