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He drew a slow breath before he spoke. “For the past year, this house has felt like an empty box. I woke up every morning, walked over to the shop, came home, and waited for the day to end just to do it all over again. I thought staying away from people was the only way I could honor what I lost, that maybe if I went out and lived life without her, she’d be disappointed in me.”

Maggie listened quietly, her heart softening as she felt the absolute sincerity in his rough voice.

“Then you walked into our lives with those cinnamon rolls,” Ben continued, his eyes holding hers with steady clarity. “And you didn’t let me hide. You gave me a reason to step back into the world of the living, and you brought warmth back into this house for my grandson. My home hasn’t felt even remotely empty since the day you entered it.”

Maggie’s breath hitched, and she felt a sweet warmth spread through her chest, lifting the lingering chill of her own loneliness. She reached out, her gloved hand resting gently against his arm. “You did the hard work yourself, Ben. You chose to open the door.”

He reached up, his large, calloused hand cupping the side of her face with remarkable gentleness. His palm was warm against her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over her cheekbone and sending a fluttery feeling across her skin. He leaned down slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wanted to.

Maggie didn’t pull away. She leaned into his touch, her heart thundering in anticipation as his lips met hers under the blue moonlight that filtered in through the front door window.

The kiss was sweet and lingering, filled with unspoken longing, respect, and the promise of joy. It held no rush or pressure for more, only a gentle, profound connection between two people who had survived the dark valley of grief and were finally ready to embrace the light.

When Ben slowly pulled back, his comforting gaze was lit with a peaceful, simmering warmth that she hadn’t seen in him before. His hand lingered against her cheek for a heartbeat before resting it on her shoulder.

“I don’t know how I feel about that,” Ben admitted. Conflicting emotions flickered in his eyes as the seconds ticked by. “But I won’t apologize for it either. I’ve wanted to do that since I first saw you in the square yesterday.”

“I—” Maggie swallowed. “I…um… I don’t know if I can find my words.” She let out a huffed chuckle before clearing her throat and blinking up at the man who just emptied her mind with a single kiss. “I don’t want you to apologize. Although I will probably get home and the guilt will hit me, it felt really good to connect with another person like that again.”

They stared at each other for a few moments before Maggie took a step away from him. She gave him a tight smile. “Goodnight, Ben,” she murmured.

He seemed to take that as his cue to open the heavy door for her, moving aside and giving her the space to leave. “Goodnight, Maggie,” he replied, his voice low.

Maggie stepped out onto the porch, her shoes barely making a noise on the wooden steps. She walked down the gravel path under the shining stars, her heart pounding and her emotions a swirling mess.

MAGGIE

The Wednesday morning sun rose pale and clear over Cranberry Harbor as Maggie walked up the gravel driveway to Vivian’s house. Her hands were shoved into the pockets of her pea coat, her fingers repeatedly tracing the smooth gold band on her right hand as if, now more than ever, she needed the reminder of what she once had.

She hadn’t slept well. For most of the night, she had lain awake in her solitary bedroom, listening to the wind against the glass, her mind trapped in a confusing storm of happiness and warmth, then sudden, unexpected guilt.

Every time she closed her eyes, she felt the gentle pressure of Ben’s hand against her cheek, hearing the catch in his voice when he told her that his home hadn’t felt empty since she stepped inside.

The persistent, mind-consuming memory of his kiss filled her with a beautiful, intense hope, but right behind it, every time, came the acute ache of missing Tom’s kisses and adoring looks.

Maggie reached Vivian’s front porch and silently climbed the wooden steps. She drew a steady breath of the salt-scented air, trying to smooth her expression before reaching for the brass knocker. She was determined to act completely normal. Well, as normal as possible. The Christmas Wish Society had an official morning meeting to review the upcoming schedule, and she didn’t want her personal life distracting from their work.

Before her hand touched the brass ring, the antique oak door opened, and Diane stood in the entryway wearing a bright sweater and holding a dish towel. “Don’t just stand out there in the draft,” Diane said, stepping back into the hall. “The kettle is already boiling on the stove.”

Maggie stepped over the threshold, closing the door firmly against the winter breeze. She unbuttoned her coat, hanging it on the tall coatrack alongside three others. The familiar house was comfortably warm and smelled delightfully of fresh Earl Grey tea, toasted bread, and cinnamon butter.

She walked through the hallway into the spacious, sunlit kitchen. Surrounding the long pine table were her four closest friends. Vivian sat at the head of the table in her comfortable cushioned armchair, her splinted ankle resting on a low upholstered stool. Susan was setting out porcelain teacups, while Carol sat near the window, reviewing a printed spreadsheet of vendor schedules.

Maggie smiled, taking in the familiar sight of her friends gathering, and she claimed her usual wooden chair near the end of the table. “Good morning,” she said, aiming for a light, professional tone as she reached for the silver teapot. “I brought the updated vendor list for the weekend pageant.”

She lifted the teapot, but her fingers trembled slightly against the silver handle. A hot, telltale flush crept up her neck, and she was certain it turned her cheeks a bright, undeniable pink.

Diane, who was pouring milk from a small glass pitcher, stopped in her tracks. Her always keen eyes locked onto Maggie’s face with ruthless efficiency. She set the pitcher down on the tabletop with a sharp clatter and crossed her arms over her sweater.

“Alright, Maggie dear,” Diane announced, her voice cutting cleanly through the air. “Spill the tea. And I don’t mean the Earl Grey in that pot.”

Maggie set the teapot back down on its trivet, her cheeks burning hotter. “I don’t know what you mean. I was just pouring myself a drink.”

“You’ve been staring at the sugar bowl for two minutes with a tomato-red face, like a teenager at her first high school dance,” Diane countered, sitting down in the chair opposite her. “The last time I saw your cheeks that red, you’d just won the blueberry pie contest at the county fair and stuttered in front of the whole town. What happened on your date last night?”

Susan set her own porcelain teacup down, her jaw dropping in an admittedly funny expression of surprise. “Um, excuse me! What date?” she exclaimed.

“Her date with Ben Foster,” Diane offered with an air of nonchalance. “Oh, and his grandson.”