Safe. Predictable. Small.
Lucy:Can I think about it?
Shayna:Of course. But I need to know by Wednesday. After that, we're committed to the sale and there's no backing out.
Wednesday. Three days to decide if she was brave enough to choose herself or if she was going to let fear and guilt make the choice for her.
At 1:45, Lucy forced herself to shower and change into clean clothes—not the flour-covered jeans, not work clothes. Real clothes. A soft gray sweater and dark jeans. Like she was a person who existed outside the bakery.
At 1:55, she stood outside Jake's door, trying to gather her courage.
She knocked at exactly 2 PM.
Jake opened the door immediately, like he'd been waiting. He was wearing jeans and a dark blue henley, and he looked as exhausted as Lucy felt.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey."
They stood in the doorway for a moment, neither quite sure how to do this.
"Come in," Jake finally said, stepping aside.
Lucy walked into his apartment—the space that had felt so warm and safe earlier this week. Now it felt different. Tense. Like everything had shifted.
"How's your shoulder?" Lucy asked.
"Sore but fine. Rei was right—just a tweak." Jake gestured to the couch. "Want to sit?"
They sat on opposite ends of the couch—a careful distance between them that hadn't existed before.
"I read the article," Jake said. "The town's being pretty harsh."
"Yeah. Mrs. Henderson told me this morning that the Knitting Circle is boycotting the bakery. My regular customers are leaving one-star reviews. Everyone's disappointed in me."
"You're not responsible for their disappointment."
"Aren't I? I'm selling my grandmother's legacy. I'm choosing myself over the community. That's selfish."
"It's not selfish. It's brave."
Lucy felt tears start. "It doesn't feel brave. It feels like I'm destroying everything. The bakery, the town's trust, us—"
"Us," Jake repeated quietly. "Is that what you think? That you're destroying us?"
"I don't know. Last night I panicked and said things I shouldn't have. I pushed you away because I was overwhelmed and scared and I'm sorry—"
"Are you sorry you said it? Or sorry you meant it?"
Lucy looked at him. Really looked. His face was carefully neutral, but she could see the hurt underneath.
"I didn't mean it," Lucy said. "I know you. Of course I know you. I've been watching you for three years, learning your patterns, memorizing your routines. I know you hold your left shoulder when you're stressed. I know you watch westerns at 3 AM because they make you feel close to your dad. I know you're terrified of letting people down but even more terrified of letting yourself want things."
"Then why did you say we don't know each other?"
"Because I was scared! Because everyone was telling me I was making a mistake and you got hurt and I started spiraling. I convinced myself that maybe we were just convenient—two lonely people who latched onto each other because the timing worked."
"And now?"
