"Because loving you is the only real thing I've done in years."
The words hung between them, heavy with truth. Hannah swayed forward before she could stop herself, remembering how his lips felt against hers, how safe she'd felt in his arms, how completely she'd trusted him.
Jake's hand came up to cup her cheek, calluses catching on her skin the way they always had. Her eyes fluttered closed as he leaned in, his breath warm against her lips.
For one heartbeat, she let herself remember. Let herself feel. Let herself want.
Then reality crashed back in.
Hannah jerked away, pressing her fingers to her lips. Jake's hand was still outstretched, reaching for her.
"Don't." She took a deliberate step back. "Just... Don't."
She turned and walked away, her legs barely steady. Everything in her screamed to look back, to run to him, to let him explain more.
But she kept walking.
Because even if loving her was real, the rest of it had been lies.
And she couldn't trust her heart to a man who'd broken it so completely. She could feel Jake's eyes on her back, feel the weight of everything unsaid pressing against her skin.
He'd quit the FBI. He'd defended her. He'd reached for her like nothing had changed.
But everything had changed.
And no amount of truth now could undo seven months of lies.
CHAPTER 17
Jake
The call camein at 2:47 PM:Smoke reported at Sugar & Spice Bakery.
Jake's heart stopped. Then it slammed back into rhythm, double-time.
He was moving before the dispatcher finished speaking, his body acting on instinct, muscle memory kicking in as he pulled on his gear.
"Cooper." Chief Miller's voice cut through the organized chaos. "If you're compromised, you stay on the truck?—"
"I'm good." Jake's voice came out steadier than his pulse. "I'm professional."
The ride felt endless. Three minutes. Maybe four. But it was long enough for every worst-case scenario to rip through his mind—Hannah trapped in the kitchen, Hannah choking on smoke, Hannah not getting out in time?—
The truck rounded the corner onto Main Street.
Smoke drifted from Sugar & Spice's back door—not the thick black of a raging blaze, but enough to make Jake's hands clench.
Then he saw her.
Hannah stood on the sidewalk, flour-dusted and trembling but unhurt.
Relief hit so hard it almost knocked him sideways.
"Small grease fire," she was telling Miller. "I got most of it with the extinguisher, but?—"
"We'll check it out." Miller's voice was professional but kind. "Cooper, Peterson—sweep the kitchen. Roberts, check the electrical."
Jake moved past Hannah without looking at her. He couldn't look at her. Not yet.
