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He could picture her with her fur-trimmed hoodie, blue eyes blinking while she took in the information, those perfectly pink lips of hers pursed in thought.

“Well,” Emily said, recovering. “That’s one theory.”

“It’s common sense, is what it is.” Norma picked up her needle again. “Now. Is there anything else you two need, or are you just going to sit in my living room all afternoon looking like you want to murder each other?”

Russell yapped once from the couch cushion, as if in agreement.

They stepped outside into the cold, the door clicking shut behind them. Cole pulled on his gloves and said nothing. He was still thinking about the spice cake. About the church. About the smile he hadn’t been able to stop.

Emily lasted four seconds.

“Don’t get too excited,” she said. “One person’s opinion doesn’t prove anything.”

“She didn’t just say she thought he was innocent. She said there was no reason for him to do it. There’s no motive!”

“According to her.”

“It’s more than you’ve got.”

Emily muttered something under her breath that he chose not to hear and climbed onto the snowmobile behind him. Her arms went around his waist because there simply wasn’t any other place for her to put them.

Cole started the engine.

The road back was rough with fresh snow, and when he took the first turn Emily’s body slid against his—her arms tightening, her thighs pressing against his—her whole weight shifting into him for one long, warm second before she corrected.

“Sorry,” she said, into his shoulder.

“You’re fine,” he said, which was a lie, because nothing about having Emily Whitaker pressed against his back on a snowmobile in December was fine.

Years of distance had vanished in a heartbeat. The girl he’d loved, the friend he’d lost, had somehow become this woman he couldn’t stop wanting.

It was madness.

And he was running out of reasons to fight it.

THIRTEEN

EMILY

Monday, December 14th

The wind off the lake was brutal. It cut through her gloves, numbed her fingers, found every gap between her scarf and her collar, and drove needles of cold into the exposed skin. Tucking her face against the broad plane of Cole’s back was the only way to keep the air from hitting her directly, and if meant she could smell leather and woodsmoke and something underneath that was just him? Well, she was a strong woman. She’d do what she had to do.

She kept her eyes open and focused on the lake instead.

It was stunning, even in the aftermath of the storm. The frozen lake stretched out like glass, broken only by the occasional snow gale sweeping across in glittering swirls. Sunlight hit the ice crystals and threw them back blindingly bright, the whole landscape sparkling like someone had hung a chandelier across the shore.

In a few days, people would be back out there. Ice skating at the community park, renting skates from the pop-up stand. Ice fishing in their ice shanties, some complete with cots, heaters, and mini fridges. Cassidy would be slammed at the Cocoa Corner, selling her famous spiced cocoa recipe, the family recipe that went back generations. And the Christmas festivities would kick into full gear: the tree lighting ceremony, the light-up competition, the Santa House where kids could sit on Santa’s knee, the holiday train chugging through downtown.

Emily was ready for it. All of it. Ready for life to snap back to normal. Ready for the cleanup crews to finish their work and the power to come back and the roads to clear and Cole Alders to go back to his fire station and stay there.

Although.

She thought, briefly and against her will, about the way he’d crouched on Norma’s porch and fixed the loose Christmas lights without being asked. About the mail run across the street in the snow. About the way he’d said I’ll mention it to him, he might like knowing it’s missed—quietly, like it mattered to him, like the idea of his grandfather being appreciated by this town was something he’d been wanting to hear for a long time and hadn’t expected to.

She’d watched his face when Norma talked about the spice cake. She’d seen the smile—the real one, not the professional one—and her heart had squeezed, just a little.

It didn’t mean anything. Cole was doing his job. Helping people was literally what he was paid for.