Something flickered across his face—pain or resignation or both. But he nodded once, grabbing his jacket from the hook by the door.
Then he paused, his hand on the doorknob.
"For what it's worth?" His voice was barely more than a whisper. "I miss you."
Hannah's throat went tight. "Jake?—"
But he was already gone, the door clicking shut behind him.
Hannah pressed her hands flat against the counter, trying to steady herself. Her skin still tingled where he'd almost touched her. Her body still hummed with awareness of him.
And her heart—God, her heart still knew exactly how well they fit together.
Even if her head knew better.
Even if nothing could ever be the same.
Hannah's apartmentfelt too quiet as she moved through her evening routine. The kitchen was small but efficient—just like the rest of the space above Sugar & Spice. She'd always loved how cozy it felt.
Now it just felt empty.
She reached for spices without thinking. Her hand closed around the jar of smoked paprika Jake had insisted on buying—"Trust me, sweetheart, it'll change your life."She'd rolled her eyes then, but he'd been right. It had become her secret ingredient in almost everything.
Her throat tightened as she looked at the two chicken breasts in the pan.
Two. She'd done it again.
The sound of them cooking in the hot oil seemed too loud in the quiet kitchen. She'd gotten used to other sounds—Jake's running commentary as he "helped" cook, the oldies station playing low in the background, his laugh when she'd dance while stirring sauce.
Hannah reached for another pan, muscle memory taking over. She'd make extra vegetables too, because Jake always?—
Her hands stilled on the handle.
No.
She didn't need extra vegetables.
She wasn't cooking for two anymore.
She looked around her kitchen with new eyes, seeing all the ways he'd left his mark. The fancy coffee maker he'd bought when he'd practically moved in. The magnetic knife strip he'd installed because he'd insisted her knife block took up too much counter space. The spice rack he'd built, perfectly sized for her collection.
Her gaze landed on the dining table—the small one tucked against the window where they'd eaten countless meals together. Where he'd pulled her into his lap more times than she could count, pressing kisses to her neck until dinner got cold.
She couldn't sit there.
Instead, she carried her plate to the kitchen counter, perching on one of the high stools. The chicken was perfectly seasoned—paprika and all—but it tasted like ash in her mouth.
The corporate letter sat on the counter beside her, the edges creased from how many times she'd read it. A way out. A fresh start. A chance to leave all these memories behind.
But even as she thought it, her eyes landed on the honey jar sitting on the counter. Jake's honey jar. He'd always insisted on keeping it within reach, dipping a spoon in absentmindedly while she baked, grinning when she caught him. She hadn't been able to move it. Just like she hadn't been able to throw out the extra toothbrush in her bathroom or wash the sweatshirt he'd left draped over her reading chair.
It sat there, untouched, the crystallized honey clinging to the edges—a quiet, stubborn reminder of everything she'd lost.
The sound of a siren wailed in the distance—probably his engine, heading to another call. Her fingers tightened around her fork.
This was ridiculous.
She was ridiculous.
