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“Oh, please. The harbor council can wait ten minutes while we drink something warm,” Susan said, reaching into a tote bag that was practically big enough to swallow up the tree above them. She pulled out a large stainless-steel thermos and a stack of paper cups.

“Got a furnace and a roll of firewood in there too?” Diane joked, eyeing the mighty bag at Susan’s feet.

Maggie did let out a light chuckle then, joining Diane and Carol. Susan shook her head as if she couldn’t believe she was surrounded by such immaturity.

From the opposite side of the wooden crate, Vivian Ellis watched them all with her arms crossed, a gentle, knowing smile on her face. At sixty-nine, Vivian was the undisputed matriarch of their group. Her silver hair was pinned up neatly beneath a dark green beret, and her thick wool coat looked as elegant as if she were attending a Boston opera rather than standing in the cold coastal dirt.

“Maggie,” Vivian said, gesturing toward the wooden bench beside them, where Susan was setting out steaming cups of coffee. “You look nearly frozen. Take a break and grab a warm drink.”

Maggie returned her smile. She shuffled in closer and set her heavy binder on the arm of the bench. “Everything’s on schedule for the banner, but the electrician hasn’t checked the outlet near the gazebo yet for the lighting.” She rubbed her cold hands together and reached out for a hot cup of coffee.

“Goodness gracious. Honey, put your gloves on!” Susan’s eyes widened when she spotted Maggie’s red hands.

“I will in a bit,” Maggie promised. “I can’t write properly with them on.”

“The outlet works fine,” Vivian assured, accepting a paper cup from Susan. “I had an electrician test it on Wednesday while you were settling plans at the bakery.”

Maggie blinked, a sudden warmth reaching her chilled cheeks. “You didn’t need to do that. It was on my list for seven o’clock today.” She was grateful, nonetheless. One less thing to worry about.

“You have twenty-eight items on your to-do list today,” Diane noted, not looking up from where she was engrossed in her ledger once again, her pen scratching across the paper. “Including supervising the bakery delivery, which isn’t scheduled until tomorrow morning.”

“Someone has to do it,” Maggie defended weakly, wrapping her fingers around the toasty cup she had yet to sip from. The steam rose in a lazy curl, smelling of hazelnut with a dash of rich dark chocolate.

“Yes,” Vivian started, her kind gaze resting on Maggie’s face, “but running yourself ragged being the one to do it all just so you don’t have to sit in a quiet house is entirely something else.”

Maggie stared down at her cup, the heady scent curling around her as she felt her friends’ eyes reading her like an open book. Likely a tragedy. Vivian always saw too much. It was a gift that made her so wonderful and unique, but there were moments when Maggie wished she wasn’t always quite so transparent.

“It’s just the holidays,” Maggie murmured, her thumb tracing the rim of her paper cup. “It’s a universal thing to feel loss harder this time of year. But there’s plenty to manage and do around here... It helps.”

“There’s always a town to run,” Carol agreed, finally shoving her phone into her coat pocket. “And five thousand lights that aren’t going to thread themselves through those branches.”

“The lights can wait for a while,” Vivian said calmly, turning her attention back to a small, iron-bound wooden box resting on the crate between them. “Right now, we have something more important to do.”

Maggie leaned in, her curiosity outweighing her defensive tension. The brass latch on the front of the old box was dark with age, tarnished to a deep bronze color. Vivian reached into her pocket, pulling out a simple brass key attached to a frayed green ribbon.

The wind shifted, not dramatically, but enough to feel the change in the air. It blew stronger from the direction of the docks, carrying the distant sound of boat rigging clinking against aluminum masts in Cranberry Harbor. The sun had barely broken the surface of the water, a pale blue light casting shadows across the brick square, while the street lamps shuttered out along Main Street.

Maggie took a slow sip of the hot drink, letting the heat settle into her stomach. Another Christmas season was beginning, but as Vivian placed the narrow key into the antique lock, Maggie couldn’t shake the itching certainty that this December wasn’t going to follow her lists or the usual script at all.

Vivian turned the brass key. The small iron latch gave a quiet click that seemed to carry across the damp dusk air. Around them, the square was growing still as the volunteer shift dispersed toward their homes or the diner for breakfast.

“You’ve kept that box locked for ages,” Diane said, setting her work down to watch Vivian’s hands closely. She adjusted her glasses with a quick, precise touch. “I thought it only contained the original land deeds and the harbor charter.”

“Those deeds are in the vault at the town hall,” Vivian replied smoothly, lifting the hinged lid. The faint scent of dried cedar and old parchment drifted out into the chilly air. “This holds something else. Something magical.”

Carol leaned in over Diane’s shoulder, her eyes widening. “Oh! What is it?”

Maggie watched the familiar wise glint in Vivian’s eye as she played out the moment. A faint smile tugged at her mouth. She loved this. This was their rhythm, an unwritten code honed over decades of shared potlucks, committee meetings, late nights, and emergency coffee runs. Diane provided the logic, Carol supplied the strategy, Susan brought the physical and emotional comfort, and Vivian held the subtle authority and knowledge that kept them all tethered together.

And Maggie managed the odds and ends, whatever she could get her hands on. She held the schedules, tracked the budgets, and made sure the outward details of Cranberry Cove ran without a hitch. It was a useful role, a necessary role, but standing here among them, Maggie recognized the invisible distance she had maintained.

They all either had homes that were filled with family chatter, or active careers that demanded their attention. Maggie went home to four empty rooms and an old clock that ticked too loudly in the front hallway.

She shook her head, yanking her thoughts back to the here and now.

“This is what’s in here,” Vivian said softly, drawing all eyes to her every movement.

She reached into the velvet-lined interior of the box, carefully lifting an object no larger than the palm of a hand. It appeared to be carved from a single piece of dark, polished oak, smooth along the edges and suspended from a narrow velvet ribbon the color of pine needles.