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Cole’s jaw tightened. “Joke all you want, you know I did the right thing. Kids need to be careful around water.”

“Right.” Emily folded her arms. “Because you were always so concerned about doing the right thing. Must run in the family.”

The air shifted.

Cole went very still. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Her eyes were bright now, sharp. “Don’t mention the bake-off of 2009? The biggest event of the holiday season? My nana’s sugar and spice cookies won five years running.”

“Emily—”

“Your grandfather knew he couldn’t beat her fair and square with his precious spice cake. So he stole her cookies. Cost her the title and the whole town the bake-off—canceled ever since.” She let out a hard breath.

“My grandfather did not steal those cookies.” His voice was flat and careful.

“Then who did?”

“I don’t know. But it wasn’t him.”

Emily gave a short, disbelieving laugh. “Spoken like a true Alders. Never take responsibility, never admit fault. Just like you and my lunchbox.”

“For the last time”—he said it slowly, deliberately, each word its own sentence—“I did not steal your lunchbox.”

“It was in your locker!”

“Someone put it there!”

Emily shook her head. “It was always you, Cole. It was always your family.” Her voice dropped, and something raw and almost fragile slipped out. “My grandpa trusted yours. They were best friends.”

“Your grandpa was wrong to accuse him. And he knew it, because they made up. Or did you conveniently forget that part?”

The silence that followed was a different kind than before. Heavier.

Emily clucked her tongue. “He was too forgiving,” she said.

“Or,” Cole said quietly, “he knew the truth.”

She stared at him. He stared back.

“The best day of my life,” she said finally, her voice tight, “was the day you left this town.”

“Is that so?” Cole cocked an eyebrow. “Your life must be pretty sad, then.”

Whatever insult Emily was about to throw at him died on her lips. She just glared at him, icy and fierce.

The electricity buzzed and popped. The lights died.

Emily sucked in a sharp breath.

Cole moved before he thought. He reached out in the darkness at the same moment she took a step forward. They collided hard enough that her shoulder hit his chest, and her hand landed flat against his stomach.

Both of them froze.

For one second, there was only the storm, the faint ticking of cooling ovens, and Emily Whitaker’s hand warm through his shirt.

Cole was instantly annoyed with himself for reacting to it.

Emily snatched her hand back as if he’d burned her. “Don’t touch me.”