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He looked at Theo, whose small face was glowing with pride as he explained to Susan how they’d used brass screws on the crate lids. Then Ben’s gaze shifted to Maggie. She was standing beside the display tray, watching him with a gentle, knowing smile that made the cold morning air suddenly feel like a summer breeze.

The heavy iron bell in the town hall cupola began to chime four o’clock across Harbor Square, signaling the opening of the Mistletoe Market. The red ribbon that had been stretched across the square’s entrance was cut through the middle by a member of the Christmas Wish Society, Carol Whitaker, and a horde of townspeople began pouring onto the red brick paths toward the vendor booths.

Ben drew a calming breath, his broad shoulders relaxing as he stepped up beside Maggie behind the counter. For the first time in what felt like forever, he didn’t feel the urge to run back to his empty shop. He was a little surprised that he actually felt like he was right where he belonged.

It didn’t take long for the square to fill with noise and holiday chaos. Within minutes, a steady stream of shoppers swept past the vendor stalls, drawn by the smell of roasted nuts, cinnamon pastries, and fresh pine garlands.

Ben stood behind the display table, his heavy coat unbuttoned near his collar as the afternoon sun warmed him. He watched in nervous surprise as a crowd gathered around their table, stopping to admire the row of hand-carved dories and painted wooden stars.

A retired harbor captain in a dark trench coat stepped up to the counter, picking up one of the miniature dories. He turned the small boat in his thick fingers, examining the hard work that Ben and Theo put into the creations. “This is fine work,” the old captain noted, nodding with sincere approval. “You’ve got the lines of a nineteen-eighty dory down to the exact fraction of an inch.”

Theo stood tall and proud near the opposite end of the counter. “My grandpa carved the frame from white cedar, and I sanded the bottoms every day after school till I couldn’t feel my fingers,” he stated loudly.

The old captain let out a rumbling laugh, reaching into his coat pocket for his leather wallet. “All the finest craftsmen work their fingers raw. That shows what your work is worth.” He tossed a wink toward the boy and handed him a handful of bills. “I’ll take two of them. One for my shelf and one for my daughter’s tree in Boston.”

Maggie moved behind the counter with smooth, practiced efficiency. She pulled two white paper gift bags from a box beneath the table, placing each carved dory inside with a sheet of green tissue paper. She showed Theo where to place the money in the black metal cash box and filled out the blue sales ledger with ease, recording each transaction in her neat, fluid handwriting.

Within twenty minutes, the demand for the wooden ornaments grew into a bustling crowd. Local shop owners, summer residents who had stayed for the holiday weekend, and harbor families lined up along the path. Parents bought the green and cream wooden stars for their family trees, while harbor workers and boat owners snatched up the miniature dories as fast as Maggie could pack them.

Theo took his role as sales assistant with total seriousness. He carefully handed the paper bags across the counter to customers, explaining how the cedar wood had been seasoned in the shop woodshed and how the brass screws on the crates kept the grain dry. His small face glowed with accomplishment every time a buyer complimented the smooth finish on the dory hulls.

Ben watched his grandson interact with the townspeople, so at peace in such hustle and bustle. The guarded, anxious look that had shadowed the boy’s eyes for months was completely gone, replaced by a lively, cheerful energy that filled the space around them.

The crowd began to thin out as shoppers moved toward the caroling choir near the gazebo. On the green tablecloth, all twelve carved dories were completely gone, and only four painted wooden stars remained in the crate.

Maggie closed the metal lid on the cash box, sliding the iron latch into place. She wiped her hands on her slacks and picked up her folder from the shelf beneath the table. “That was an absolute sweep,” she said, her face lit with genuine pleasure as she turned toward Ben. “We sold twenty carved ornaments in less than an hour.”

Ben rubbed the back of his neck, a faint, rare smile touching his lips as he stared at the empty crates. “I didn’t expect people to buy out the dories so quickly.”

“They bought them because they’re beautiful,” Maggie replied, opening her folder and pulling out a sheet of paper. “And because people in Cranberry Cove know fine craftsmanship when they see it.”

She laid the paper flat on the counter, placing a ballpoint pen beside it. It was a voucher, typed with the town seal at the top, totaling seven hundred and twenty dollars for the twenty-four hand-carved ornaments at thirty dollars each.

“This is the official town voucher for the order,” Maggie explained. “Once you sign the bottom line, I can hand you the check from the Society account right now.”

Ben scanned the paper, then he picked up the pen, testing the weight of it in his hand. He had accepted the contract in part to prove he could handle the job, but standing here in the morning light, looking at the empty display table and his grandson’s happy face, the money felt secondary to something far larger.

He set the pen point against the bottom line, signing his name in the same way he had for as far back as he could remember. Then he looked up at Maggie, his mind resolute. “I’m taking the standard voucher for the materials, but I want thirty percent of the total routed directly into the Wish Tree holiday food pantry fund.”

Maggie paused, her hand lingering on the folder cover as she stared at him in surprise. “Thirty percent? That’s over two hundred dollars.”

“The town food pantry delivers holiday baskets to families down along the point,” Ben explained, setting the pen back on the counter. “The shop had a good season on boat repairs, and Theo and I have everything we need. Put the money where it’ll help someone who needs a warm meal this December.”

Maggie looked at him for a long, quiet moment. The cold sea breeze rustled her hair around her red scarf, and Ben was struck by the way her blue eyes held a deep, tender warmth that went straight to his heart. Had he always noticed how openly her emotions shone in her gaze? He didn’t think so, but he was noticing now.

She didn’t offer grand speeches or dramatic praise, which Ben appreciated. She simply reached across the counter, her gloved hand gently covering his for a brief, meaningful second.

“That’s very generous, Ben,” Maggie said, her voice full of respect and understanding. “The committee will make sure every dollar goes directly to the food pantry baskets.”

Ben nodded, his chest feeling lighter with a blossoming sense of self-worth again. Even in the brisk air, his face felt warm as the ice in his veins started to melt away.

Theo ran over to the gazebo steps where Susan was distributing paper cups of steaming apple cider to the high school caroling choir. Her grandson, Eli, was already sitting on the low wooden railing, holding a cup with two cinnamon sticks poking out the top. Theo joined his friend, swinging his boots over the lower step as the two boys began chattering eagerly about their Christmas wishes and the dory hulls Theo had sanded in the shop.

Ben stood behind the vendor counter, peacefully watching his grandson’s bright face across the busy square.

Maggie closed the leather ledger, placing her pen inside the brass clasp before setting the book on the shelf beneath the display counter. She looked up at Ben and nudged his arm playfully. “They’re just watching the choir near the gazebo,” Maggie pointed out, her voice clear and gentle over the distant chatter of the market crowd. “They won’t run off while there’s sweet cider on the bench.”

Ben nodded as he fidgeted with the buttons of his coat. “I’m not too worried. He’s had a good day. I haven’t seen him come alive like that in a long, long time.”