"Don't." Hannah's voice came out sharper than intended. "Don't lie to me. Not again."
His jaw tightened, but he didn't deny it. Instead, he moved to the counter, pulling out his wallet. "I'll take all of it."
Hannah's fingers curled against the glass case. "I don't want your charity."
"It's not charity." His voice was rough. "It's breakfast."
"For an entire fire station?" She laughed, the sound bitter. "They don't want my pastries, Jake. No one does."
"Hannah—"
"You can't fix this." The words felt torn from her chest. "You can't just buy everything and make it better. The town has made their choice. Maybe..." Her voice caught. "Maybe they're right. Maybe this town is better off without Sugar & Spice."
Jake went very still. "You don't mean that."
Hannah turned away, unable to look at him. Unable to see the concern in his eyes—concern that felt too real, too genuine for someone who had spent months pretending to care about her.
"It's just a building." She moved to straighten already-perfect displays, needing to do something with her hands. "Just walls and windows and memories I can't seem to let go of."
"This place is more than that." Jake took a step toward her, then stopped himself. "This is your grandmother's legacy. Your home."
"My home?" Hannah spun to face him, something breaking in her chest. "This hasn't felt like home since the moment those FBI agents walked through that door. Since the moment I realized everyone I trusted had been lying to me."
The accusation hung between them, heavy as storm clouds.
Jake flinched. "Hannah?—"
"You want to buy out my case?" She grabbed a box, movements sharp with anger and hurt. "Fine. Take it all." She started filling it with pastries, not caring if they got crushed. "Take everything. Just like you did before."
Jake's hand caught her wrist. Gentle. Warm. Unshakable.
"Stop."
The word wasn't a command. It was a plea.
Hannah froze, pulse hammering against her ribs. His thumb barely brushed the inside of her wrist, but it burned—a cruel reminder of how well her body still knew him. Still trusted him. Still reacted to him, even as her mind screamed at her to pull away.
"Let go." Her voice wasn't strong.
He did—immediately. But he didn't step back.
The air between them thickened, charged and suffocating.
"I know you're hurting," he said, voice low and intimate. "I know you don't trust me. But Hannah—this place? It's not just a building. It's you. Your heart. Your grandmother knew that. The town knows it too, even if they're too stubborn or too ashamed to admit it right now."
Hannah's vision blurred. No. She wouldn't cry. Not in front of him.
"You don't get to tell me what this place means," she whispered. "You don't get to stand there and pretend you care about my grandmother's legacy when you—" Her voice broke. Damn it. She sucked in a sharp breath, shoving the emotions down. "When you spent months lying to me in her kitchen."
Jake's breath hitched—like she'd just sliced through him with a knife.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then, in a slow, deliberate motion, he pulled out his wallet. Took out enough cash to clear the entire display case and set it on the counter.
"I'm taking these." His voice was steady, but his jaw was tight.
Hannah's fingers curled into fists. "I don't want your pity."
