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“You’re embroidering an elf hat for a man you claim to despise—”
Emily interrupted, “That’s called community spirit, Cassidy.”
Robyn smiled into her cocoa.
They worked through the rest of the hats while the movie played. Cassidy made an extra-large one for Liam and a smaller one for her goldendoodle, Muff. Robyn had done the same for Tyler and his daughter, Emma, adding extra glitter to the eight-year-old’s.
“If Emma was here, she’d make ones for the llamas at the Christmas tree farm too.” Robyn smiled while talking. “She’s insisting we donate our tree to the farm after the holidays.”
“Our tree?” Cassidy said over the rim of her hot cocoa.
“We’ve decided to move in together,” Robyn said, blushing while adding another pom-pom to Emma’s hat. “I’ve loved living above the bookstore, but…”
“You love the life you’re building with Tyler and Emma more,” Emily finished.
“Exactly. It just feels like the right step. I’m over there most nights as it is, and they’re my home.”
“Now you’re going to make me cry,” Cassidy said, putting down her cocoa and dabbing at her eyes with a bit of extra felt.
By midnight they had a stack of twenty-three completed elf hats, each with a jingle bell, white fur trim, and for the core team, names stitched along the brim.
Cole’s sat on top of the pile.
He was going to despise it.
Emily was very much looking forward to giving it to him tomorrow.
But later, after Cassidy was asleep with her reindeer antlers askew and Robyn was dozing against the armrest, Emily lay in the dark and stared at the ceiling and thought about Cole Alders tucked up in the pantry with her last night.
She thought about his hands.
His mouth.
Where they’d been. Where they hadn’t.
And wondered what would happen the next time they were alone.
TEN
COLE
Monday, December 14th
Cole spent the morning in his apartment the same way he’d spent the night before, thinking about two things: how to clear his grandfather’s name, and how to stop thinking about Emily Whitaker.
Bright winter light filtered through the blinds, while the radiator clanked beneath the window. Captain watched Cole pacing from the couch with growing suspicion.
“Ridiculous. She’s utterly ridiculous,” he told his pup.
Captain cocked his head to the side and paused for a bit before resting it back down on his paws. Unless Cole said “ball” or “treat,” he wasn’t interested.
Cole’s coffee sat untouched on the counter. He’d made it strong this morning, thinking it might help clear his mind, but he soon realized it was going to take more than dark roast to alter his thoughts.
His phone buzzed against the counter.
Rivera: How’s small-town life? Rescued any cats from trees yet?
Cole picked it up and typed back.
