He turned, grabbed his turnout jacket from the rack, and shouldered past the others.
Miller's voice stopped him before he reached the door.
"Cooper."
Jake turned.
The chief was watching him, eyes unreadable, arms crossed.
"You planning on making a habit of pissing off half the town?"
Jake forced a tight, humorless smirk. "Already done that."
Miller studied him a second longer, then sighed. "Just don't bring personal baggage into my firehouse."
Too late for that.
Jake stepped outside, the crisp air a punch to his overheated skin.
Hannah was already gone, already turned the corner back to her bakery.
Jake thought about the unpaid invoices, the regulars who had abandoned her, the broken window. The fire.
Jake felt something colder than regret.
He felt the distinct, bone-deep certainty that something was coming.
And that this time, he wouldn't be able to stop it.
The safety inspectionform felt heavy in Jake's hands as he approached Sugar & Spice. Morning sunlight caught on thecopper wind chimes Hannah's mother had hung years ago—the ones he'd fixed last spring when the mounting came loose.
Stop. Focus on the job.
But muscle memory betrayed him the moment he stepped inside. His eyes automatically checked the window frame he'd replaced, the counter he'd reinforced, the shelf he'd built for holiday displays.
Hannah stood behind the counter, spine straight as steel. She'd tied her hair back severely, no loose strands around her face like usual. Her fingers were arranging things with that precise, measured care she only used when she was barely holding it together.
"Fire safety inspection." His voice came out rougher than intended.
"Fine." She didn't look at him as she moved into the kitchen. "Let's get this over with."
The professional distance lasted exactly three minutes.
Then he caught himself reaching for the fire extinguisher without asking where it was. Because he knew. Because he'd mounted the bracket himself.
Hannah's breath hitched.
"Upper cabinet near the sink," she said tightly. "But you already knew that."
Jake forced his hands to his sides. "Sorry. I?—"
"Just do your job."
Right. His job. Check the extinguisher. Test the suppression system. Document everything with clinical precision.
But he couldn't stop noticing things.
The way she was organizing sugar containers by size instead of type—something she only did when anxious. The dark circles under her eyes that makeup couldn't quite hide.
