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With the green wire untangled and the wooden stars placed along the living room mantel, Ben stood up from the rug, dusting the garland’s pine needles from the knees of his pants. He then extended a hand out to Maggie, offering her help getting to her feet.

With a flutter of surprise and a muttered thanks, she accepted, his palm warm against hers for a brief moment as she stood, before he pulled away.

The wood-burner in the corner crackled as a log burned down, filling the room with a consistent heat while they got back to work organizing and setting out the beloved decorations. They placed lights around the yard and the windows, garland over the walkway between the kitchen and living room, and an antique ceramic nativity scene on the entryway table.

After a while, outside the bay window, the winter sky had turned a deep indigo above the channel water, and the newly placed white string lights along the front fence cast a glow over the gravel driveway.

“We’ve done enough heavy lifting for one day,” Ben announced, his voice raspy but light as he looked between Theo and Maggie. “I’m making some cocoa on the stove.”

Theo’s eyes lit up as he scrambled up from his spot near the hearth where he had been separating the ornaments in preparation for the tree they planned to pick up tomorrow. “Can we add some marshmallows from the pantry?”

“We’ve got half a bag of the small ones,” Ben replied, gesturing toward the kitchen archway. “Go wash your hands first.”

Maggie smoothed her wool skirt, stepping into the bright, wood-paneled kitchen behind them. The room was warm as she moved to stand by the kitchen counter.

Ben took a heavy black saucepan from the hook above the stove, setting it onto the small burner. He opened the refrigerator, pulling out a glass bottle of fresh milk and setting it on the counter beside a container of dark cocoa powder. He picked up a wooden spoon, his long fingers working with quick, methodical movements as he poured the milk into the pan.

Maggie watched him from her place by the counter, a smile touching her lips as she noticed his brewing technique. Not many people still made hot cocoa from scratch, so it made her happy to know she wasn’t the only one in Cranberry Cove who did.

Ben pried the lid off the metal cocoa tin and proceeded to scoop four heaping wooden spoonfuls of raw, unsweetened cocoa powder directly into the cold milk. The dark brown powder floated on the surface in thick, dry clumps that refused to dissolve.

“That’s a very generous amount of cocoa powder,” Maggie noted, leaning against the counter edge.

Ben didn’t look back as he turned the burner knob, the blue gas flame igniting with a pop. “My mother always said proper hot chocolate ought to look like wet timber mud. Anything lighter is just warm milk.”

“Your mother probably added sugar and a pinch of salt to balance the raw cocoa,” Maggie pointed out dryly.

Ben paused, his wooden spoon hovering over the saucepan as he looked over his shoulder at her, his eyes flashing with mild amusement. “Are you criticizing the cook, Ma’am?”

Maggie struggled keeping a straight face. “I’m offering constructive culinary guidance,” she replied smoothly. “Unless you want a cup of hot chocolate that tastes like chewing on pine bark.”

Ben let out a low chuckle, turning his back to the stove to reach for the stoneware mugs on the upper cabinet shelf. The moment his back was turned, Maggie stepped quietly over to the stove top. She grabbed the wooden spoon, stirring the cold milk rapidly to break up the dry cocoa clumps, before reaching for the sugar bowl on the windowsill. She added two neat spoonfuls of white sugar, a dash of salt from the shaker above the stove, and a splash of fresh milk from the bottle, smoothing the liquid into a rich, dark syrup.

Ben turned around holding the mugs by their handles, and he stopped in his tracks when he spotted her standing over his saucepan with the wooden spoon in her hand. “Did you just tamper with my pot?” he asked, his dark brows lifting in playful accusation as he set the mugs on the counter.

“I saved the batch from a tragic, bitter failure,” Maggie corrected, setting the spoon down on a paper towel. “You can thank me after you taste it.”

Ben shook his head, though the corners of his mouth twitched with genuine amusement. He poured the steaming chocolate into the mugs, the sweet aroma filling the kitchen air. Theo hurried back from the bathroom, climbing onto his wooden chair at the table and immediately dumping a generous handful of white marshmallows into his mug.

They sat around the kitchen table together, the steaming mugs held between their hands as the wind rustled the branches outside the window. Theo blew carefully on his cocoa, his cheeks flushed pink from the heat, while Ben took a slow, cautious sip from his mug.

Ben set his mug down on the pine table, looking at Maggie across the surface. “Alright. It’s actually very nice. The sugar and salt made a difference.”

“I told you,” Maggie said, filled with satisfaction.

Theo took a bite of a floating marshmallow, peering up at Maggie with curiosity. “Did you put up a tree at your house yet?”

Maggie set her mug down, her fingers tracing the stoneware rim as a reflective shadow crossed her mind. “Not yet. I usually wait until the first week of December. My house feels a little empty and lonely when it’s just me, so I take my time getting the boxes down from the closet.”

“Did your husband used to help you with the lights?” Theo asked innocently, his seven-year-old mind making simple, direct connections without any awkwardness.

Maggie’s gaze flicked to Ben’s as he visibly flinched.

Ben

Ben jerked at Theo’s prying question, opening his mouth to gently redirect his grandson, but Maggie offered an unbothered, reassuring gesture with her hand, letting him know the question didn’t hurt.

“Yes, he always helped me decorate,” Maggie replied, her tone unwavering. “Tom loved Christmas lights, but he wasn’t very good at hanging them. The second year we were married, he decided to string the rows of white bulbs along the garage roof. He climbed up on a tall aluminum ladder right as a sudden November snowstorm rolled in off the bay.”