Everything was different.
Everything was the same.
Everything was better.
The bakery had been rebuilt with love—not just by Jake and his crew, but by the entire town. Every nail, every board, every careful restoration had been a gift. A commitment. A promise.
Hannah breathed in the familiar scent of cinnamon and vanilla, letting it settle in her bones. This was still her grandmother's kitchen, still held all those memories. But now it held new ones too.
Strong arms slid around her waist from behind, and Hannah melted back against Jake's chest. He pressed a kiss to her neck, right below her ear.
"Ready?" he murmured.
Hannah turned in his arms, taking in the sight of him. He wasn't in his fire department uniform today—though she could see his crew gathering outside, Peterson and Roberts already eyeing the cinnamon rolls cooling on the rack. No, today Jake wore jeans and a simple button-down, flour already dusting his sleeves from helping with the morning's baking.
He wasn't just the town's hero anymore.
Not just the outsider who'd saved them.
He was simply Jake.
Simply hers.
"Almost," she whispered, reaching up to brush flour from his jaw. "Just need one thing."
Jake's eyes darkened as she rose on her tiptoes, pressing her lips to his. He responded immediately, one hand sliding into her hair as he deepened the kiss. Hannah gasped as he backed her against the counter, his body caging her in with familiar heat.
Flour puffed into the air around them as Jake lifted her onto the counter, stepping between her thighs. His mouth was hot, demanding, claiming her like he had a thousand times before.
But this was different.
This was real.
This was them, without masks or lies or secrets between them.
"Jake," she breathed against his lips. "We have customers waiting."
He hummed, trailing kisses down her throat. "Let them wait."
Hannah laughed, the sound bright and free, even as her fingers curled in his shirt. "You're impossible."
"Impossibly in love with you." He nipped at her collarbone, then soothed the spot with his tongue. "Impossibly happy. Impossibly?—"
The bell above the door chimed.
"We're not open!" they called in unison, then dissolved into laughter.
"Since when has that ever stopped me?" Mary Peterson's voice carried from the front, followed by the familiar tap of her cane.
Jake pressed his forehead to Hannah's, both of them breathing hard, flour coating their clothes, happiness bubbling between them like champagne.
"Later," he promised, his voice rough with heat and love and forever.
Hannah kissed him once more, soft and sweet, before sliding off the counter. She straightened her apron, trying to brush away the evidence of their moment, but Jake's hands had left perfect prints on her hips.
The morning sun streamed through the windows, catching on her grandmother's recipe box—restored, cherished, perfect. Hannah ran her fingers over the worn wood, feeling the legacy of love that lived in these walls.
Then she turned to face her town, her future, her life.
