"Hannah."
She could hear it in his tone—the knowing.The way he always seemed to read between the lines, no matter how carefully she tried to weave them together.
Her fingers curled around the mop handle.
"Someone left something outside the bakery."
Silence. Heavy, thick, stretching between them like a taut wire.
Then, his voice, low and sharp. "What was it?"
She hesitated. "Flowers."
His inhale was sharp, almost violent. "Explain."
Her throat ached. "A dead bouquet. And… a note."
"Jesus, Hannah." The sound of movement, of keys jingling.
"It'sflowers, Jake."
"It's a threat." His voice was a low growl. "I'm coming over."
"No." She pinched her eyes shut. "Jake?—"
"I'm already in my truck."
She let out a shaky breath, pressing a hand to her forehead. "I shouldn't have called."
"Yeah, well, you did."
Hannah exhaled sharply, and ended the call, dropping the phone onto the counter with a quiet thud.
She should be mad. Should be annoyed at his overprotectiveness, his inability to listen to what she wanted.
But she wasn't.
Because the truth was, shedidwant him here.
And that terrified her more than the flowers, more than the shadows pressing against the windows, more than the feeling of being watched.
Because every time she let him in, every time she let herself lean on him, she forgot the most important thing.
Jake Cooper had broken her once.
And she was a fool for letting herself believe he wouldn't do it again.
The rumbleof Jake's truck was loud in the stillness of the dawn.
Hannah stood in the bakery's doorway, arms crossed tight over her chest as he parked haphazardly in front, climbing out before the engine had fully stopped.
His eyes raked over her, sharp and assessing, like he was scanning for damage.
And then he was in front of her, too close, smelling like soap and sleep and Jake.
"What thefuck,Hannah." His voice was low and furious. "What were you thinking, dealing with this alone?"
"Iwasdealing with it."
