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Robyn looked at Emily for a long moment. “You really don’t like this guy.”

“I really don’t.”

“But he came to get you out of the bakery last night…” she started to say.

“Because Jackson called him.”

“And he stayed with you all night.” Cassidy now.

“Because we were snowed in.”

“And now he’s running the town’s relief effort out of your kitchen,” Robyn continued.

Emily said nothing.

Robyn picked up her cocoa. “Must be exhausting. Hating someone that much.”

Emily looked at her. Then at Cassidy, who was studying her marshmallows with enormous concentration.

“Oh, you have no idea,” Emily said quietly.

They worked in silence for a few minutes. Cassidy cut. Robyn trimmed. Emily glued and stitched and tried not to think about anything except the precise placement of jingle bells.

“Can I ask something?” Robyn said in the careful way she asked things when she knew she was stepping somewhere tender.

“You’re going to anyway.”

“Was there ever anything between you two? Before the fallout? Even a kid version of it?”

Emily shook her head. “We were ten. It wasn’t like that. He was just—he was my person. The one I told things to.” She stitched a bell into place. “That’s all it was.”

“And since then?” Cassidy asked. She was absolutely not making eye contact on purpose. “Has there been anyone who⁠—”

“Who what? Swept me off my feet?” Emily laughed, but it came out thinner than she intended. “No. There have been guys. Nice guys, mostly. A sous chef I dated for six months who couldn’t handle the hours I kept. An architect from two towns over who Zach set me up with—that lasted about four dates before we ran out of things to say. A summer thing with a guy I met at a food festival in Traverse City. He was sweet.” She paused. “They were all sweet.”

“But?” Robyn said.

Emily looked at the hat in her hands.

“But I’ve never been in love,” she said. “Which sounds dramatic and sad, and I don’t mean it that way. I’ve had an open heart. I’ve wanted to fall. Every single time, I’ve gone in hoping this would be the one that felt different.” She turned the hat over, smoothed the felt. “It just never did.”

Cassidy set down her scissors. “Em.”

“It’s fine. I made my peace with it. I told you last year I should just date my stand mixer because at least it never lets me down.” She picked up the next hat. “Some people just aren’t built for romance.”

“Or,” Robyn said gently, “some people haven’t met the right person yet.”

“Or,” Emily countered, reaching for a jingle bell, “some people have a father who walked out when they were seven and a best friend who left when they were ten and a very reasonable suspicion that everyone eventually leaves, and maybe that makes it a little hard to let someone all the way in.”

She said it lightly. Like a joke. Like something she’d said before and had gotten comfortable with the shape of.

Cassidy and Robyn were both looking at her.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Emily said. “I’m fine. I have my bakery and my cat and my friends and an absolutely unhinged amount of Christmas spirit. I’m good.”

“You’re good,” Cassidy repeated.

“I’m great.”