Page 58

Friday, December 18th

Cole opened the back kitchen door and was met with more elves than he was expecting, and it wasn’t because Christmas was exactly one week away.

The blizzard had moved on, and Maple Falls was slowly thawing out. Plows had cleared the main roads, sidewalks were salted, and the worst of it was behind them. Which meant today marked the last official day of Operation Sugar and Spice. One more day of deliveries, and then everything would be wrapped up.

But these elves weren’t making soup or packing baskets.

They were baking.

Cooling racks lined the counter in rows, each holding a different batch of cookies—some darker than others, some slightly larger, some with crystallized sugar on top, he could clock from across the room. There were mixing bowls stacked in the sink, measuring spoons spread across the prep table, and six women deliberating around the center island.

Cassidy glanced up when he walked in and gave him a little wave. Emily, without looking up from her notepad, rolled her eyes. He ignored that.

Just like he was ignoring how good she looked in that deep V-neck sweater. The rich green fabric clung to her curves, the neckline dipping just enough to show a hint of collarbone. His gaze went there for half a second before he pulled it back.

He knew exactly how she felt. That was the problem. He’d spent the week trying to unknow it, and his body wasn’t letting him. The weight of her in his hands. The sounds she made when he touched her. The way she’d felt around him—warm and tight and perfect—when she’d sunk down onto him on that pantry floor and the whole world had narrowed to her.

Last night, lying on his bunk with Captain sprawled across his feet, his imagination had taken it considerably further. He’d thought about having her at the station with her back against the brass pole, his hands bracing her hips, her fingers curled around the cool metal above her head as he dropped to his knees and took his time with her. He’d imagined her trying to stay quiet and failing, her thighs trembling against his shoulders, her grip tightening on the pole as he worked her over the edge. And then standing, pressing the full length of his body against hers, feeling her breathless and undone against him, pushing into her slowly until she was full of him and the smart remarks had finally, completely, run out.

He made himself think clearly. In nine months, he’d be gone. Engine 54. Rivera and Cho. His captain holding the spot. The city that made sense, the career he’d built, the life that was waiting for him on the other side of this temporary assignment in a town he’d left at ten years old for good reason.

So whatever was happening between him and Emily Whitaker—whatever his body remembered, and his brain kept replaying at midnight—couldn’t become anything more than frustration. They could barely stand in the same room without arguing. She drove him out of his mind, challenged everything he said, and carried a grudge against his family that neither of them seemed capable of letting go.

Nine months, he told himself again.

As if the reminder would stop him from wanting her.

Anita came over, wiping her hands on her apron. Her dark pixie cut was tucked under her elf hat, which matched her oversized red Christmas sweater perfectly.

“Good morning. I’m sorry, we’re not quite ready for you today. Afraid we got a little sidetracked with our cookie experiment.” She smiled up at him, blue eyes bright with amusement—the same shade as Emily’s, though he couldn’t remember the last time Emily’s had looked at him with anything close to warmth.

“Oh?” said Cole, despite having told himself thirty seconds ago that he was not getting involved.

“Don’t worry, I think they’re close to cracking it.” Anita was already moving toward the coffee machine. “Here, let me get you a cup and a few cookies. I’ll finish packaging up the soup. Bread should be out of the oven shortly.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” Cole accepted the coffee and the plate she pressed into his hands and found a spot at the edge of the counter, out of the way. “Anything I can help with?”

“Oh no, you sit. Enjoy the cookies. Heaven knows we have more in this kitchen than we know what to do with.”

Cole smiled despite himself. He’d always liked Anita. Even when he was a kid, she’d had a way of making people feel welcome, as if feeding them and asking about their day were the easiest things in the world. It was only now, as an adult, that he understood how difficult those years must have been—moving back to her parents’ farm and raising Emily and Zach on her own, all while somehow remaining the brightest person in any room she entered.

He settled in unnoticed and sampled the cookie. It was good. Warm, nicely spiced. He reached for a second.

At the center island, the analysis was in full swing.

“It’s the butter,” Kit said. “She browned the butter. I’m sure of it.”

“I browned the butter on batch seven.” Emily pointed at a rack across the counter. “Taste batch seven. It’s not the same.”

“Maybe you browned it longer this time,” Kit suggested.

“How much longer?” Madison asked.

“I have no idea. It just tastes like brown butter,” Kit replied, completely unhelpful.

“There’s something underneath the cinnamon,” Madison said, breaking off a piece from the communal cookie.

“Deeper warmth. A different spice ratio.”