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“How bad is it out there?” Mr. Alders asked eventually.

“Bad. Power’s out across the whole downtown. Dozens of trees down, power lines everywhere. Utility company’s going to be days getting to all of it.”

“The Hendersons?”

“Checked on them this morning. Fireplace is going. They’ve got enough wood.”

“Norma Steigler?”

“Kit’s with her.”

Mr. Alders nodded slowly, satisfied. He took a sip of his coffee. “I heard Mrs. Myers’ bakery is helping to feed everyone.”

Cole didn’t correct him. Mrs. Myers had sold the bakery a handful of years ago to Emily. Cole wasn’t exactly sure how many. But it didn’t matter. The Pumpkin Pie Bakery would always be Mrs. Myers’ bakery to his grandfather. “Yeah, the kitchen’s acting as a hub. Emily opened it up this morning. She’s got soup, bread, and a place to warm up. Elsie got the word out. Half the town’s been through already.”

“Good.” His grandfather said it simply, the way he said most things. “Her grandmother would’ve done the same. Never could sit still when people needed something. Had to feed them, had to fix it, had to make it right.” He looked into the fire. “Stubborn women, those Whitakers. Every last one of them.”

Cole said nothing.

This was the moment he could have said it. Could have told his grandfather that Emily had found her nana’s sugar and spice cookie recipe, that the accusation had come out of her mouth before the tin was even properly open. That, after all these years and everything the family had been through, she still believed what the whole town believed.

He looked at his grandfather’s face, at the ease that had settled in, and couldn’t do it. He’d made peace with whatever had happened all those years ago, and Cole wasn’t going to be the one to disturb that.

“She’s got a good setup in that kitchen,” Cole said instead. “Wood-fired stove’s working. Plenty of stock in the pantry.”

“Good, good.” Mr. Alders took another sip.

Cole nodded, drank his coffee, and let the conversation move on. His grandfather let him, which meant the old man had noticed the hesitation and chose not to push. He did that. Gave Cole room not to say things. Cole had always been grateful for it, even when it meant carrying the unsaid things alone.

They talked about the generator for a while. About the bridge that needed replacing. About whether the roof had held up the way Cole had promised it would, which it had, and his grandfather acknowledged that with a single nod.

“I should head back,” Cole eventually said, setting his mug down.

“Drive careful.” His grandfather replied in the same way he would’ve if it were sunny outside, rather than a once-in-a-decade blizzard.

Cole pulled on his coat and crossed to the door. He was halfway to the snowmobile when his grandfather said his name.

He turned.

Mr. Alders stood in the doorway, one hand on the frame, the firelight behind him. He looked at Cole for a moment. Just looked, the way he did when he was deciding whether to say something.

He decided against it.

“Good work today,” he said. “Your grandmother would’ve said the same.”

Cole nodded, not allowing the emotion to get the best of him.

He got on the snowmobile and pulled out of the driveway. He didn’t look back, but he knew the porch light stayed on until he rounded the corner.

It always did.

The ride back was cold and quiet. The town sat still and dark around him, just the distant glow of a few scattered windows and the low hum of generators breaking the silence. Cole’s breath fogged in front of him and disappeared.

His thoughts kept returning to the mystery.

Someone had taken those cookies all those years ago.

It hadn’t been his grandfather.