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Cheers. Clapping. Cassidy actually squealed. Mrs. Bishop jumped up from her chair, which she almost never did without assistance. Madison grabbed Zach’s arm. Elsie panned the camera across the room, capturing every reaction.

“After a seventeen-year hiatus,” the mayor continued over the noise, “the town council has unanimously voted to bring back our most beloved holiday tradition, and Emily has graciously allowed us to use her bakery’s kitchen!”

Emily waved from the front window. Another round of applause.

The mayor continued. “The Maple Falls Christmas Bake-Off will take place in five days, right here. Entry is open to all residents. The winner will receive one thousand dollars to donate to the charity of their choice. Come see me for details!”

The room buzzed. People were already talking over each other: planning, debating, laying claim to categories they intended to dominate.

Cole stood in the doorway and said nothing.

He looked across the room at Emily.

She was already looking at him.

Her jaw was set. Her chin was up. The elf hat was slightly crooked, the jingle bell catching the light, and her eyes blazed with something that wasn’t really anger or excitement. If he were being honest, it was the most alive he’d ever seen her look.

She was going to enter. Of course she was.

And she was going to try to win with Nana’s sugar and spice cookies. The ones from the stolen recipe. The ones she still needed to get right.

Cole held her gaze across the crowded bakery.

He thought about his grandfather’s spice cake. The one Norma Steigler said the whole church missed. The one Mrs. Bishop had tried and failed to replicate. The one that had been, by every account, the best thing at the 2009 bake-off—better, even, than the cookies.

Emily narrowed her eyes at him, as if she could read the thought forming in his mind.

“Don’t you dare.”

“My grandfather’s spice cake,” Cole said. “I’m entering.”

Her chin came up slightly. Just enough that it drew his attention to the flush climbing her throat. The air between them grew hot and charged, like the moment before a lightning strike.

“Then I’ll see you at the bake-off, Alders.” She said it like a threat, standing close enough that he could see the exact moment her gaze dropped to his mouth and snapped back up.

Cole leaned in a fraction more, near enough that the heat of her body bled into his. “Looking forward to it, Whitaker.”

For one long, crackling second neither of them moved. Her eyes held his, daring him, and something hot and reckless coiled low in his gut. He wanted to back her against the bakery wall right there and find out exactly how that fire tasted.

She broke first—barely. A tiny, shaky exhale. She turned on her heel and walked away.

Cole stayed rooted in place, watching every step until she disappeared into the kitchen. His blood was still humming, questioning: How soon could he make her look at him like that again?

FIFTEEN

EMILY

Tuesday, December 15th

Emily was trying, and failing, to recreate her nana’s cookies in her bakery’s kitchen. Initially she thought the recipe wouldn’t be too hard to decipher; sure, the card was a smudged mess, but she was a baker, she could figure it out. And Emily had spent weekend after weekend by her grandmother’s side, learning all her secrets—or so she’d thought.

She must’ve stared at that recipe card for hours, willing the smudged ingredient to reveal itself. Nutmeg had given up heading home soon and had settled back down in his favorite napping spot in the window.

But it remained a mystery. Which was why she had four dozen spice cookies cooling on her countertops right now.

All Emily knew was that the secret ingredient wasn’t dark molasses, fresh ginger, or even the black pepper her mom had suggested. The cookies all tasted great. Delicious, even. She’d package them up for the daily deliveries, and people would love them. But they weren’t her nana’s cookies.

She could feel the difference, even if she couldn’t name it.