"Not even for the guy who fixes your sink?" Jake's voice carried from the front of the shop, followed by his footsteps.
Hannah's heart did that little skip it always did when she heard him. But when she turned, spatula loaded with frosting, something in his expression made her pause.
"Hey." She tried to read his face. "You okay?"
"Fine." He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Just tired. Early meeting with a client about the Miller Street restoration."
Right. Her father's latest project. "The inn's going to be beautiful when it's finished. Dad was telling me about the original woodwork they uncovered. Maybe we could go see it once they've completed the flooring?"
Jake's jaw tightened for a fraction of a second. If she hadn't been watching him so closely, she might have missed it.
"Sure." He reached for one of the unfrosted rolls. "If I'm not too busy with work."
"Too busy for Hannah?" Sarah snorted. "That'll be the day."
Something flickered behind Jake's eyes—there and gone so fast Hannah couldn't name it. He took a bite of the roll, deliberate, too casual. "These are perfect."
"They're not done yet." Hannah moved to daub frosting onto the one in his hand, but Jake caught her wrist, tugging her closer.
"You'reperfect," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple.
But there was something in his voice, something that felt almost like?—
"I should go." He stepped back, already reaching for his keys. "That meeting."
"But you just got here." The words slipped out before she could stop them. "And you didn't even let me frost your roll."
Jake paused at the kitchen door. He gave her another smile. "Save me one for later?"
Hannah nodded, watching him go. The bell chimed again, and she tried to shake off the strange hollow feeling in her chest.
"Okay, what was that about?" Sarah asked, abandoning her pie crusts.
"Not sure." Hannah turned back to her frosting, but her hands weren't quite steady. "I guess he's busy."
But Jake was always busy. That wasn't new. This feeling—this distance—this was something else.
She just wished she knew what.
Hannah loved Sundays at Sugar& Spice. The bakery closed early, but the warmth of the ovens lingered, wrapping around her like a familiar embrace. Evening light slanted through the front windows, painting the worn wooden floors golden as she spread the week's receipts across her grandmother's old desk.
"Looks like the new chocolate croissant recipe was a hit." Her father's voice carried from the kitchen, where he was brewing their ritual evening coffee. Richard Everett moved through her space with the easy familiarity of someone who'd spent countless hours here, first watching his mother-in-law bake, then teaching Hannah everything she knew about running a business. "The profit margins are impressive."
"People love anything with chocolate," Hannah said, sorting another stack of receipts into neat piles. "Though I think it's more about Tommy Mercer talking them up to everyone he speaks to. That kid's better advertising than any marketing budget."
Her father appeared with two steaming mugs, setting one by her elbow. The rich aroma of his special coffee blend—the one he saved just for their Sunday meetings—filled the air. "Speaking of marketing budgets..." He pulled out the chair across from her, his silver hair catching the fading light. "Have you thought more about expanding? The Miller Street renovation is coming along beautifully. Perfect spot for a second location."
Hannah wrapped her hands around the warm mug, breathing in the familiar scent. "Dad, we've talked about this. Sugar & Spice isn't meant to be a chain. It's about community. Tradition." She gestured to the walls around them, to the copper wind chimes her mother had hung, to the ancient wood-burning oven her grandmother had refused to replace. "You can't duplicate this."
"You sound just like your grandmother." His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled—the same way Hannah's did. "She was afraid of change too."
"I'm not afraid of change." Hannah shuffled through more receipts, pleased by the steady increase in numbers. "I just don't want to lose what makes this place special."
The bell above the door chimed.
Hannah looked up, her heart doing that familiar skip when she saw Jake filling the doorway. He was still in his work clothes, tool belt slung low on his hips, a smudge of something dark on his jaw. Their eyes met, and for a moment, she forgot her father was there.
"Jake!" Richard stood, gesturing him inside. "Perfect timing. Maybe you can talk some sense into my stubborn daughter."
