Page 9 of Mistletoe and Magic

Compelled by something beyond politeness, Jace lowered himself to the ground, his knees pressing into the chilly white blanket. He reached for the scattered gingerbread men still clinging to the tray, their sweet-spiced scent mingling with the crisp air. "Here," he said, offering the salvaged treats to her, "at least a few of these guys survived the fall."

His fingers grazed the broken edges of the cookies, each touch a silent apology for their crumbled dreams. They were survivors, much like the man who held them—a little battered, a touch misshapen, but enduring nonetheless. As he lifted his gaze from the fractured sweets to the woman before him, he found a reflection of his own spirit. In her bright eyes, he saw a kindred flame, burning steady even in the face of adversity.

"Survivors," Felicity echoed softly, her breath forming a delicate cloud as she accepted the gingerbread from him. Her fingertips brushed against his, an electric jolt that threatened to melt the snow beneath them. She was the promise of a fire's blaze on a winter's night, a comfort he didn't know he’d sought until now.

In the simple act of saving cookies from the snow, Jace discovered a truth as clear as the frosted air: sometimes the heart found what it needed most when braving the cold unknown. And as he rose, brushing snowy remnants from his jeans, he carried with him not just the hope for his lodge, but the flickering possibility of a warmth that could thaw his cautious heart.

Felicity crouched low, reaching for the scattered cookies. Jace watched the way the winter sun caught on her hair, turningit into a halo of spun gold against the snow's stark white canvas. "Thanks," she said, her voice laced with an undertone of laughter. "Not exactly the grand display I was hoping for today, but... I appreciate the rescue."

He couldn't help but smile at her words—a genuine, unguarded smile. The kind he thought he'd forgotten how to make. "Glad I could help," Jace responded, rising and stretching out his hand. It was an offering, a bridge between two strangers who might just be on the brink of something more.

Her hand slipped into his, small and warm against the chill, a perfect fit that sent a ripple of something electric up his arm. For a heartbeat, or perhaps an eternity, they stood there, connected by touch, by chance, by fate—as if all the crooked paths they'd each walked were meant to cross right here, right now. Jace brushed the last of the snow from his palms, the cold biting his fingertips as he watched Felicity gather herself.

“So,” Felicity began, her words floating into the space between them, “are you new in town, or just passing through?”

Her question hung there, and Jace felt the weight of it, heavy with the potential of what his answer might mean. He hesitated, but only for a heartbeat. His gaze met hers, those curious eyes that seem to see right through him, and he made a choice—a choice for truth over mystery, for openness over the armor he was so accustomed to wearing.

“I just inherited the Northwind Lodge,” he admitted, the words feeling foreign yet freeing as they escaped into the chilled morning air. The lodge, his unexpected anchor in this small town, suddenly became a bridge to this moment, to her. “I have fond memories of the place, so I figured I’d come check it out and see if I can get it back on its feet.”

He didn’t add how the thought of reviving the lodge felt like trying to capture the Northern Lights—beautiful but daunting. Instead, Jace watched for Felicity's reaction, searching her facefor any sign of recognition, of judgment, or maybe some sliver of shared hope.

The corner of her mouth lifted into something that wasn't quite a smile but promised more than simple politeness. It was an unspoken acknowledgment, a delicate thread weaving through their conversation, pulling them together with the gentle insistence of fate.

And there it was—that flicker of connection, fragile and fierce all at once, stirring the embers of possibility within Jace's heart. He felt the pull, the draw of this woman who stood before him, a stranger still, yet somehow familiar in a way that echoed in the hollow spaces of his heart left barren by past heartache.

This woman, Felicity—with her hesitant grace and the untold stories dancing behind her eyes—might just be the kindling he needed to ignite the dormant fire of his spirit, to warm the chill of uncertainty that gripped him when he thought of the monumental task ahead.

