Page 14 of Mistletoe and Magic

As his breathing slowed and the afterglow settled upon him, Jace opened his eyes to the bath, silent save for the sound of cascading water. The fantasy of Felicity faded, leaving a potent mix of satisfaction and yearning. But fantasies alone wouldn't suffice—he craved the true connection, the intertwining of souls that could only be found in her arms.

Resolved and still tingling with the remnants of his desire, Jace realized his purpose was clear; he would pursue the real thing, the communion of hearts and bodies entwined. And he knew just where to find it.

Jace turned off the water, a faint musky scent still clinging to his skin, a testament to the raw need that Felicity Hart evoked within him. Stepping out onto the cool tile, Jace wrapped a towel around his waist, beads of moisture trickling down his chest. The steamy mirror held a misty reflection of a man changed—not just by the water's embrace, but by the call of legacy and the unexpected pull of a small-town life that was beginning to feel like home.

As he dried off, his thoughts drifted unbidden to Felicity—the way her laughter seemed to dapple the air like sunlight through leaves, how her eyes sparkled with wit and hidden depths. She was an enigma, a story waiting to be read, and he found himself yearning to turn her pages. The impulsive desire to cook for her took root in his chest, unfurling like the first green shoots of spring.

Determined, Jace decided it was time to take matters into his own hands, so to speak. He looked down at the hands that had just provided him with release and vowed that it wouldn’t be too long before they would be devoted to two things: cooking and providing Felicity with a maximum amount of pleasure.There was a warmth he sought, a flavor he craved—and it wasn't something to be found in solitude. He made the decision: he would not let Felicity slip through his hands simply because Heather had proved unfaithful.

No, he would gather the necessary ingredients for a meal that would entice not just the palate but the heart. He dressed methodically, pulling on his flannel shirt, denim jeans, and sturdy boots, each movement a step towards reclaiming control over his desires. His eyes, usually full of mischief and warmth, now burned with determination. He combed his fingers through his still-damp hair, leaving it artfully tousled. His reflection now showed a man not defeated by financial woes but inspired by the prospect of an evening spent with someone who had ignited a flame that burned not only in his chest, but in regions far to the south.

His boots echoed on the wooden floor as he strode toward the door of the lodge, each step a testament to his resolve. The lodge's walls whispered encouragement, infused with generations of hope and resilience. He paused at the door, hand resting on the knob, feeling the heartbeat of the building sync with his own.

"Let's see if I can't cook up something more than just a meal," he murmured, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The crisp mountain air kissed his cheeks as he stepped outside, determination and desire lighting his path to Felicity's door.

Jace drove into town and parked outside the local organic/artisan market. Heading inside, he navigated through the narrow aisles, his hands deftly selecting the ripest tomatoes, plucking the freshest basil, and choosing a block of the finest Parmesan cheese. The ingredients for homemade pasta sauce—a comfort dish with the promise of intimacy—filled his basket. He paused before the wines, some of which were from nearby, smaller vineyards, considering, then selected a bottle of redwine, one rich and full-bodied, much like the woman who seemed to have taken up residence in his every thought.

He’d seen what appeared to be a set of steps leading up from the alleyway to a door that he was fairly sure led into the flat where she lived. It was practical and made sense that she would use the same building for her business and residence.

Leaving his car at the market, he walked towards her place, the evening air cooling his heated skin. Jace's mind raced as he rehearsed conversations, discarded lines that felt too contrived, and settled on the truth that needed to be shared. The hum of the Silver Bells Tavern, gearing up for what passed as Christmas Valley’s nightlife, faded into the background as he approached the bakery, the scent of fresh bread wafting down from the warm light spilling out of Felicity's apartment window.

His knock on her door was firm, an echo of the resolve pulsating through his veins. When she answered, her hair framed her face, her eyes reflecting surprise, Jace didn't hesitate. "I brought dinner," he said simply, holding up the bags of ingredients and the wine, an offering laid bare.

