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It was Zach and Madison’s now, Zach having been restoring it for the past two years. Emily loved that they’d be growing a family there, building their own traditions. But it was also the place where they’d had Sunday family dinners, cousin birthday parties, and reunions. Where Uncle Bill, long since passed, would dress up as Santa Claus and bring a gift for every single cousin. Where Nana made her holiday green punch—infamous because you never knew what was in it or how bad your hangover would be the next morning. Where they’d all sing Christmas carols around the piano while Nana played, and Grandpa capped the night off reading ’Twas the Night Before Christmas in his deep, steady voice, the little kids piled on the floor at his feet.

“Okay, they’re very important cookies,” Zoe amended. “But you’ll get there.”

“Will I? The clock is ticking.” Emily pulled off her mitts. “And I don’t even know what I’m doing wrong. They taste good. They smell right. They’re just not⁠—”

“Hers,” Zoe said gently.

“Hers,” Emily agreed.

Emily walked to the front of the house to see if anyone wanted free cookies. The spice cookies might not have been Nana-worthy, but they were still cookies.

The front door opened on a gust of cold air, and Mayor Bloomfield and Edith swept in, rosy-cheeked and bundled to the ears. Edith had managed to pin her elf hat to her updo, which was impressive, seeing how windy it was outside. The mayor was in an ice-blue suit with a white shirt and a silver tie under his black wool coat, because Mayor Bloomfield dressed for the occasion regardless of the occasion.

“Good morning, elves! How goes it?” Bloomfield aired out his coat and surveyed the bakery. “Brutal out there,” he continued, rubbing his gloved hands together. “Absolutely brutal. Reminds me of the winter of ’87. Storm hit the first week of December, and we stayed frozen solid until Valentine’s Day.”

“I remember that,” Edith said, slipping off her coat. “I was convinced spring was never coming. I nearly packed up and moved to Florida.”

“Don’t say that,” Zoe said, coming from the back. “Spring is my favorite season.”

“Spring’s not going anywhere,” Bloomfield assured her. “We always get there eventually. Just takes a little faith in Mother Nature.” He turned to Emily with the warm, genuine gratitude she’d come to recognize beneath all the showmanship. “Can’t thank you enough for keeping this town fed, Emily. Truly.”

“Happy to do it,” Emily said, and meant it.

Edith’s gaze landed on the plate of cookies. “How are they coming along?”

“It’s probably best you didn’t ask,” Zoe said cheerfully, before Emily could answer.

Emily shot her a look. Zoe patted her arm.

The lights flickered.

Then, with a soft, collective hum, the power came back on. Every overhead light brightened. The display cases hummed to life. The espresso machine gurgled. Out through the front window, Emily could see the Christmas lights strung along Oak Way flickering awake one by one, amber and gold and deep red, the whole street shaking off the dark like it was coming up from underwater.

A cheer rose from somewhere down the block.

“Well, would you look at that,” Mayor Bloomfield said softly.

Emily stood at her front counter and watched the lights come on and felt herself take her first full deep breath in days. She’d loved the wood-fired stove, loved the strange intimacy of the past few days, baking by firelight in a town that had gone quiet and close. But she’d missed running her bakery. She’d missed being able to bake six batches at once and not have to choose between bread and cookies. She’d missed whipping up buttercream and piping Christmas cookies, creating different holiday coffees, and gossiping with Mrs. C. while stocking the display cases.

She was already calculating what she could do with four working ovens when the front door opened again.

“Just here for the deliveries,” Cole said.

Captain echoed the sentiment with a joyful “Woof!”

Emily thought for a moment that Irish setters were very beautiful dogs, with their long mahogany ears and their feathery tails and their enormous liquid eyes. The thought didn’t last.

Because Captain had just spotted Nutmeg.

The dog stood at alert. Then he let out a bark that rattled the display case and lunged forward, all seventy pounds, ready to greet Nutmeg.

“Captain.” Cole’s voice was firm. He tightened the leash in one fast motion, pulling the dog back. “Enough.”

Captain did not feel he’d had enough. Captain felt he was very close to something wonderful and was being denied it.

Nutmeg, who had been asleep in the window, opened one eye, assessed the situation, and made a sound from somewhere deep in his chest that sounded like a mix of a hiss and a growl. Then he flicked his tail, dropped off the ledge, and bolted behind the counter faster than Emily thought possible.

“What the hell, Cole?” Emily turned on him.