Hannah's throat tightened at the deeper meaning.
Mrs. Peterson appeared with fresh coffee and pastries—store-bought, but the gesture itself meant everything. She distributedthem without comment, but her hand lingered on Hannah's shoulder just a moment too long.
"The elementary school called," she said quietly. "They want to know if you'll still do the Christmas cookie workshop. The children..." She swallowed. "They miss you."
Hannah's eyes burned.
Because this was her town.
Her community.
Her family.
They had hurt her, yes. Had let fear and anger drive them away. But now they were here, rebuilding not just her bakery, but her place in their lives.
Jake's hand found the small of her back, warm and steady. "You okay?"
Hannah watched Tommy Mercer carefully wrap her grandmother's copper wind chimes, promising to polish them until they shone again. Watched Billy Morton sort through salvaged kitchen tools like they were precious artifacts. Watched Sarah organize a cleanup schedule, delegating tasks with the same efficiency she'd once used to manage morning rushes.
"They're not just helping," she whispered, understanding finally clicking into place. "They're reclaiming their place here. Their home."
Jake's thumb traced gentle circles against her spine. "Sugar & Spice was never just yours," he said softly. "It was always theirs too."
Hannah leaned into his touch, letting the truth of it settle in her chest. Because he was right. This place had always been more than just a bakery. It had been where children got their first cookie. Where couples ordered their wedding cakes. Where people came not just for coffee, but for connection.
And now they were all here, rebuilding it together.Not with words.
Not with explanations.
But with actions that spoke louder than any apology could.
Hannah's heart felt full to bursting as she watched her town—her people—piece her world back together, stronger than before.
This was forgiveness.
This was healing.
This was home.
Moonlight spilledthrough Jake's bedroom window, painting everything in soft silver. Hannah lay tangled in his sheets, her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow. Jake's fingers traced lazy patterns on her bare shoulder, his touch reverent, possessive, like he still couldn't quite believe she was here.
"We can do anything you want," he murmured against her hair. "Rebuild the bakery exactly as it was. Or start fresh somewhere else." His hand stilled for a moment. "My hometown has this old storefront downtown. Historic building, good bones. My sister's been sending me photos for months."
Hannah lifted her head. "Your sister?"
Jake had the grace to look sheepish. "Yeah, about that..."
"Jacob Cooper." Hannah propped herself up on one elbow, eyeing him. "Are you telling me you have family?"
"A sister. Parents. They, uh..." He cleared his throat. "They've heard a lot about you."
"For the past six weeks?" Hannah's eyebrows rose.
"More like eight months." Jake's thumb traced her bottom lip. "I might have talked about you. A lot."
"Even while undercover?"
"Especially then." His voice dropped lower, rougher. "You were the only real thing in my life."