"Jace?" Felicity's voice was a gentle melody that wrapped around him, soothing the edges of his urgency.

"Let me cook for you, Felicity," he continued, stepping into her space, feeling the pull between them like gravity. "There's something I want to tell you, and I can't wait another moment."

The door closed behind him with a soft click, sealing them both in a world where the paranormal could touch the edges of reality, where desire and tenderness could meld into one. Tonight, he would feed more than just the hunger of the flesh. Tonight, he would tell her of his plans and invite her to see a small glimpse of his soul.

10

FELICITY

Felicity watched, entranced, as Jace moved around her small kitchen with the grace of a dancer. The hem of his shirt lifted slightly with each reach, hinting at the lean muscles underneath, and she felt a warmth spread through her that had nothing to do with the steam rising from the boiling pot on the stove. He had arrived at her flat with a buoyant air of confidence that seemed to replace the emptiness of the room with an electric charge.

"Hope you're hungry," Jace said, stirring the pasta into the red sauce with a wooden spoon. His voice was a low hum that vibrated through Felicity's body, awakening senses she had tried and failed to put in her unfinished novels. The scent of tomatoes and basil filled the space between them, weaving a tapestry of comfort and desire.

He turned to her, a half-smile playing on his lips, his eyes glinting with a secret promise. "I found this wine at a local artisan grocery." He uncorked the bottle with a soft pop, and poured the ruby liquid into two glasses with a precision that betrayed his familiarity with the ritual.

The wine rested on her tongue, a perfect blend of tart and sweet, like the unexpected plot twist in a well-told story. Felicitylet out a sigh, feeling the tension in her shoulders unravel as Jace's presence enveloped her in a cocoon of possibility.

"Try this," he said, offering a fork twirled with pasta drenched in the thick, aromatic sauce. She accepted, their fingers brushing in a spark of contact that sent shivers down her spine. As she took the bite, the world narrowed to the sensation of rich, tangy flavor and the heat emanating from Jace's body mere inches away.

Their shared meal was a slow build of flavors and glances, each bite an unspoken word, each sip of wine a confession of yearning. The pasta was al dente, the sauce a masterpiece of rustic charm, all created by the hands of a man who seemed as comfortably at home in a rustic lodge as she imagined he would be in the kitchen of a five-star restaurant.

The soft clink of forks against plates harmonized with the lull of their voices as Felicity and Jace shared the meal he’d prepared. Aromatic steam from the pasta with red sauce rose between them, weaving an invisible thread that seemed to pull their conversation along effortlessly. The wine—a bold yet smooth blend—rested in their glasses, its deep red hue reflecting the dim glow of the candle that flickered gently on the table.

Felicity found herself leaning forward, captivated by Jace's animated recounting of his plans for the lodge. "I want it to be a haven," he said, eyes gleaming with a vision only he could see, "not just for tourists, but for locals, as well. A place where people can escape, surrounded by the wild beauty of the mountains."

As Jace's narrative unfolded, Felicity could easily imagine everything he described. Then, his voice softened and grew more intimate as he reached across the table for her hand. His touch sent a current of heat spiraling up her arm. "There's something else I want to share," he murmured, tracing the lines of her palm with his thumb.

"Today, I met the mayor. She knew my Uncle Peter quite well. They had a... complex relationship, but one full of respect." Felicity noted the wistful tilt to his lips, the way his eyes darkened with remembrance. "He was a mentor to her, in many ways."

This wasn’t something she’d written… was the story now writing itself?

Her heart ached at the tenderness woven into his words. "I'm sure he was an incredible man, to leave such a legacy behind."

Jace nodded, holding her gaze, letting the silence stretch between them—a bridge of understanding that spanned much deeper than mere words. He didn't let go of her hand, and she didn’t want him to. In the quietude, Felicity felt the walls she'd built around her heart begin to crumble, brick by fragile brick, under the tender press of his touch.

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