It was everything she'd ever wanted to be.
Hannah's hands curled into fists at her sides.
She wouldn't decide today. Couldn't decide today. Not when the memory of Mrs. Matthews' disappointment was still fresh. Not when her heart felt like it was being torn in two.
But maybe...
Maybe it was time to admit that some things couldn't be saved.
Maybe it was time to let go.
Hannah's armsached as she worked the dough, her movements precise despite her exhaustion. Without Sarah helping, everything took twice as long. But the repetitive motion was almost meditative—fold, press, turn. Again and again, letting muscle memory take over while her mind drifted.
The back door opened.
She knew it was Jake before she turned around. Could feel him like an electric current in the air, that familiar presence that still made her skin prickle even after everything.
"You shouldn't be here." Her voice came out steadier than she felt.
Jake didn't respond. Instead, she heard the sink running, the quiet clink of dishes being gathered. He'd shed his fire department jacket, his t-shirt pulling tight across his shoulders as he worked.
Hannah forced her eyes back to the dough. Fold, press, turn.
But her body remembered.
Remembered the way he'd taken her upstairs, his touch desperate and reverent all at once. Remembered his hands on her waist just days ago, pressing her against these same counters. Remembered the taste of flour on his tongue when he'd kissed her.
The dough stuck to her fingers. She'd lost her rhythm.
Jake moved behind her, reaching past to grab another dirty bowl. His arm brushed her back, sending a shiver down her spine. He was close enough that she could smell engine grease and coffee andhim.
"You don't have to do this," she said, hating how breathless she sounded.
"I know." His voice was low, rough. He didn't move away.
Hannah's hands stilled in the dough. She could feel the heat of him at her back, could practically taste the tension crackling between them.
"Jake."
His breath caught at the way she said his name.
"Let me help," he murmured, still too close, still not touching her. "Just... let me do this much."
Hannah closed her eyes. Because this—this was the problem. The way he could slip back into her life so easily. The way her body still knew his. The way everything feltrightwhen he was here, even though nothing was right at all.
She remembered the corporate letter sitting on her desk. Remembered why she couldn't let herself fall back into this pattern with him.
"I didn't ask for your help." She stepped away, putting distance between them. Her hands were shaking as she reached for more flour.
Jake was quiet for a long moment. Then the water started running again, the soft scrub of sponge against metal the only sound in the kitchen.
They worked in silence. Hannah shaped loaf after loaf, trying to ignore the way Jake moved around her with practiced ease. He knew this kitchen—knew where everything went, knew her rhythms, knew exactly how to stay out of her way while still being close enough to make her pulse race.
When the last dish was clean, he lingered by the sink. Hannah could feel his eyes on her as she slid the bread into the proof box.
"Hannah—"
"Thank you." She cut him off, turning to face him. "For helping. But you should go."
