THE LUCK THIEF BY READY WRITER

Chapter 11: Slopes and Setbacks

Sunday morning, Nina woke to three missed calls from Sienna and a text that made her heart drop: The caterer just canceled. Food poisoning outbreak at their facility. They're shutting down for two weeks minimum. CALL ME.

Nina called immediately, still half-asleep.

"It's fine," she said before Sienna could spiral. "I have backup caterers. This is why we plan for contingencies."

"But the tasting is Tuesday! Kenji is supposed to film it! We don't have time to find someone new and do another tasting and—"

"Sienna." Nina kept her voice calm. "I have three backup caterers already vetted and available. I'll contact them today, get samples sent over, and we'll do the tasting as scheduled. Kenji will film us problem-solving in real time. That's better content than everything going smoothly."

A pause. Then, quietly: "How are you so calm about this?"

"Because I've learned that disasters are just opportunities for creative solutions." Nina surprised herself with the words. A week ago, she'd have been panicking alongside Sienna. Now she felt oddly centered. "Trust me. We'll make it work."

After hanging up, Nina spent two hours on the phone with caterers. By eleven, she'd secured samples from two companies, scheduled a revised tasting for Tuesday afternoon, and somehow convinced Sienna that this was actually a blessing in disguise—the new caterers specialized in creative seasonal menus that would photograph better for Vogue anyway.

Crisis managed, Nina dressed for sledding and headed to Boston Common.

The hill was already crowded with families, couples, and groups of teenagers. Sleds of all varieties—plastic saucers, wooden toboggans, even cardboard boxes—littered the slope. Children shrieked with joy. Adults tried to maintain dignity while tumbling down ice.

Nina found Ezra waiting at the base of the hill, holding two plastic sleds and looking apprehensive.

"I'm having second thoughts," he admitted. "This seems unnecessarily dangerous."

"You literally cannot die from sledding." Nina took one of the sleds, examining it. "Probably."

"Very reassuring." But Ezra smiled, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "How are you? Any more warnings from Octavia?"

"Just the usual Sunday chaos. Caterer canceled, had to find replacements." Nina started toward the hill. "But I handled it without completely falling apart, so that's progress."

"That's massive progress. A week ago you'd have—"

"Had a controlled breakdown and solved it through pure force of will while pretending I was fine." Nina laughed. "Now I have controlled problem-solving while actually being relatively fine. Growth."

They climbed the hill, joining the line of sledders. At the top, the view was spectacular—Boston sprawling below them, the Charles River winding through the city, the Common's bare trees stark against winter sky.

"Ready?" Ezra asked.

"Absolutely not. Let's go anyway."

They pushed off together.

The sled moved slowly at first, then gathered speed, then became a barely controlled projectile hurtling down ice. Nina shrieked—whether from fear or exhilaration, she couldn't tell. Beside her, Ezra was laughing, genuine and unguarded.

They hit a bump. Nina's sled went airborne for a heartbeat, then crashed down hard. She lost control, spinning sideways, heading straight for a group of kids building a snowman at the bottom.

She tried to steer, to stop, to do anything—

Strong hands grabbed her sled, yanking it sideways. Nina tumbled into snow, narrowly missing the children. Her sled continued alone, crashing into a snow bank.

Ezra appeared above her, breathing hard. "You okay?"

"Bruised ego. Possibly bruised everything else." Nina accepted his hand, letting him pull her up. "That was terrifying."

"That was fun," he corrected. "Terrifying fun."

"Is there a difference?"

"Not anymore." Ezra brushed snow from her coat. "Want to go again?"

They did. Five more times, in fact. Each run slightly less terrifying and slightly more exhilarating than the last. By the sixth run, Nina was laughing before they even pushed off, anticipating the chaos rather than dreading it.

On the seventh run, disaster struck.

Nina was halfway down when her sled hit ice and spun completely around. She was sledding backward, unable to see where she was going, when she collided with something solid.

Not something. Someone.

She crashed into another sledder, both of them tumbling into snow. When Nina extracted herself from the tangle of limbs and sleds, she found herself face to face with David.

"Nina?" He looked as shocked as she felt. "What are you doing here?"

"Sledding. Obviously." Nina stood, brushing snow off. "What are you doing here?"

"Same. I come here sometimes on Sundays. Helps me think." David noticed Ezra approaching. His expression hardened. "With him, I assume?"

