"I asked for space."
"You pushed him away. There's a difference." He sat down on her couch. "Lulu, you've been doing this your whole life. Whenever things get hard or scary, you convince yourself you're not worthy of good things. You sabotage before anyone else can leave you."
"I'm not sabotaging—"
"You just told a man you've been falling for for three years that maybe you don't really know each other. After he cooked you dinner and supported you through a major life decision and turned down the NHL to stay in this town." Uncle Walter's voice was gentle but firm. "That's textbook self-sabotage, honey."
Lucy felt fresh tears start. "What if I'm making a mistake? About the bakery, about Jake, about everything?"
"Then you'll make a mistake. And you'll learn from it and move forward. But you can't live your whole life being so afraid of mistakes that you never try anything."
"My grandmother—"
"Your grandmother would want you to be happy. Not perfect. Not responsible. Happy." He squeezed her hand. "And I think Jake makes you happy. Real, messy, complicated happy. The kind that's worth fighting for."
"I told him I needed space."
"Then un-tell him. Go apologize. Be vulnerable and honest and tell him you're scared. Give him the chance to choose to stay."
"What if he doesn't want to anymore?"
"Then you'll deal with that. But Lucy, I've known Jake Morrison since he was eight years old. That boy has been waiting his whole life for someone worth staying for. Don't punish him because you're scared of being worth it."
After Uncle Walter left, Lucy sat on her couch for a long time, thinking.
She'd messed up. She knew she'd messed up. She'd let her fear and the town's disappointment and her own insecurities make her push away the person who'd been nothing but supportive.
She needed to apologize. To tell Jake the truth—that she was terrified and spiraling and she didn't actually want space, she wanted him.
But it was late. And he'd asked her if she really thought they didn't know each other, and she hadn't answered properly. She'd let him think she believed it.
Lucy pulled out her phone and started typing a dozen different texts. Deleted them all.
Finally, she sent:I'm sorry. Can we talk tomorrow?
Three dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then appeared again.
Finally:Yeah. Tomorrow.
Not "of course" or "I miss you" or any of the warm things Jake had been texting her all week.
Just:Yeah. Tomorrow.
Lucy curled up on her couch, still wearing her clothes from the game, and tried not to cry.
She'd wanted space. She'd gotten it.
And it felt terrible.
Jake lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, his shoulder throbbing.
He'd given Lucy the space she asked for. Had texted back a simple confirmation that they'd talk tomorrow.
But everything in him wanted to go to her apartment right now, knock on her door, and fight for this. Fight for them.
Marcus was right—this was real. What they had was real. Lucy was just scared.
But was Jake enough to make her not scared? Was he worth choosing when she had the whole world opening up in front of her?
