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She added the molasses. Reached for the rum extract.

Cole handed it to her before she had to look for it.

Around them, the kitchen had settled back into its rhythm. Kit was putting the final torch on her crème brûlée, a row of perfect custards lined up on her station. Mrs. Bishop had recovered from her embarrassment and was piping frosting onto gingerbread with the focus of a woman redeeming herself one cookie at a time. Cassidy’s hot chocolate cookies were cooling on the rack, done, and Cassidy herself leaned against her station, sipping from a mug, and watching Emily and Cole work together with an expression that was trying very hard not to be a smile. Cole had quietly set aside his own entry—his grandfather’s spice cake—and Emily realized with a start that it was already on the judges’ table. He must have finished before the Captain incident.

Twenty-eight minutes left.

She thought about the past week. About Cole showing up every day—at the station, at the bakery, on the delivery routes—not because anyone was watching and not to prove a point, but because there was work to do and he was going to do it. She’d watched him carry elderly residents’ groceries up icy steps. She’d watched him spend twenty minutes on a rooftop fixing someone’s satellite dish in subzero temperatures so they could watch their Christmas programs. She’d watched him crouch beside a broken generator and talk Walt through exactly what was wrong without making Walt feel stupid for not knowing.

She’d told herself it was just his job.

But it wasn’t. Cole cared for the people of Maple Falls the same way she did. They weren’t that different.

She added the orange zest, folding it in.

If Cole was brave enough to share his feelings while standing on a cold street after everything she’d done, she could at least be honest with herself.

Because if she was being truthful, she wasn’t just fantasizing about Cole. The attraction was there, the undeniable, inconvenient, burning-for-him attraction, but it wasn’t only that. She’d been watching him find his way into this town she loved, the town that had never made room for him, and she’d watched him show up for it anyway. For her friends and neighbors. For people he owed nothing to. For a grandfather who needed someone nearby and hadn’t asked.

She wanted to tell him that she saw who he was now. Not the enemy she’d made him into at ten years old. Not the Alders grandson. Not the man on a temporary contract counting down the months until he could leave. She wanted to tell him that she’d watched him become part of Maple Falls and that it had changed the way she saw him. Changed the way she saw everything.

She wanted to tell him she was falling for him.

She wasn’t sure when it had started. She suspected it had been happening for longer than she was comfortable admitting. But she knew it now, standing in her kitchen with flour on her hands and a batch of her grandmother’s cookies about to go in the oven, and she was done pretending otherwise.

The batch went in.

She checked the temperature three times.

Cole stood beside her, arms crossed, watching the oven like it might try something. “It’s at three-fifty,” he said.

“I know.”

“Just confirming.”

Their eyes met. She almost smiled. He almost smiled back.

Twelve minutes later, she opened the oven door and pulled out a tray of perfect sugar and spice cookies—golden brown at the edges, soft in the center, the cinnamon and orange and rum braiding together into the smell she remembered from every Christmas morning of her childhood. She stood there holding the tray, and for a moment, she couldn’t move.

“Those are it,” Cole said quietly. “Trust me.”

She set them on the rack to cool. Just before the timer for the judging rang, she carried her tray through the swinging door to the front of the bakery and placed it on the judges’ table next to Cole’s spice cake, Kit’s crème brûlée, Cassidy’s hot chocolate cookies, and Mrs. Bishop’s gingerbread.

The five of them stood behind the table and watched Edith, Mrs. C., and Madison work their way down the line. Mrs. C. made notes on a clipboard. Madison closed her eyes after each bite. Edith nodded and murmured and gave away absolutely nothing.

When Edith reached Emily’s cookies, she picked one up, broke it in half, and studied the cross-section. She took a bite. Chewed slowly. Her eyes went to Emily’s, and something in them warmed. Emily’s heart kicked hard against her ribs.

The judges conferred for what felt like an hour and was probably four minutes. The bakery was loud with conversation, but the five contestants stood in a quiet row behind the table and waited.

Edith rose from the judges’ table.

The bakery went very quiet.

Edith took the microphone and stood tall like the pillar of society that she was.

“It was a genuinely difficult decision,” she said. “Each entry today showed skill, creativity, and heart. This town should be proud of every person who stood at a station this morning.” She paused dramatically. “But the winner of this year’s Maple Falls Christmas Bake-Off is⁠—”

Emily stared at the counter. She couldn’t look at the judges. She couldn’t look at the crowd. She looked at the recipe card, at her grandmother’s handwriting, and thought: Whatever happens, we got it right. That’s enough.