Lucy wasn’t sure when it changed exactly —
when she went from overthinking every glance to smiling the second she saw Miles’s name pop up on her phone.
When her chest stopped tightening with fear and started fluttering with excitement instead.
It happened quietly.
A thousand little moments stitching themselves together until one day she simply realized —
she was happy.
Sundays quickly became their day.
Miles would show up at Nook before opening hours with two cups of coffee — one black, one with a ridiculous amount of sugar and foam just the way she liked.
He’d lean against the counter while she baked, stealing bits of cookie dough and pretending he wasn’t.
Sometimes, after the shop closed early, he would whisk her away —
to the farmers market, to the park with a blanket and a basket packed with sandwiches and strawberries, or simply to his apartment, where they would spend hours curled up on the couch talking about everything and nothing.
He made her laugh without trying.
He looked at her like she was magic.
And maybe, in his arms, she believed it just a little bit too.
One Saturday evening, Lucy surprised him.
She showed up at Miles’s place with a picnic basket of her own — stuffed with baked goods she’d spent the afternoon making, and a bottle of wine Harper insisted she bring.
Miles answered the door in worn jeans and a T-shirt that clung a little too well to his frame.
His grin when he saw her was nothing short of breathtaking.
“What’s all this?” he asked, stepping aside to let her in.
“Our own private picnic,” Lucy said brightly.
“No bugs. No wind. No judging squirrels.”
Miles chuckled, taking the basket from her.
“You’re incredible.”
They set up the “picnic” on his living room floor — a blanket, candles flickering on the coffee table, soft music humming in the background.
They ate and talked and laughed until the stars were out, even though they couldn’t see them from inside.
At one point, Lucy leaned back against the couch, full and content, watching Miles tell a story about Graham’s latest grumpy landlord complaint.
And she realized:
She had fallen.
Not in the reckless, terrifying way she always feared.
Not the way her mother had — clinging to something fragile and losing herself when it broke.
No.
This was different.
With Miles, love felt like building.
Like being seen and still being held.
Like opening herself up and finding not emptiness, but a home.
Later, when they lay tangled together on the couch — her head on his chest, his fingers tracing lazy circles along her back — Miles spoke into her hair.
“You know,” he said quietly, “I think about you… all the time.”
Lucy smiled, feeling the beat of his heart under her ear.
“I think about you too,” she whispered back.
He shifted, tilting her chin up gently.
“I’m really glad you crashed into my life,” he said, eyes earnest and unguarded.
Lucy laughed softly. “Literally.”
“Best accident of my life,” Miles said, then kissed her — slow and tender and full of all the promises they hadn’t dared say out loud yet.
Baawa Unfiltered 