Page 19 of Sleigh Bells and Dragon Spells

“I don’t bake.”

“I do.” She tied on a festive apron covered in prancing reindeer, the fabric enchanted to make the deer actually prance. “Come on, I’ll teach you my special recipe.”

Falkor approached the kitchen with the caution of someone approaching a wild animal. “Is this necessary?”

“Absolutely.” She thrust a mixing bowl into his hands. “Hold this while I measure the flour.”

She spread the ingredients across his pristine counter: flour, sugar, butter, eggs, and various magical additions that would make the cookies sparkle and sing when baked properly. The kitchen filled with the scent of vanilla and potential.

“Okay, so first we cream the butter and sugar together,” she instructed, wielding a wooden spoon like a wand. “It’s all about the technique.”

Falkor watched her with barely concealed amusement. “And you’ve done this before?”

“Many times. A few times. Well...” She scrunched her nose. “I’ve watched it being done.”

His low chuckle sent warmth spreading through her chest. “Perhaps we should have started with something simpler.”

“Nonsense! How hard can it be?” She began mixing with enthusiasm, sending a cloud of flour into the air. It settled on her hair like snow, making Falkor’s eyes crinkle at the corners.

“You’ve got a little...” He gestured to her face.

“Where?” She wiped her cheek, probably making it worse.

Without thinking, Falkor stepped closer. His thumb brushed her cheek, gentle despite his strength, wiping away the flour. Time seemed to stop for a moment as their eyes met. His hand lingered, warm against her skin, and her breath caught in her throat.

The moment broke when something in the bowl started smoking.

“Oh gods,” she sputtered, turning back to their creation. She tasted the dough and immediately grimaced. “That’s... that’s not right at all.”

Falkor dipped a finger in the bowl and tasted it, his eyes widening. “That’s certainly... unique.”

Briar grabbed the container she’d used for sugar and groaned. “Salt. I used salt instead of sugar.” She dropped her head onto the counter with a thud. “I’m usually better at this, I swear.”

TWENTY

Adeep chuckle rumbled through the kitchen. Briar’s head shot up. Falkor—stern, serious Falkor—was laughing. Actually laughing. The sound transformed his entire face, softening the hard lines and making him look younger, more carefree. Her heart did a funny little flip in her chest.

“Well,” he said, golden eyes dancing, “at least you’ve proven you can surprise me.”

“Ha-ha.” But she grinned back, unable to help herself. “Fine, new plan. S’mores. Even I can’t mess those up.”

They gathered supplies and settled by the fireplace, Briar demonstrating proper marshmallow-roasting technique. The fire painted everything in warm light, making the decorated cabin feel cozy and intimate. “The key is patience,” she explained, rotating her marshmallow slowly over the flames. “You want it golden brown, not charred.”

Falkor watched intently, then tried to help by adjusting the fire. Unfortunately, his dragon magic flared, instantly incinerating Briar’s marshmallow into a black crisp.

She burst out laughing at his chagrined expression. “Well, that’s one way to do it!”

“Precision isn’t easy for a dragon,” he muttered, but she caught his half-smile.

From her stash of items she brought, a music box began to play on its own—one of Luna’s magical touches. A sweet, festive melody filled the cabin, an old winter song that spoke of starlit nights and promises whispered in the snow. Before she could second-guess herself, Briar turned to Falkor and held out her hand.

“Care to dance?”

He stared at her outstretched fingers for a long moment, and she thought he’d refuse. Then, slowly, he took her hand. His palm was warm against hers, and she could feel the barely contained power in his gentle grip.

“I should warn you,” she said lightly, trying to mask her nervousness, “I’ve been known to step on toes.”

“Fortunately,” he replied, pulling her gently into position, “dragons are rather durable.”

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