"Just... give yourself one minute," he murmured against her hair. "One minute to fall apart. Then you can go back out there and be strong again."
She should argue. Should maintain the walls between them. Should remember all the reasons she couldn't trust him.
Instead, she pressed her face into his shirt and let herself have this one moment of comfort.
His hand moved in slow circles on her back, the way it used to when storms woke her in the night. For just one breath, she could pretend nothing had changed. That he was still her Jake, still the man who fixed things, still someone she could trust with her heart.
Even if he had never really cared for her, if she had only been a job, she could still pretend for a little while. Was that so bad?
"Time's up," she whispered finally, pulling back.
Jake's arms fell away immediately, but his eyes were dark with something that made her chest ache.
"Hannah—"
She straightened her apron, wiped her eyes. "This doesn't change anything."
"I know." But he reached out, brushing a tear from her cheek with his thumb. The gesture was so achingly familiar that Hannah had to close her eyes.
"Thank you," she made herself say. "For... this. But?—"
"But nothing's changed." His hand dropped. "I know."
Hannah nodded once and walked back to their shared stall, chin high, shoulders straight. She could feel Jake's eyes on her as she arranged her displays, as she smiled at tourists, as she pretended her world hadn't just crumbled again.
Nothing had changed.
But her skin still tingled where he'd touched her, and her heart still knew exactly how well she fit in his arms.
There were worse things than believing in a lie.
Water sprayedfrom beneath the industrial sink, soaking Hannah's tank top as she worked. She'd already shut off the main valve, already cleared the cabinet, already done everything she'd watched Jake do a dozen times before.
"Come on," she muttered, fingers finding the coupling beneath the sink. The metal was cold against her skin as she worked it loose. This part was simple—she'd seen Jake do it so many times she should be able to manage it blindfolded.
Jake. Always Jake.
The pipe gave a warning groan. Hannah tightened her grip on the wrench, remembering his hands guiding hers months ago."Easy,"he'd said, his chest warm against her back."Let the tools do the work."
She gritted her teeth and pushed the memory away. She didn't need him. She could fix this herself.
The bell above the door chimed.
"Be right with you," she called out, voice muffled under the sink.
"Fire department." The familiar voice hit her like a physical blow. "Got a call about a water issue."
Hannah froze, wrench halfway through a turn. No. Not him. Not now.
Heavy boots crossed her kitchen floor. She could track his movement by sound alone—three steps to the prep table, two more to the sink. Then he was there, kneeling beside her, close enough that she could smell engine grease and coffee andhim.
"I've got it handled." Her voice was steady despite the water now dripping down her neck.
"I can see that." Was that amusement in his voice? She turned her head to glare at him and immediately regretted it. Jake was too close, his fire department t-shirt pulled tight across his shoulders as he leaned in to inspect her work.
"Coupling's stripped," he said, professional mask firmly in place. "You'll need to?—"
"Replace it. I know." Hannah reached for her toolbox without looking, but her wet hand slipped on the metal. The box clattered, scattering tools across the floor.
