Page 29 of Mistletoe and Magic

"Watch your step there, Jace," called out one of the many villagers who had volunteered, a burly man named George who had become a fixture in the renovations.

"Thanks, George," Jace replied, steadying himself on the ladder. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and glanced around. This place wasn't just a building; it was a testament to the community that had come together to support him, and now, he needed to protect it more than ever.

As all the workers—paid and volunteer alike—flocked to her, he wondered if they truly came to help or just to get Felicity’s baked goodies. Her hair was pulled up into a messy bun, a few tendrils escaping to frame her gentle eyes. The volunteers greeted her with smiles and appreciation, always eager for a taste of her culinary creations.

"Thought you could use a little break," she said, setting the tray down on a makeshift table.

"Your timing is impeccable, as always," Jace said, climbing down from the ladder to join her, and giving her a quick kiss.

The two of them found a quiet corner away from the bustle, and Felicity poured him a cup of hot coffee, watching him over the rim of her own mug. The warmth of the liquid seemed to seep into his bones, chasing away some of the chill from the winter air that crept through the unfinished walls.

"Try these," Felicity urged, offering him a plate of treats. "I made them with the event in mind."

Jace bit into one, the flavors bursting on his tongue—sweet, with a hint of spice. "Incredible," he murmured, his gaze meeting hers. There was a tenderness there, a shared understanding that went beyond the exchange of compliments.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Felicity asked, her voice a whisper against the noise around them.

"Always," Jace replied, leaning in closer.

"I've always dreamed of writing a wildly successful romance novel," she confessed, her fingers idly tracing the edge of her mug. "I’m worried that I’ll never even get it started, much less finished or published."

Jace reached out, taking her hand in his. "You will. There’s nothing keeping you from trying. Nothing."

She smiled, but there was a wistfulness to it. "What about you? What do you fear?"

He looked away for a moment, his grip tightening on her hand. "I fear waking up to find this place gone, that I've let everyone down. And lately, I'm afraid of how much I..." His voice trailed off, his confession hanging in the air like mist.

"Of how much you what?" Felicity prodded gently.

"Of how much I need you," Jace finished, finally meeting her gaze again. There was a raw honesty in his eyes, a vulnerability that he rarely showed.

Their conversation drifted then, to dreams of success and the warmth of finding a kindred spirit. They talked of the lodge thriving, of book signings in cozy corners, of creating a sanctuary where stories—and love—could flourish.

As they talked, the lodge around them faded into the background, the sounds of construction giving way to the rhythm of their hearts. In that quiet moment, they found solace in each other's fears and dreams, their connection deepening amidst the chaos of sawdust and uncertainty.

Later that night, the soft glow of the fire flickered across Felicity's features, casting a warm light that danced in her eyes as she leaned closer, her breath a sweet whisper against Jace's skin. The taste of cinnamon from the hot chocolate still lingered on his lips when the shrill ring of his phone cut through the intimate cocoon they had woven around themselves.

"Sorry," Jace mumbled, reluctantly pulling away to fish the device from his pocket. His thumb swiped the screen, and he brought the phone to his ear. "Jace Winterborne speaking."

Felicity watched, her heart sinking as Jace's expression morphed from serene contentment to a mask of disbelief and dread. He was silent for a long moment after the voice on the other end stopped speaking, the only sound the crackling of the fire.

"Understood," he said tersely before ending the call. His hand dropped to his side, the phone now an unwanted weight.

"What is it?" Felicity asked, her voice tinged with concern. She reached out, resting her hand on his forearm, feeling the tension coiled beneath his skin.

Jace exhaled heavily, his eyes meeting hers—a storm brewing in the once-clear green depths. "The bank," he started, the words heavy and bitter on his tongue. "They're threatening to sell my note to Sapphire Development. If I can't make the balloon payment, I will lose the lodge."

The gravity of the situation settled between them like a thick fog. Felicity's mind raced, thoughts of her own dreams momentarily set aside in the face of Jace's despair. Her bakery, her sanctuary, the place where sugar and flour spun sweet tales—it could be part of the solution.

“The bakery…” she started.

“No,” he said firmly.

She saw the stubborn set of his jaw, the way his hands formed fists at his sides. But Felicity also saw the man who had opened his home to her, who laughed with her over burnt cookies and shared quiet dreams in the dead of night.

"Jace, we're in this together," she insisted, her voice carrying the weight of every unspoken promise between them. "Let me help."

His gaze softened, and for a moment, they were back in their bubble of warmth and shared secrets, the threat of financial ruin temporarily banished by the bond forming between them.

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