“Because you think I might become important to you, too?” Miriam teased.

“Eat a latke, Miri.”

“I would eat a latke, Noelle, but I am too horrified by the amount of applesauce you have put on yours, and I can’t go on,” Miriam said, right before putting an entire latke in her mouth.

“Excuse me, you have hot sauce on yours. You have no room to judge. Team applesauce for life.”

Miriam shrugged, splashing more Tapatío on her next latke. She would not apologize for her potato genius.

Everyone let the fried food and lights of the holiday smooth over the rough edges of grief and anxiety about the business, for a little while. Not even the presence of her mother, hovering at the perimeter of the room and trying to casually insert herself as if they could have a normal conversation, was enough to dim her glow.

The next morning, Miriam invited Hannah to go into Advent with her, both to shop for extra Hanukkah presents and to get out of the house. Hannah protested that they couldn’t leave during the Christmas Festival, and Miriam reminded her that Noelle, Ziva, the Matthewses, and their seasonal workers could handle Tuesday morning traffic. Hannah didn’t look convinced, but she acquiesced because Miriam reminded her that they hadn’t had any real time together, just the two of them, and that they needed to celebrate finalizing the plan for the Rosensteins.

The town had somehow grown even more festive since Thanksgiving weekend. Garland and twinkle lights wound up every light pole. Over the street, winking merrily, reindeer pulled Santa and his sleigh. In every window, there seemed to be a Carrigan’s Christmas tree, stuffed to bursting with decorations.

“I don’t say this lightly,” Miriam observed, “but this is a lot.”

“I like it,” Hannah said. “It feels like a sort of good-natured inside joke that all of Advent is in on together.” She stopped suddenly in front of a door. “Wait, let’s go in here.”

Hannah pulled her into a tiny diner selling cappuccinos and giant sandwiches on bread baked in-house. Framed photos of the townsfolk through the years hung on the wall, including Cass, and there were red and white checkered tablecloths.

“This place was not here ten years ago,” Miriam said. “I would have remembered fresh bread and good espresso. Does this town have an endless supply of adorable local shops?”

A man who resembled a grizzly bear walked up to their table, wiping his hands on his apron. He had brilliant orange hair that probably always needed a trim and a magnificent beard.

“Name’s Collin,” he said, voice coming from so deep in his chest that Miriam wondered the walls didn’t shake. “I’m the owner here. It’s good to see the prodigal daughter returning.”

“Oh, gosh, I hope you haven’t heard all bad things,” Miriam said, only sort of kidding.