Just this. Sitting with someone who made him want to be present. Who made him want to show up to his own life instead of just enduring it.
"Jake?" Lucy said, studying his face. "You okay?"
"Yeah. I'm perfect, actually. For the first time in a really long time."
Lucy smiled—that genuine, unguarded smile that made Jake's chest feel too full.
"Me too," she said quietly. "Me too."
And sitting in The Bread Basket on a Friday afternoon, eating butternut squash muffins and drinking perfect coffee, JakeMorrison finally understood what his dad had meant all those years ago.
A man's gotta be what he is.
And Jake was finally figuring out what that meant.
Chapter 9
Saturday morning arrived with freezing rain and a text from Lucy at 5:30 AM.
Lucy:Can't sleep. Keep thinking about the bakery sale. Is it normal to feel like you're making the biggest mistake of your life?
Jake stared at his phone in the darkness of his apartment. He'd been awake too—restless energy about tonight's game, about Lucy's decision, about everything changing so fast.
Jake:I think it's normal. Change is terrifying even when it's right.
Lucy:What if it's not right? What if I'm being selfish?
Jake:You're not being selfish. You're being brave.
Lucy:I don't feel brave. I feel like I'm about to throw up.
Jake:Want company? I'm awake anyway.
Lucy:No. I need to sit with this. But thank you.
Jake:Call if you need me. Any time.
Lucy:I know. That helps more than you realize.
Jake set down his phone and stared at the ceiling. Lucy was having second thoughts. Which was normal—she was selling her grandmother's bakery, the business that had defined her entire adult life. Of course she was scared.
But something about her texts felt different. Not just scared. Panicked.
He pushed the feeling aside and got ready for youth hockey practice. Emma and the kids would be a good distraction from the anxiety churning in his gut.
By 8 AM, Lucy had baked three extra batches of pork buns, reorganized the entire kitchen, and nearly had a panic attack in the walk-in cooler.
Mae found her there at 8:15, sitting on a box of butter, staring at the walls.
"Boss? You okay?"
"I'm selling the bakery."
"I know. You told me yesterday."
"No, I mean—I'm really selling it. I called Shayna Friday morning and accepted. The paperwork is being drawn up. In a few weeks, this won't be mine anymore."
Mae sat down on another box. "How do you feel about that?"