In the dance of their brief encounter, amidst the spilled gingerbread and whispered confessions, Jace found himself standing at the precipice of something vast and uncharted. There, on the cusp of Christmas Valley's awakening streets, he sensed the beginning of a journey—not just in the revival of the Northwind Lodge, but in the intertwining of two souls seeking warmth in the depths of winter.

6

JACE

Jace's breath hung in the air, a misty testament to the chill that had seeped into his bones, despite the exertion of catching Felicity. Their proximity disrupted the stoic solitude he had been drowning in just moments ago. The crispness of the morning was suddenly laced with an underlying current of warmth emanating from her, and it sparked something within him—a yearning for a connection he'd long since tried to bury.

Her gaze lifted to his, eyes as wide and clear as the winter sky above them. "Oh! That’s the old ski lodge on the edge of town, right? Everyone was talking about the new owner coming to town.” Her voice trembled slightly, not from cold but from excitement—or was it curiosity? “Guess that’s you.”

"Guilty," Jace admitted, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a smile. There was a vulnerability he couldn't mask, a raw edge to his confession. “Not sure if that’s good news or bad yet.” His words hung between them, heavy with the specter of failure that had haunted his sleep the night before.

Felicity's expression softened, her lips parting as if she was about to offer comfort or perhaps share in his worry, but no words came. Instead, they stood in silent communion. Themoment stretched out, tenuous and charged, their shared breath a rhythm that synced to the hesitant beat of possibility. And in that fragile instant, something undeniable settled over Jace—a sense of belonging he hadn't anticipated, found in the eyes of a woman whose name he knew he would never forget.

Brushing the last of the snow from the gingerbread, Felicity glanced up at Jace with a playful twinkle in her eye. “Well,” she started, her voice a warm melody against the chill, “if you ever need a break from the lodge business, you could stop by Cozy Cravings. I’m the baker and owner—when I’m not busy causing cookie casualties.”

The air between them was laced with the sweet scent of sugared pastries and the earthy pine that clung to his jacket—a confluence of aromas that seemed to echo the unexpected meeting of their lives. Jace couldn't help but smile, the corners of his mouth lifting in a way that felt both foreign and delightful. “I’ll keep that in mind.” His words came out softer than intended, a whisper lost in the dance of snowflakes around them.

Felicity’s cheeks held the rosy flush of the cold, or perhaps it was the warmth of the encounter, making her glow in the muted light of the village morning. The connection flickered like a hearth in winter, inviting and promising solace from the frosty world outside their small bubble of shared laughter and spilled cookies.

Snowflakes clung to his lashes as Jace watched Felicity manage to find better stability. His breath hitched slightly, fogging in the air between them, and for that suspended heartbeat, time lost its grip. The worries that had been clawing at him—his future, the lodge, the impending meeting—all receded into nothingness. There was only Felicity: her curls haloed by the winter light, eyes like fragments of the clear December sky.

"Jace?" Her voice, soft yet clear, tethered him back to the here and now, her gaze searching his for something he couldn't quite name.

He swallowed, finding words that felt both new and ancient on his tongue. "Yeah?"

Their eyes locked again, their breath mingling in the chill, and the world around them faded away once more. The bank meeting, the lodge repairs, and the weight of the future all felt distant and unimportant compared to the woman standing in front of him. In that moment, there was only Felicity—with her literary wit and the way snowflakes seemed to fear melting on her skin—and the electric charge of potential that hummed between them.

“Well,” Felicity said, breaking the spell with a playful grin that sent an inexplicable warmth spiraling through him, “I’d better get these poor gingerbread guys back to the bakery before they freeze solid.” Her hands cradled the survivors, the cookies' frosted grins belying their near demise.

"Of course," Jace replied, his voice husky with a cocktail of emotions he couldn't afford to indulge in just yet. He watched her scoop up the last of the gingerbread men, each careful motion reflecting her nature—deliberate, nurturing, attentive to every detail.

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