Page 2

But how, was the question.

Outside, the wind howled hard enough to rattle the windows.

Then came a sound that made every muscle in her body go still.

Boots. On the roof.

Emily froze, the gingerbread man halfway to her mouth.

A second thud.

The movement was slow and heavy.

Emily’s gaze slowly lifted to the ceiling.

“… Please be Santa,” she whispered.

The footsteps stopped.

Silence settled over the kitchen.

Then…

The window above the prep sink rattled.

Emily grabbed the nearest weapon, which happened to be her heaviest ladle. She lifted it with every intention of whacking whoever, or whatever, was about to break into her bakery.

“I don’t think so.” She tightened her grip, moving along with her back against the wall.

The latch snapped open.

A blast of freezing air howled through the kitchen as the windowpane swung inward.

A pair of snow-covered boots landed squarely in her sink.

They were followed by sturdy legs, a climbing harness…

… and the rest of Cole Alders.

The local fire chief jumped down from the counter and landed on her floor with a solid thud, bringing half the blizzard with him and instantly making the kitchen feel half its actual size.

Broad shoulders strained against his turnout coat. His dark hair was damp with melting snow, his jaw rough with five o’clock shadow. His climbing harness sat buckled low across his hips in a way Emily was determined not to notice.

His steely gray eyes traveled from her face to the ladle in her hand.

One corner of his mouth lifted.

“Planning to baste me to death?”

Emily didn’t lower it. “Don’t tempt me.”

There it was. That infuriatingly calm expression.

The one that said he’d already assessed the situation, solved it, and was just waiting for her to catch up. He’d had that look their entire lives, and it had never failed to make her want to scream.

Cole had been her best friend once. Then he’d dared to call her nana a liar. Utterly, completely unforgivable.

She’d punched him in the face, of course.