Page 24

“He’s really proud of the work he did on those dory hulls,” Maggie said, stepping around the end of the long green counter. “And I think he’s just happy to be standing beside you in the square.”

Ben glanced at the empty display tray where the twelve carved dories had rested less than an hour ago. The quick sales and the sincere compliments from his neighbors were still echoing in his mind, softening his rigid, defensive armor.

“Let’s walk over to the tree,” Ben suggested quietly, nodding toward the towering Fraser fir standing at the center of the brick plaza.

Maggie offered a tender smile. “I’d like that.”

They stepped away from the Christmas Wish Society booth together, walking side by side along the worn path. The Mistletoe Market was in full swing around them, filled with the cheerful hum of conversation, the aroma of roasted chestnuts, and the bright melody of brass instruments rehearsing near the chapel steps. Yet as they approached the giant evergreen, the busy noise of the market seemed to recede into a gentle background murmur.

The Fraser fir towered over the square, its thick green branches heavy with hundreds of white paper wish tags tied with bright red velvet ribbons. The paper tags fluttered in the ocean breeze like winter leaves, each one holding a secret hope or a small prayer written by a town resident over the past week.

Ben stopped near a low bough that reached toward the brick path. He looked up into the dense green branches, taking in the sheer number of tags hanging from the needles. Looking at the Wish Tree before today had only been a painful reminder of everything he’d lost, a tradition that belonged to other, happier families in Cranberry Cove.

Maggie stood beside him, her coat brushing against his canvas sleeve as she reached out to straighten a red ribbon on a nearby tag. “Every tag represents someone who took a moment to hope for something better. Some ask for simple things, like new sleds or warm blankets, but most ask for healing, or peace, or a loved one to come home for the holidays.”

Ben’s eyes scanned the lower branch, landing on a small white tag tied near the trunk with a slightly crooked knot. He recognized the neat blue handwriting immediately. It was his grandson’s wish tag, written in careful letters, asking for a big snowfall before Christmas Eve so he could build a snow fort in the backyard.

Ben gently brushed his thumb along the edge of the paper tag. “He told me about this tag the morning that he wrote it. He was so careful to tie the ribbon right where the lights could reach it.”

“He believes in the magic of this town,” Maggie said, looking up at him with honest eyes. “And he believes in you.”

Ben took a deep breath of the cold sea air. He turned his head to look at Maggie, seeing strength and unwavering kindness in her face.

“I was wrong about today,” he admitted sincerely. “Last week, when I refused to make those ornaments, I thought coming down here would feel like stepping into a sea full of painful memories and sad looks. I thought I might drown in them.”

Maggie listened quietly, her red scarf rustling in the cold wind, her focused gaze locked onto his.

“But nobody looked at me any differently than they used to,” Ben continued, his throat feeling rough as he spoke. “They admired the dory hulls, and they talked to my grandson like they cared about him, and they made me feel like I still had something worth giving to this town. You didn’t force me out of my shop. You gave me a way back to life.”

Maggie’s eyes softened, a faint flush rising on her cheeks that had nothing to do with the winter wind. She twirled her gloved fingers together, her expression full of understanding and warmth. “Cranberry Cove is a small town. It can be frustrating for everyone to know everyone’s business, sure, but we always take care of each other, even when we don’t know how to ask for help. Seeing you back in this square makes the whole place feel complete again.”

A stillness settled over Harbor Square as gray clouds moved across the sky and blocked out the sunshine above the town. And just like that, thick white flakes of winter snow began to drift down from the sky, floating slowly through the cold air and clinging to everything they touched.

Theo’s joyful voice echoed across the brick path from the gazebo. “Look! It’s snowing! My wish is really coming true!”

Ben peeked over at his grandson, who was running toward them across the plaza with his arms outstretched and his mouth open wide to catch the falling snow on his tongue.

A purely content smile broke out across Ben’s face, reaching all the way to his eyes as he felt the flakes melt against his cheeks. He looked over his shoulder at Maggie beneath the falling snow. “The town hall’s hosting the Christmas Wish Supper on the twenty-third, isn’t it? Ruth used to love going.”

Maggie nodded, her chest rising with a deep breath at the question. “It is. At six o’clock in the main hall.”

“We’ll both be there,” Ben promised, his voice firm and filled with a new hope. “And if you could use the extra hands, we’ll help set up the wooden tables before the doors open.”

“I can’t wait.” Maggie smiled, her hand resting gently on his sleeve for a fleeting moment as the first snow of December covered the red brick pavers of Harbor Square.

MAGGIE

The early December twilight fell quickly over Cranberry Harbor, turning the glassy water a deep blue beneath the darkening sky.

Maggie Bennett paused near the bottom of the saltbox porch steps, her feet nervously stepping side to side, crunching in the day-old snow. She had almost called to cancel twenty minutes ago. Standing in her own empty kitchen with her car keys in hand, a sudden wave of uncertainty had caught her off guard.

She had wondered if stepping into Ben’s house for a cozy Tuesday dinner was pushing past the boundaries of helpful friendship into something deeper, something that might risk both of their guarded hearts. Since Maggie had only experienced one big relationship in her life, allowing herself to be drawn to a man who was still navigating his own grief felt both comforting and intimidating.

Thankfully, a brief phone call with Diane had settled her doubts. Her friend had reminded her that showing up for a simple home-cooked meal was not a grand declaration, but simply three people sharing a table on a cold winter night. Diane had pointed out that Theo was looking forward to the evening, and that Ben had specifically asked her to join them as a thanks for bringing some much-needed holiday spirit into their lives.

Maggie drew a slow, steady breath of the salt-scented breeze, turning her coat collar up against the chill as she took the wooden porch steps one at a time. Before her gloved hand reached the brass knocker, the heavy oak door swung open, and a beaming Theo stood on the threshold in a flannel shirt and corduroy slacks.

“We’re making soup!” Theo announced with a bright grin, stepping back into the toasty hallway to make room for her.