Jake froze, one arm in his jacket. "What?"
"The oven." Her voice was clipped, but there was an edge beneath it—something raw, uncertain. "I—I smelled gas, and Ipanicked. I just—I know what to do, I should just fix it myself but for some reason I called—" She cut herself off, like she hated admitting it.
Jake was already moving, throwing open the firehouse doors. "I'm on my way."
"Jake, no, you don't have to?—"
But he was already hanging up.
By the timehe jogged down the street to Sugar & Spice, his pulse was a war drum in his ears.
Hannah stood just inside the entrance, arms wrapped around herself, lookingsmallin the dim light.
She saw him and immediately stiffened. "Jake, I told you it wasn't?—"
He brushed past her, heading straight for the kitchen. "Did you shut off the gas main?"
"Yes."
He checked it anyway, flipping open the access panel beneath the ovens. The valve was off, just like she said. Still, he scanned the area, testing the air, making sure?—
No leak.
No danger.
Just a simple, minor issue.
He exhaled slowly, tension coiling and releasing in his chest.
When he turned, Hannah was leaning against the counter, watching him with guarded eyes.
"Your pilot light's fine," he said. "Just needs to be relit."
She nodded, exhaling. "Iknewthat."
Jake grabbed a long-reach lighter from a drawer and crouched down to ignite the small blue flame. The oven flickered to life, steady and sure.
When he stood, Hannah still hadn't moved.
Jake rubbed the back of his neck. "So, uh. That's it."
Silence.
Then:
"I called you."
It wasn't a question. Just a quiet, painful admission.
Jake swallowed. "Yeah."
"I should have called a repairman. Or figured it out myself." She shook her head, gaze dropping to the floor. "But the moment I smelled gas, I—" She broke off, pressing a hand to her forehead.
Panic.
She had panicked.
And she had calledhim.
