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Then he stepped away and opened the truck door as calmly as if he hadn’t just melted every coherent thought in her brain.

“Let’s go find Norma.”

THIRTY-FOUR

COLE

Monday, December 21st

Cole was not-so-secretly hoping Norma wouldn’t be home.

Then they could claim they’d tried, abandon the investigation for the afternoon, and head back to his apartment.

But Norma Steigler answered the door on the first knock. She wore a cable-knit cardigan with a pincushion strapped to her wrist, three pins sticking out at angles, Russell already yapping from somewhere behind her knees.

“Emily Whitaker and Cole Alders,” Norma said, as if confirming something she’d already decided. “Don’t suppose you brought some of that spice cake with you?” She looked past his shoulder to his truck.

“I’m sorry. Afraid not.” Cole looked at Emily. He hadn’t thought of it.

“Oh, that’s alright. I suppose you can come in anyway.” Norma stepped back with a teasing smile. “I just put the kettle on.”

Cole was starting to realize that Norma Steigler simply always had the kettle on.

They stepped out of the snow and into a wall of warmth scented with black tea, cinnamon potpourri, and something buttery cooling in the kitchen. A Christmas tree glowed in the corner of the living room, every branch crowded with handmade ornaments—felt angels, quilted stars, tiny knitted stockings. Garlands draped the mantel, weaving between framed family photographs and a row of ceramic houses lit from within.

The house was otherwise exactly as Cole remembered from their earlier visit: warm, slightly chaotic, with the sewing studio and living room engaged in their usual comfortable competition for the same space. Bolts of fabric leaned against a bookcase. Baskets of yarn filled the space beneath the windows. A half-finished red velvet dress occupied a mannequin beside the Christmas tree, with Russell growling bravely from behind its skirt.

Emily removed her hat and shook the snow from it. Static had loosened several strands of hair around her face, and her cheeks were pink from the cold.

Cole forced himself to look away before Norma noticed.

Norma brought out her tea set and some freshly baked peanut butter cookies. Emily poured the tea while Norma settled into her armchair and picked up the piece of needlepoint she’d apparently abandoned mid-stitch when they knocked. Cole and Emily took the floral sofa, close enough that the outside of her thigh pressed against his through their jeans.

Neither of them moved away.

“So,” Norma said without preamble. “The cookies.”

“You know why we’re here?” Emily asked, surprise widening her blue eyes.

“I figured it was only a matter of time after the falling-out you two had at the bake-off.”

Cole noticed fresh color spreading across Emily’s cheeks.

“But it looks like you’ve made up,” Norma continued, “if the rumors are true.”

Cole coughed hard into his tea.

Emily’s knee bumped his as she sat straighter. “Yes. We have. But we’re still trying to find out what happened all those years ago.”

“Well… it has been a long time, but I’ll tell you everything I know.” Norma finished her stitch and looked up.

“Is it true you were working at the bakery that day?” Cole asked.

“I was. Your nana”—she looked at Emily—“was a wonderful woman. Let me work when I needed the income and never made me feel like charity for needing it.” She paused. “I was there the whole day of the competition. Front of house mostly. She was in the back finishing the competition batch.”

“What time did you arrive?” Cole asked.

“Oh, it would’ve been early. We opened at eight-thirty, and I usually flipped the sign over.”