Jake's hands stilled on the window frame. "Hannah?—"
"You don't get to do this." Her voice cracked. "You don't get to show up here in the middle of the night, acting like... like..."
"Like what?" He turned to face her, and suddenly they were too close. Her breath caught as he took a step forward, backing her against the counter. "Like I care? Like I hate seeing your window broken? Like I still?—"
"Don't." But she didn't move away. Her eyes dropped to his hands, roughened from years of doing exactly this—fixing things, building things, making them right.
"I can't stop caring, Hannah." His voice was low, rough. "I can't stop wanting to?—"
"To what?" She tilted her chin up, defiant despite the tremor in her voice. "To protect me? To fix what you broke?"
"Yes." The admission felt like it was torn from his chest.
Hannah's lips parted on a shaky breath. They were so close now, her body heat seeping into him, awakening muscle memory of all the times they'd stood just like this in her kitchen. All thetimes he'd backed her against this counter and kissed her until they were both breathless.
His hand moved without his permission, brushing flour from her shoulder. She shivered at the touch, and seven months of remembered wanting crashed over him like a wave.
"Jake." His name was barely a whisper.
He could feel her pulse racing, see the way her eyes darkened as he leaned closer. Just another inch and he could taste her again, could remember what it felt like when she was his, when she trusted him, when?—
Hannah's hand pressed against his chest, holding him back. "No."
The single word was like ice water. Jake stepped away immediately, his hands falling to his sides.
"I can't." Her voice shook. "I can't trust you. Not again."
She fled into the bakery's kitchen, the door swinging shut behind her with quiet finality.
Jake stood in the darkness, surrounded by tools and broken glass and everything he'd destroyed. After a long moment, he picked up his measuring tape again.
He couldn't fix what mattered. Couldn't repair her trust or earn back her heart.
But he could fix this one thing.
Maybe that would have to be enough.
CHAPTER 14
Hannah
The visitingroom smelled like industrial cleaner and stale coffee. Hannah's heels clicked against concrete as she followed the guard, each step echoing in the sterile space. Her father sat at one of the metal tables, like this was just another business meeting.
"Sweetheart." Richard Everett's smile was warm, familiar. The same smile he'd worn at Sunday dinners, at town meetings, at countless moments Hannah had thought were real. "I was hoping you'd come."
She sank into the cold metal chair across from him. "Dad, I?—"
"How's the bakery?" He leaned forward, that concerned father look she'd seen a thousand times. "Small minds in small towns, but it'll blow over."
Hannah's fingers twisted in her lap. "I need to understand."
"Understand what?" He looked genuinely puzzled.
"The charges. The evidence." Her voice caught. "They have to be wrong. You wouldn't?—"
Richard's laugh cut her off. The sound was jarring in the institutional quiet.
"Oh, Hannah." He shook his head like she was still six years old, asking why the sky was blue. "Of course I did it. I'm just sorry they caught me before I could move the last accounts offshore."
