"You're a terrible helper," I laugh, turning in his arms to face him.
"I'm an excellent helper," he protests, finally letting go to reach for the tray of cookies. "Ask anyone at the station. Chief says I'm indispensable."
"Chief thinks you're a pain in his ass," I correct fondly. "Especially since you convinced Austin to put tinsel on all the helmets."
"Festive safety equipment," Logan nods solemnly. "It was for morale."
As we stand at the display case together, Logan passes me each snickerdoodle with exaggerated care, his fingers lingering against mine with each handoff.
"This one's crooked," he murmurs near my ear, his breath warm against my neck as he adjusts a cookie I've just placed. His other hand settles naturally at my waist, thumb tracing small circles through my sweater.
I bump him gently with my hip, pushing him an inch away. "You're hovering."
"I'm supervising," he corrects, immediately stepping close again. He steals a broken cookie piece when he thinks I'm not looking, popping it into his mouth with a quick, guilty glance my way.
I catch his wrist mid-reach for another piece. "That's coming out of your share, Lieutenant."
His eyes crinkle as he leans down, pressing a cinnamon-sweet kiss to my temple. "Worth it," he whispers, and somehow manages to snag another cookie piece while distracting me with a second kiss at the corner of my mouth.
His laugh vibrates against my skin when I swat his hand away, but he doesn't move back, just adjusts his stance to accommodate me in his space as we continue working, his movements mirroring mine, anticipating where I'll reach next with the ease of years spent learning each other's rhythms.
"How was your shift?" I ask, noticing the slight shadows under his eyes.
"Long," he admits. "Had a call out to a chimney fire. Everyone's okay, but I missed our morning coffee."
I squeeze his hand briefly. "I saved you a cranberry scone."
The smile he gives me is soft around the edges. "See? This is why I married you."
"For the baked goods?"
"Among other things," he murmurs, pulling me closer for a quick kiss.
Twenty minutes later, we're bundled up and walking arm-in-arm down Main Street. The afternoon sun hangs low, casting long shadows across snow-dusted sidewalks.
Whitetail Falls looks like a postcard in December—storefronts glowing with string lights, wreaths on every door, the giant pine in the town square waiting for tonight's lighting ceremony.
"Oh," I remember suddenly, "Mrs. Kowalski wants us for dinner on Sunday. She said, and I quote, 'That husband of yours is getting too skinny,' which is objectively untrue but impossible to argue with."
Logan laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest where my head rests against his shoulder. "You can never be too skinnyfor Mrs. Kowalski. Remember when she tried to send Paul home with an entire pot roast after the winter festival?"
"His face," I giggle at the memory. "I didn't know the Chief could blush like that."
We pass Moonlight and Manuscripts, where Natalie waves at us through the window while helping a customer. Further down, the hardware store's windows are elaborately decorated with miniature winter villages, Eddie's handiwork evident in the detailed craftsmanship.
The familiar red brick of the fire station comes into view at the end of Emberstone Avenue. Engine 12 sits in the open bay, gleaming under the lights as Bradley polishes chrome fixtures with meticulous care.
"Price!" Paul calls from where he's checking equipment. "I thought you were off-duty. Don't tell me you miss us already."
"Just escorting my wife past all the dangerous ice patches," Logan calls back, his arm tightening around me playfully.
Paul rolls his eyes but can't quite hide his smile. He's softened over the years, especially since marrying Natalie. "Well, while you're here, remind Austin he's on decoration duty for the charity ball. And no more tinsel incidents."
"No promises," Logan grins.
As we continue past the station, Austin jogs out to meet us, cheeks flushed with cold or excitement or both.
"Savannah! Just the person I wanted to see," he says, falling into step beside us. "Do you think you could make those chocolate things with the espresso frosting for Michelle's birthday next week? I'll owe you forever."
