Mary took the bag with a satisfied hum. "Damn right, I would. You can't keep a woman from her morning sugar fix."
The door chimed again, and Mr. Wilson stepped inside, stomping his boots as if to dislodge snow despite the fact that there was none outside. He did that every morning out of habit.
"Morning, Hannah." He tugged his wool cap off and stuffed it in his coat pocket. "That storm last night was all talk. Barely a drizzle."
"You sound disappointed," Hannah said, already pouring his usual black coffee.
"A man likes a little excitement in his old age," Wilson grumbled, taking his cup with a wink.
Hannah chuckled, watching the old man settle into his usual corner, paper spread out before him.
The morning routine filled her like warmth in her chest, a steady rhythm that had become as familiar as breathing.
The door chimed a third time, and Billy Morton came in carrying a brown grocery bag, already grinning.
"Special delivery."
Hannah wiped her hands on her apron and took the bag, breathing in the rich, warm scent of the vanilla beans. "Tell your mom I'll bring her something special tomorrow."
Billy leaned against the counter, already eyeing the pastry case. "As long as it's those coffee cake muffins. Dad says they're the only thing that makes council meetings bearable."
Hannah shook her head with a smile, sliding two into a bag and handing it over. "Tell him he's going to get me in trouble, admitting those things."
Billy grinned and tossed her a lazy salute before heading out.
Another day. Another morning filled with laughter, warm pastries, and people she'd known her whole life.
Her heart swelled with certainty.
She was going to ask Jake tonight.
It felt so obvious now—why had she been waiting? They already spent most nights together. His things were scattered around her apartment. He had become a part of her world, as deeply as the bakery had.
She wanted it. Waking up together every morning. His tools permanently in her closet. His rough hands brushing flour off her cheek as she made cinnamon rolls.
Their home.
The bell chimed again. Hannah looked up, hoping to see Jake—sometimes he surprised her between jobs, stealing kisses and pastries when he thought people weren't looking.
But it wasn't Jake.
Three men in dark suits stood in the doorway, their expressions grim.
Something cold settled in Hannah's stomach.
The morning sunlight streaming through the windows suddenly felt too bright, too harsh. The oldies station too cheerful. The smell of cinnamon and coffee too sweet.
One of the men stepped forward, reaching into his jacket.
And Hannah's perfect world began to crumble.
The men who entered Sugar& Spice didn't belong. Everything about them was wrong—their dark suits, their blank faces. They didn't even glance at the display case, didn't breathe in the scent of fresh pastries with that familiar look of longing.
No, they weren't here for coffee.
Hannah wiped her hands on her apron, fighting the cold slither of dread down her spine. "Good morning. Can I help?—"
The lead agent stepped forward, badge catching the morning light. "Hannah Everett? FBI. We need you to step away from the counter."
