"Hannah—"
"Don't." She wrapped her arms around herself. "Please don't say anything nice. I can't... I can't hear your voice being gentle right now."
The request hit like a physical blow. Jake swallowed hard, forcing his eyes back to the road.
"He used me," Hannah whispered. "Used my bakery. Used everything I believed in." Her voice cracked. "Just like you did."
Jake's chest felt like it was being crushed. Because she was right about her father. But about him? About his feelings?
She had it so wrong.
But he'd lost the right to correct her. Lost the right to tell her that every kiss, every touch, every whispered promise had been real. That loving her had been the only honest thing in his whole damn investigation.
Instead, he drove in silence, watching Harrison's car in his mirror, feeling Hannah slip further away with every mile.
When they reached Sugar & Spice, Jake pulled smoothly into her usual parking spot—like he'd done it a hundred times before, like he still belonged in the rhythms of her life. Hannah's fingers curled in her lap, but she said nothing.
The second the engine shut off, she was out of the car before he could speak. But she paused at the door, her back to him.
Jake stepped out, locking the vehicle before moving to her side. Silently, he held out her keys. She reached for them, but as theirfingers brushed, he didn't let go right away. His grip lingered—just slightly too long, just enough for the warmth of his palm to seep into hers, just enough for her pulse to stutter in betrayal.
Her throat tightened. She pulled the keys from his grasp.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "For the ride. For..." She gestured vaguely, encompassing everything—the hug, the comfort, the love she thought was lies.
"Hannah." Her name felt like glass in his throat.
She shook her head. "Goodbye, Jake."
The door closed with quiet finality.
Jake stood outside long after she disappeared inside, watching the shadows move behind Hannah's windows.
He couldn't protect her from her father's truth.
Couldn't protect her from the town's judgment.
Couldn't even protect her from the pain he'd caused.
But he'd die before he let anything else hurt her. His eyes shot a glance toward the Harrison's Pharmacy, the prominent "CLOSED" sign.
Even if she never believed in him again.
Even if she spent the rest of her life thinking his love was a lie.
Even if it broke him to watch her hurt.
He'd keep her safe.
It was all he had left to give her.
The Everett houseloomed against the darkening sky, windows blank and accusing. Yellow crime scene tape still fluttered from the porch rails—tattered now, faded by sun and rain, but still marking this place as a scene of destruction.
Jake stood on the sidewalk, hands shoved in his pockets, remembering another evening. Richard Everett at the head of the table, telling stories about Hannah's childhood. Hannah herself, glowing in candlelight, her fingers laced through Jake's under the tablecloth. The perfect family dinner.
The perfect lie.
His stomach rolled as memory overlapped with reality. That same dining room was visible through the window now—empty, dark, everything of value seized as evidence.
