Page 43 of Call It Serendipity

“Luce?”

My pulse skips a little hearing him use that shortened name. He did it once before, but I was too focused on the panic rising in my chest in that corn maze, I couldn’t appreciate the familiarity of it.

“Yeah?”

Jake leans towards me. “Does that Tupperware container mean you made us dessert?”

I set it down between us and peel back the lid. “I did.”

His eyes widen as he takes in the array of sweets. A slice of pie and a cluster of maple cookies—all the most delicious fall flavors piled together.

“No one has ever baked for me before,” he murmurs.

A tender ache squeezes my heart as I ask, “What about your mom, or grandma, at holidays? Birthdays?”

“Grandma and Grandpa Carpenter live in Europe, I never saw them really growing up. My mom’s mom likes our family dinners catered.” He reaches for a fluffy soft drop pumpkin cookie. “May I?”

“Of course. But now I feel bad and have to tell you, I didn’t technically bake these for this occasion.”

“No?”

“My mom and I have a baking day together every October, it’s a tradition. And it just happened to be today.”

He takes a bite of the cookie, and a deeply alluring moan reverberates from his throat. I can’t look away as his twinkling gaze flashes to me. “But you did make this?”

“I did. And I made extra knowing I was bringing it to you, so I guess that might count?”

“It counts.”

“Try that one.” I point at the apple custard pie.

He lifts the slice and sinks his teeth into it. Another moan follows before he pops the rest of it in his mouth. “It’s nice… that you have this tradition. Are you close with your family?”

I reach for a maple cookie. “Very. It was just me and my parents growing up, and they gave me this amazing childhood with the animal shelter. I had responsibilities, sure. But I got to grow up playing with around ten dogs at any given time.” I laugh. “And they’re so supportive. When I said I wanted to be a painter, they didn’t even hesitate to set me up with every supply I could ever need. They never made me feel like they doubted my dreams. Because they never doubted me.”

He frowns. “You say that like someone has doubted you.”

“I’m the one with doubts,” I admit softly.

Setting the pastry down, Jake pushes the container to the side and leans forward. The table wobbles as he sets his elbows atop it. “The painter’s block?” he guesses.

“I’m finding my footing again. But I just keep thinking, what if I don’t get them done in time? What if I stalled too long, you know?”

“What’s more important, meeting the gallery’s deadline or doing what you love?”

“What if one can’t exist without the other?”

He shrugs. “They might not have to. But I bet they can.”

I finish the cookie, letting his words turn over in my mind. “What about you?” I ask after a minute.

“What about me?”

Leaning forward on the table as well, I ask, “Are you doing what you love?”

Something flashes in his eyes. It looks a bit like regret, if I’m not mistaken.

Fiddling with the pen he had previously abandoned, Jake rolls it back and forth across his half-way completed crossword puzzle. I notice each box cleanly filled in, with no signs of mistakes marked over or turned into a different letter.