"With Ezra, yes." Nina kept her voice level. "David, this doesn't have to be awkward."

"Doesn't it? You're dating someone new two weeks after I told you I wanted to get back together."

"I'm dating someone new two years after you left me." Nina's patience was wearing thin. "We're done, David. We've been done. Please accept that."

"So you can what? Play house with a guy you've known for a week? Be realistic, Nina. This is a rebound. A distraction. It's not real."

"It's more real than we ever were." The words were out before Nina could stop them. "David, we were comfortable together. Compatible. But we were never actually in love. You know that."

David's face flushed. "So eight months of engagement meant nothing?"

"It meant we tried. It meant we cared about each other. But it didn't mean we were right for each other." Nina softened her tone. "You deserve someone who can love you the way you want to be loved. Someone open and emotional and present. That's not me. At least, it wasn't me. And you deserve better than someone who has to work this hard to learn how to feel."

"And he's teaching you to feel?" David's laugh was bitter. "Nina, you're the most controlled person I know. One week of sledding and holiday markets doesn't change fundamental personality."

"You're right. It doesn't change personality. But it can change patterns. It can interrupt cycles." Nina met his eyes. "I'm trying to be different. And whether it works out with Ezra or not, I'm not going back to who I was. She was safe, but she was dying. I'd rather risk pain than guarantee numbness."

David stared at her for a long moment. Then he picked up his sled, his movements stiff with anger or hurt—Nina couldn't tell which.

"Good luck with that," he said. "You're going to need it."

He walked away without looking back.

Ezra arrived, slightly breathless from running. "Are you okay? That looked like a hard collision."

"I'm fine. Just ran into my past." Nina watched David disappear into the crowd. "Literally."

"What did he say?"

"That this is a rebound. That I'm not capable of real change. That I'll regret choosing uncertainty over safety." Nina turned to Ezra. "He's probably right about some of it."

"And the rest?"

"The rest is worth trying for anyway." She took Ezra's hand. "Come on. I want to go down one more time before I lose my nerve entirely."

They climbed the hill again, but the magic had diminished. Nina's head was full of David's words, of self-doubt, of fear that maybe she was deluding herself about being different.

At the top of the hill, Ezra stopped her. "Talk to me. What's going on in your head?"

"Just thinking about what David said. Whether I'm really changing or just performing change. Whether any of this is sustainable or if I'll crash back to numbness once the curse breaks and the pressure is off."

"Those are valid fears."

"I know. Which makes them harder to dismiss." Nina stared down the slope. "What if he's right? What if I'm not actually capable of sustaining this? What if I'm just responding to external pressure and once it's gone, I revert?"

"Then you practice. You build new patterns until they become automatic. You fail sometimes and try again." Ezra touched her face gently. "Nina, change isn't a switch you flip. It's a muscle you build. Some days will be easier than others. Some days you'll backslide. That's normal. That's human."

"But what if—"

"What if you give yourself credit for trying? What if you trust that seven days of choosing differently means something? What if you believe that the person who sledded down a hill laughing is just as real as the person who spent sixteen years hiding?" His smile was gentle. "You don't have to be perfect at this. You just have to keep trying."

Nina kissed him there at the top of the hill, in front of strangers and screaming children and the whole messy world. "Thank you. For seeing me. For not giving up on me."

"Same," Ezra said simply. "Ready for one more run?"

They went down together, side by side, sleds bumping occasionally. It wasn't as exhilarating as the first runs, and Nina's head was still full of doubt, but she was present. Trying. That had to count for something.

At the bottom, Maya appeared with Jamie, both carrying sleds.

"Boss! Didn't know you'd be here." Maya's grin was infectious. "Jamie insisted on sledding. I told him I'm too old for this nonsense."

"You're twenty-six," Jamie said, laughing. "That's not old."

"It's too old for voluntarily throwing myself down ice." But Maya was smiling. "Although seeing you do it makes it seem less terrifying. If the queen of control can handle sledding chaos, maybe I can too."

They sledded together—the four of them racing down the hill, tumbling into snow, laughing like children. It was ridiculous and joyful and exactly what Nina needed to shake off David's words.

After an hour, cold and exhausted, they migrated to a nearby café for hot chocolate.

