Hannah's fingers tightened on her box. "I've had that corner spot for five years."
"The Wilsons needed more space for their produce stand." Carol's voice was carefully neutral. "And with your... situation... we thought it best to?—"
"To what?" The words came out sharper than Hannah intended. "Punish me for something I didn't do?"
A few early vendors looked over, already whispering. Hannah forced her voice steady.
"I just need a spot, Carol. Any spot."
"There's really nowhere?—"
"She can share with me."
Hannah's heart stopped at that voice. Jake stood by the fire safety booth—the spot they always gave first responders for community outreach. He was in his uniform again, sleeves rolled up, looking so much like the man she'd trusted that it made her chest ache.
"That's not necessary," Hannah said stiffly.
"It's either that or no spot at all." Carol seized the out gratefully. "Fire safety gets priority placement."
Hannah looked at her boxes of carefully crafted pastries. She thought about the bills piling up on her desk. About the empty bakery that used to be full of regulars.
She couldn't afford pride right now.
"Fine." The word tasted like ash.
Jake helped her set up without speaking, his movements efficient as he rearranged his safety pamphlets to make room for her display. She tried not to notice how easily they still worked together, how his hands steadied her cake stands with familiar care.
The market filled slowly. Tourists wandered through, drawn by the smell of fresh pastries. They bought eagerly, complimenting her work.
But the locals—her neighbors, her friends—they just walked past.
Mrs. Wilson, who'd ordered Hannah's apple tarts every week for three years, deliberately turned away.
Tommy Mercer's mother pulled him to the other side of the aisle when he pointed at the cookies.
Sarah, her former assistant, ducked behind another stall rather than walk past.
"Your macarons are perfect today."
Hannah startled at Jake's quiet words. He stood carefully on his side of their shared space, professional distance maintained.
"Thank you." She arranged another tray.
Movement caught her eye. Maggie Reynolds, her friend since high school, was walking through the market. Hannah's heart lifted. Maggie would stop. Maggie would understand.
"Maggie!" The name burst from her before she could stop it. "Hey!"
Maggie froze, her market tote full of produce. For one horrible moment, she just stared at Hannah like she was seeing a stranger.
Hannah's smile fixed in place. "I've got those lemon squares you?—"
Maggie took a deliberate step back.
The movement was small. Precise. Devastating.
Hannah felt Jake tense beside her, but she couldn't look at him. Couldn't look away from Maggie's face—from the conflict and resolution she saw there.
"I can't, Hannah."
