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Walt shook his hand. Then he turned to Emily and did something she didn’t expect. He squeezed her arm, briefly, the way a grandfather would.

“You’re good to come out here,” he said simply. “She lights up when she sees new faces. Even when she can’t always place them.”

Emily nodded. She didn’t trust her voice.

They stepped outside into the cold. The sun was lower now, the shadows from the pine trees stretching long across the snow.

Neither of them said anything.

Emily sent Robyn and Krista a quick text, letting them know their grandparents were okay, and that Cole had gotten the generator up and running. They’d have their cell phones charged and able to text them soon.

Cole climbed on the snowmobile; Emily followed suit.

As they pulled out onto the trail, Emily pressed her cheek against his back and watched the frozen lake disappear behind the trees.

She didn’t think about the feud. She didn’t think about the cookies.

She thought about Walt’s thumb moving across Alice’s knuckles, and how love, real love, could look so vast, like any anger and fighting could never touch the sides.

She wondered if she’d ever have that.

Cole took the turn onto the main road and her arms tightened around him instinctively. His hand came down and covered hers for just a second—steadying her, nothing more—before returning to the handlebar.

Emily closed her eyes against his back and didn’t say a word.

FOURTEEN

COLE

Monday, December 14th

Cole was doing everything to ignore Emily pressed against his back.

It wasn’t working.

Every time he accelerated, she shifted forward; and every time she shifted forward, her arms tightened at his waist; and every time her arms tightened, he could feel the warmth of her through his coat. Her cheek was against his shoulder blade. He could feel her breathing. Slow and steady, the rhythm of someone who had stopped fighting the proximity and just given in to it, which was somehow worse than if she’d been rigid and resistant.

And now?

He couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like without the coat. Just her hands. Her fingers spread across his stomach, sliding lower, her breath warm against the back of his neck while he⁠—

He downshifted hard and the snowmobile lurched.

“Easy!” Emily snapped behind him.

“Pothole,” he said, which was a lie. The road was perfectly flat.

Yeah. He needed to get away from Emily Whitaker and clear his head. Take Captain for that walk, burn off whatever this was that kept building in his chest every time she got within arm’s reach.

Oak Way was in better shape now, two days of steady plowing having carved it back into something resembling an actual road. The snowbanks on either side were still shoulder-high, but the pavement was visible, scattered with salt, and the utility trucks were out in force. Cole nodded at a lineman working on a pole near the hardware store; the man was suspended fifty feet in the air, relying on his harness to keep him safe. The power was coming back, piece by piece. The town was clawing its way out.

He pulled up in front of the Pumpkin Pie Bakery, planning to drop Emily off.

A sign hung on the front door beneath the CLOSED placard.

SUGAR AND SPICE COMMUNITY KITCHEN OPEN

The display cases beyond the windows were dark, the chalkboard menu had been wiped clean, and there wasn’t a pastry box or coffee order in sight. The bakery had stopped functioning as a bakery two days ago. Everything coming out of Emily’s kitchen now was part of the relief effort: soup, fresh bread, cookies, whatever could be made in bulk and carried where it was needed.