"So," Maya said once they were settled, "tomorrow's the big day. Kenji starts filming. Vogue officially enters our lives. Everyone ready?"

"Absolutely not," Nina said. "But we're doing it anyway."

"That's my boss. Fake it till you make it." Maya turned to Ezra. "And you? How's the mysterious antique business?"

"Mysteriously busy. Apparently word is spreading about my item-finding abilities. I've had three new clients this week looking for lost things." Ezra sipped his chocolate thoughtfully. "It's strange. For seven years, the shop was barely scraping by. Now suddenly people are finding me."

"Because you're visible again," Jamie observed. "You're out in the world instead of hiding in your shop. People can find you because you're letting yourself be found."

"Profound," Maya teased, but her eyes were soft. "Also true. Both of you have been doing that—letting yourselves be found. It's sweet and terrifying and I'm very invested in how this turns out."

"No pressure," Nina said dryly.

"Oh, there's tons of pressure. I've already told Jamie that if you two don't work out, I'm going to be devastated." Maya grinned. "You're my favorite love story. Don't ruin it."

After they parted ways, Nina and Ezra walked slowly back toward his boundary. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across snow.

"Your assistant is intense," Ezra observed.

"She cares intensely. There's a difference." Nina leaned into him as they walked. "But she's right. This is terrifying."

"What specifically?"

"All of it. Falling for you. Changing my entire personality. Breaking a curse. Having Vogue document my professional life while my personal life is in complete upheaval." Nina laughed. "Honestly, it would be easier to just give up and go back to numbness."

"But you're not going to."

"No. Because numbness almost killed me. And whatever this is—terrifying, chaotic, uncertain—it's still better than slow death." She stopped walking, turning to face him. "I'm all in, Ezra. Even though it scares me. Even though I might fail. I'm trying."

"That's all anyone can do. Try." He kissed her forehead. "And for what it's worth? You're not failing. You're succeeding at being human, which is messy and imperfect by definition."

They reached his boundary—the invisible line he could cross with effort but not comfortably. Ezra paused, considering.

"I'm going to try walking you home again."

"You don't have to. I know it's painful."

"I want to. For practice. For proof that my boundaries are expanding." He took her hand. "Besides, I'm not ready to say goodbye yet."

They walked together through darkening streets. Ezra managed eight blocks before the pain became too much, his steps faltering.

"This is good," Nina said, stopping. "Two blocks further than Friday. That's progress."

"Slow progress." But Ezra was smiling despite the strain. "At this rate, I'll be free by March."

"Or the curse will break completely and you'll be free by New Year's." Nina kissed him quickly. "Twenty-three days. We've got time."

She watched him walk back toward his shop, moving slowly but steadily. Then she continued home alone, her mind full of the day's contradictions—joy and doubt, progress and setbacks, hope and fear all tangled together.

At home, she found an envelope slipped under her door.

Nina's hands shook as she opened it. Another card from Octavia, same heavy stock, same elegant script:

Eight days. Impressive. But the real test isn't traditions—it's choosing love over fear when the cost becomes clear. Will you sacrifice what you've built? Or will you sacrifice him? Choose wisely. Time is running short.

Nina read it twice, then a third time. The message was clearer now, more direct. Octavia was building toward a choice, toward a moment when Nina would have to decide between her old life and Ezra, between safety and risk, between the person she'd been and the person she was becoming.

She pulled out her phone, texting Ezra: Another card from Octavia. More ominous warnings about choices and sacrifices.

His response was immediate: We knew this was coming. We'll face it together. Get some rest. Tomorrow's going to be intense.

You too. And Ezra? Whatever choice she forces on us—we find the third option. We don't sacrifice each other.

We find the third option, he confirmed. Promise.

Nina set down her phone and looked at her apartment—no longer sterile, no longer empty. The crooked tree in the corner. Photos on her fridge. Signs of life creeping back in after sixteen years of careful absence.

She thought about David's words, about whether she was really changing or just performing change. About whether any of this was sustainable.

But she also thought about sledding down a hill laughing. About decorating a tree with someone who understood her. About learning to choose joy despite fear.

Eight days. Eight traditions. The curse barely visible now.

And twenty-two days left to prove that love was stronger than magic's rules.

Nina touched her wrist and felt only her pulse, steady and sure.

She was trying. Failing sometimes, succeeding others, but always trying.

That had to be enough.

It had to be.