And she was finally starting to sink.
"Hannah, wait."
Jake's voice stopped her at the bottom of the town hall steps. She kept walking, her grandmother's business license still clutched to her chest like armor.
"Hannah." Closer now. Those familiar footsteps she used to listen for every morning.
"Don't." She spun to face him, the word coming out sharper than she'd intended. He stood three steps above her, hands shoved in his pockets, looking so much likeherJake that it made her chest ache.
But he wasn't her Jake. Had never been her Jake.
"I didn't ask for your help in there." The words tasted like ash.
"I know." He took a step down. "But it was the truth. You needed someone to tell them the truth."
Hannah laughed, the sound raw and painful. "The truth? From you?" Another step down. She held her ground. "That's funny, coming from the man who lied to me for seven months."
"Not about this." His voice dropped lower, just for her. The way he used to whisper against her skin in the early morning light. "Never about this. You're innocent, Hannah. You deserve to keep the bakery."
"Don't." She pressed the business license harder against her chest, like it could somehow protect her heart. "Don't act like you care what I deserve."
"I've always cared." He reached for her, that automatic gesture she'd seen a thousand times.
Hannah jerked back, but her heel caught on the last step. She stumbled.
Jake's hands shot out, steadying her before she could fall. The touch burned through her clothes—those familiar calluses, that gentle strength she'd trusted so completely.
"Let go." Her voice shook.
He did, immediately, but didn't step back. "Hannah?—"
"No." She straightened her spine, forced herself to meet his eyes. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to defend me in there and then act like... like..."
"Like what?" Too close. He was too close, smelling of coffee and sawdust and everything she'd lost.
"Like you're still him." The words escaped before she could stop them. "Like you're still my Jake."
Something raw flashed across his face. "I am?—"
"A liar." She cut him off. "A federal agent who used me to get to my father. Who sat in my kitchen and smiled and held my hand and never once—" Her voice cracked. "Never once told me the truth."
"Hannah." Her name was barely a breath.
"Just do your job and leave." She took a deliberate step back. "You're good at that."
"I quit the FBI."
The words hit her like a slap. She stared at him, searching for the lie. But his eyes were steady, certain.
"Why?"
His lips parted, and she found herself swaying forward, remembering how those lips felt against hers, how safe she'd felt in his arms, how?—
"Because I couldn't do it anymore." His voice was rough. "Couldn't stand in that office and listen to them talk about you like you were just collateral damage. Like hurting you was acceptable as long as we got the bad guy."
He took a step closer. "Because every time I close my eyes, I imagine your face when they took you from the bakery. When you called me for help and I—" His voice broke. "I couldn't even answer the phone."
Hannah's chest felt too tight. "Jake?—"
