"This isn't pity." His eyes met hers—intense, unflinching. "It's me trying to remind you of who you are. Of what this place is. Because no matter what you tell yourself, Sugar & Spice is more than brick and mortar. It's your home. And I will not stand by and watch you throw it away."
His voice was fierce now, frustration laced with something deeper. Something dangerous.
She should tell him to go to hell. Tell him to leave, to take his money and his lies and get out. But her throat locked up, and instead, she just stood there, shaking.
Jake exhaled roughly. "Damn it, Hannah."
And then he kissed her.
Not soft. Not hesitant. Not careful like the last time.
This was desperate. Raw. A collision of pain and need and every unspoken thing between them.
Hannah gasped against his mouth, her fingers fisting in his jacket before she could think better of it. She should push him away.
But instead, she leaned in.
Because God help her, it felt too good. Too familiar. Too right.
His kiss was a confession, an apology, a promise he didn't have the right to make. He kissed her like she was still his, like she was still the woman who used to wake up tangled in his arms, the woman who used to believe in him.
And Hannah—weak, stupid Hannah—kissed him back.
She let him consume her, let herself drown in the feel of him, let herself forget—just for a second—that this was the man who'd shattered her world.
When Jake finally pulled back, his breathing was ragged. He rested his forehead against hers, his hands still holding her like he was afraid to let go.
His hands cradled her face, his thumbs brushing away tears before they could fall.
Hannah's chest heaved, her heart pounding so hard she swore he could feel it.
"That wasn't fair," she whispered, her voice wrecked.
Jake exhaled a broken laugh. "Nothing about this is fair."
A long, heavy silence stretched between them.
Then, before she could stop him, he picked up the pastry box himself.
Hannah stared. "What are you?—"
"I told you." His voice was gravel and resolve. "I'm taking these."
Then he walked to the door, as she stood there, shaking, breathless, and hating him.
Hating him for reminding her of what it felt like to be loved by him.
Hating him for the part of her that still wanted to believe it.
"And Hannah?" He paused in the doorway. "You're wrong about one thing. I neverpretendedto care about you. That was the one true thing in all of it."
The bell chimed as he left.
Hannah stood there for a long moment, staring at the money on her counter. Her hands shook as she reached for it.
It's just a building, she told herself. Just brick and mortar and broken dreams.
But as she looked around at her grandmother's kitchen, at the copper wind chimes that still caught morning light, at the worn wooden floors that held decades of memories—she knew she was lying to herself.
