She had believed in things. In the sweetness of trust, in the permanence of love.
But love had never been permanent for her. Not from her father. Not from Jake.
And yet, she still ached for him. Still wanted the lie, the illusion of safety that only his hands had ever given her.
A soft knock echoed against the glass.
Hannah looked up from the counter, her stomach tightening even before she saw him.
Jake stood outside in the rain, backlit by a flash of lightning, his damp jacket slung over one arm. He lifted a flashlight, his expression unreadable through the dim glow of the streetlights.
"Power's out on Main Street," he said when she unlocked the door. His voice was steady, quiet. "Just checking in."
Hannah scoffed, crossing her arms. "Routine patrol check?"
His lips quirked, but he didn't rise to the bait. "Something like that."
Another flicker of lightning illuminated the room, throwing sharp shadows across his face. The bakery suddenly felt too quiet, too small.
Without thinking, Hannah reached for the door and turned the lock behind him, the click somehow louder than the storm outside. Jake's gaze flickered to her hand, then back to her face. He didn't comment on it.
Instead, he stepped closer, his voice lower now, more personal. "You okay?"
Jake's voice was rough, thick with something she didn't want to name.
He stood close, close enough that she could see the strain in his jaw, the tension in his fingers where they curled into fists at his sides. His eyes flicked to the card, to the worn edges where she'd traced her grandmother's handwriting a hundred times before.
Hannah swallowed hard, looking down at the card, the ink smudged in places by years of use, of her grandmother's flour-dusted hands.
"I used to think as long as I had this bakery, I had her," she whispered. "Like the recipes could hold everything together."
Jake reached out, his fingers ghosting over the wooden box beside her, his touch reverent, as if he understood. Maybe he did.
"You still have her," he murmured. "And you have?—"
Me.
He didn't say it, but she heard it in the way his breath hitched, in the way his fingers twitched at his sides like he was holding himself back.
She should walk away. Should put up the walls she'd been carefully rebuilding brick by brick.
But she didn't.
Instead, she lifted her gaze to his, knowing full well what would happen when she did.
The air between them crackled, hotter than the lightning outside, thicker than the storm pressing against the windows.
Hannah let go of the recipe card. It fluttered to the counter as she took a step forward, closing the space between them.
Jake didn't move—not away, at least. His hands remained clenched at his sides, but his chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths.
"Hannah…"
She rose onto her toes, brushing her mouth against his. Just the barest contact, a whisper of warmth and longing.
A groan ripped from his throat.
Then he was kissing her like a man starved. Like he was drowning, and she was the only thing keeping him afloat.
