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“Think,” Cassidy said simply. “That’s all. Just think first.”

Emily opened her mouth. Closed it.

“Last Christmas,” Cassidy said.

Emily felt something cold move through her that had nothing to do with the snow outside.

“Cassidy—”

“The Gingerbread Jerk.” Cassidy said it with love, which somehow made it worse. “You came flying into my shop. You had a whole theory. Someone was targeting the Christmas displays, ruining the window decorations, the wreaths, the outdoor displays all along Oak Way.” She paused. “You coined the hashtag. It went viral.”

“I know,” Emily said, very quietly.

“And did it turn out to be a Gingerbread Jerk?”

Emily looked into her mug.

“No,” she said.

“What was it?”

An even longer pause.

“Raccoons,” Emily said.

“Raccoons,” Cassidy confirmed, without a trace of satisfaction in it. “Just regular raccoons doing regular raccoon things.” She tucked her feet up underneath her. “And today, after the interviews didn’t go how you expected, what did you do?”

“I went back to accusing his grandfather,” Emily finished.

She said it to the mug. She couldn’t look at Cassidy.

“Why?” Cassidy asked. Not pressing. Just asking, the way you asked someone a question when you genuinely wanted the answer and were prepared to wait for it.

Emily was quiet for a long time. Muff shifted and resettled, her warm weight steady against Emily’s leg.

“I don’t trust people,” she said finally.

Cassidy didn’t say anything. She just waited.

“I know that’s—I know how that sounds. I have people I trust. I trust you. I trust Zach and my mom. But underneath that there’s always this—” She stopped. Started again. “My dad left when Zach and I were little. He didn’t say he was going. He just wasn’t there one morning. And my mom tried to explain it, but I was seven, and I didn’t understand how someone could just—decide you weren’t worth staying for.”

She paused.

“And then Madison left,” she said. “For the city. I told myself I understood. I told myself it was fine. But there was a part of me that thought—this is what people do. They decide somewhere else is better and they go, and you’re left holding everything you thought was solid.”

“You never told her that,” Cassidy said softly. It wasn’t a question.

“No.” Emily shook her head. “She’s back now and we’re still friends, and I never told her. Because what would be the point? It’s old news.” She looked at the tree. At the ornaments, each one in its place, the whole glittery mess of it. “But that part of me never went away. It’s exhausting, honestly. Loving people and being terrified of them at the same time.”

“It is,” Cassidy said. “It really is.”

“I’ve been doing it with Cole.” Emily said it like a confession. “Every time things started to feel different—every time I started to think maybe I had him wrong—there was this voice that said, don’t. Don’t trust it. He’ll disappoint you. He’ll leave. He’ll turn out to be exactly what you always thought he was.” She pressed her lips together. “And today when the investigation hit a brick wall the voice just—” She gestured vaguely. “It found the nearest available target.”

“Cole,” Cassidy said.

“Cole,” Emily agreed.

The apartment was warm and quiet. Muff sighed contentedly. Outside, through the window, Emily could see the edge of the Christmas lights on Oak Way, the soft glow of them.