Silence.
His grip tightened on his phone. "Mercer."
The officer sighed. "She called non-emergency. Got told someone would swing by on their usual rounds."
Usual rounds. Meaning not soon enough. Meaning Hannah had stood there alone, sweeping up shattered glass while the town pretended it wasn't their problem.
Jake was out the door and in his truck before Mercer finished his next breath. "Cooper, it's not your?—"
Jake hung up.
He threw the truck into reverse, tires screeching against the asphalt. His gut was a knot of rage and fear as he tore through the empty streets, barely slowing for the stoplights that blinked lazily in the early morning quiet.
A brick. A fucking brick.
He should have been there.
He should always be there.
Sugar & Spice came into view, and Jake barely managed to throw the truck in park before he was out of it, his boots hitting the pavement hard.
The sight of the shattered window made his blood boil. Glass littered the sidewalk, catching the first rays of sunrise. The brick sat where it had landed, right in the middle of the bakery floor.
And through the broken glass, he saw her. Hannah. Her hair was pulled up in a messy knot, shoulders set like stone.
Jake's throat tightened. He knew that stance. Knew the weight she was carrying.
She was holding it together by force alone.
He crossed the street, barely registering the glass crunching under his boots.
Hannah must have sensed him, because her movements stilled before he knocked. She turned slowly, meeting his eyes through the broken window.
Jake's stomach clenched.
She was exhausted.
But she wasn't broken.
And God, he loved her for that.
She didn't come to the door immediately. He saw the hesitation in the shift of her weight, the clench of her fingers around the dough in her hands.
Then, without a word, she wiped her hands on a towel and disappeared around the counter.
A second later, he heard the lock click.
The door opened.
She didn't speak.
Neither did he.
Jake stepped inside, shutting the door behind him, locking it again because she shouldn't have to be the one to do it.
The scent of cinnamon and flour wrapped around him, but it wasn't warm like usual. It was bitter. Tainted with the sting of cold air and shattered trust.
He looked at her hands. Tiny, barely-there cuts marked her fingers. From the glass.
