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Anita nodded. “Yes.”

“He’s annoying.”

Anita smiled. “That too.”

“He pushes me.”

“Usually when you need pushing.”

Emily gave her a watery look. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I am on your side. That’s why I’m telling you don’t let fear trick you into running away.”

That one hurt a little.

Anita squeezed her hand. “Fear will tell you to run the second something matters. Fear will call it self-protection. But sometimes, sweetheart, it’s just your heart trying to leave first so it doesn’t have to be left behind.”

Emily pressed her lips together.

“I can’t promise you Cole will never hurt you,” Anita said. “No mother can promise that about anyone. But I can tell you this. The right person won’t punish you for being scared. He’ll give you reasons, every day, to be a little less scared.”

Emily looked up.

“And from what I’ve seen,” Anita said, her mouth curving, “Cole Alders is the right person.”

“And the old family feud?” Emily asked her mom.

Anita sat back and wrapped both hands around her own cup. “I never held any stock in it. You know that. Your grandfather and Gary Alders had a falling-out—a painful one, yes, and real—but they made up. By February, they were sitting at the same table at church, and by spring, they were fishing together the same as they always had.” She paused. “Whatever happened to your nana’s cookies, your grandfather decided that his friendship with Gary was worth more than being right about it.”

“Everyone keeps saying that,” Emily said. “Like it proves something.”

“Doesn’t it?”

Emily looked at her cup.

“Your nana’s heartbreak was never about the competition,” Anita said. “She didn’t care about the trophy. She cared about what the fight did to the town. The way people took sides. The way something she’d made with love got turned into ammunition.” She paused, taking a moment to gather her words. “She hid the recipe because she didn’t want it to be a source of fighting anymore. She wanted it to be found years later when the fighting was done.”

Emily thought about the letter. The careful handwriting. For a future generation to find.

“She’d be so proud of you,” Anita said. “Not for winning the bake-off. Not for the recipe. For—” She gestured softly. “For remembering what the holidays are all about—spending quality time with loved ones, connecting with community, forgiveness.”

“Thank you. But I can’t take all the credit. Cole is the one who reminded me,” Emily answered honestly. “And we’re still looking into the mystery. More just to solve it once and for all.”

“I don’t see any harm in that. In fact, it might even bring you two closer together.”

Emily thought about the evening spent with Cole in his kitchen and agreed. “We found a new lead actually… a Douglas Merritt? Mayor Bloomfield’s half-brother. He was entered in the 2009 competition and apparently needed the money badly and was in and out of the bakery that morning asking Nana about her recipe.”

Something moved across Anita’s face.

It was brief—a flicker—there and gone, so quickly Emily might have missed it if she hadn’t been looking directly at her.

“Douglas Merritt,” Anita said. Evenly. Pleasantly.

“You knew him?”

“A little. He was older than me. He left town not long after that Christmas.” She turned her cup slightly in her hands. “I remember him being—difficult. Very focused on winning.”

“Do you think he could have taken the cookies?”