Page 20 of Mistletoe and Magic

They moved together in a rhythm as natural as breathing—their bodies finding a harmony that rivaled the most finely tuned ovens. Whispers of pleasure intermingled with the lingering scents of sugar and cinnamon, each moan a note in the music that played only for them.

As the moon climbed higher, casting a silvery glow through the windows in her flat, they tumbled into bed, but exhaustion never found them. Instead, they explored each other with a slow burn, stoking fires that simmered long into the night. In those moments, Felicity's doubts were replaced by a profound certainty—Jace was her anchor in the tempest of competition, her partner in every sense.

By the time dawn painted the sky with hues of pink and orange, Felicity knew that win or lose, she had already claimed the sweetest victory in Jace's embrace. The contest would come, but for now, she reveled in the love that was both her secret ingredient and her greatest reward.

The bakery hummed with the promise of festive delights as Felicity dusted a fine layer of flour over the rolling pin, her movements fluid and assured. The scent of melting chocolate and warming spices mingled in the air, wrapping around her like an aromatic shawl. She rolled out the dough with a practiced touch, each press of the pin smoothing the way for the perfect holiday pastries that would soon nestle in her pastry cases.

"Jace would love this one," she murmured to herself, imagining his surprise when he tasted the delicate infusion ofnutmeg she had added to the mix. Her thoughts of him lingered like the sweet aftertaste of her creations, igniting a familiar warmth within her.

In the midst of her musings, Ivy wandered into the kitchen, as she often did. It was their habit before each opened her shop to share a cup of coffee and a pastry still warm from the oven. Ivy’s eyes were bright with the kind of curiosity that often led to prying.

"So, how's the prep coming?" she asked, leaning against the counter with a knowing smile, her gaze flitting over to the recipe cards splayed across it.

"Good, I think," Felicity replied, trying to mask her nerves beneath a veneer of confidence. "I'm still tweaking it."

"Ah, Jace's input must be invaluable," Ivy said, a playful tilt to her voice as she picked up a dusting of cocoa on her fingertip and tasted it. "You two have been spending every night together, huh? Experimenting?"

Felicity felt a blush rise to her cheeks, her heart fluttering at the memory of their nocturnal adventures—both culinary and carnal. "We're just... you know, making sure everything is perfect for the contest," she stammered, tucking a stray curl behind her ear.

"Of course," Ivy nodded, her eyes locked onto Felicity's as she looked at her with an infectious grin.

As Ivy continued to talk, Felicity let the rhythm of the day, which had come to feel as normal as breathing, draw her back, the clatter of pans and whir of the mixer grounding her. But the seed had been planted, and as she worked, her mind danced between the lines of the unfinished manuscript she’d left behind and the man who had unwittingly become her hero not just on paper, but in the very essence of her life. The problem was, if she was ever able to return to her own reality and finish her manuscript, would she have to leave Jace and Christmas Valleybehind? If so, was she willing to do that? And did she really have a choice?

13

JACE

Jace’s heart was a thunderous presence in his chest as he pulled off the icy road, gravel crunching beneath the tires of his Range Rover. His gaze locked onto the sleek, black SUV that had no business marring the rustic charm of his closed-for-renovation lodge's snow-dusted driveway. Despite the chill biting through his flannel shirt, a flicker of annoyance warmed his blood. The corporate vultures had arrived—uninvited.

For weeks, Jace had evaded their persistent advances with the skill of a seasoned navigator charting treacherous waters. Letters had been left unopened and marked ‘return to sender,’ emails ignored, calls met with the silence of the mountain air. Yet here they were, as unwelcome as frostbite on a clear winter’s day.

He climbed out of the Range Rover, slamming the door behind him, his boots sinking slightly into the fresh powder that blanketed the ground. The driver of the intruding vehicle, an immaculate figure in a tailored suit, stepped out to open the rear door, but Jace was quicker. Striding forward with purpose, he pressed his hand against the door and forced it shut before anyone could emerge from the cocoon of luxury.

"Move along," he commanded, voice laced with the kind of authority that resonated with the wild around them. "I'm not interested, and you’re trespassing." Eyes mirroring the pines surrounding the property bore into the driver with an intensity that left no room for argument. "And I have my grandaddy’s shotgun to back that up." He didn’t, but neither the driver nor the SUV’s occupants had any way of knowing that.

The implicit threat hung between them, a reminder of the stakes at play. This land wasn’t just soil and timber—it was the keeper of his heart’s solace, the battleground of his defiance against a past that had seen him in the midst of a jungle in a battle to save his commander’s life to the cacophony of a busy Michelin starred restaurant and now to a small peaceful village in Vermont. With a scowl etched upon his rugged features, Jace turned his back on the interloper, the weight of the lodge keys in his pocket a comforting reminder of the fight he had won—and the battles yet to come.

Jace's boots crunched on the fresh layer of snow as he strode towards the lodge, his breath visible in the frigid air. He had faced down more than blizzards and broken pipes in his time here; the lodge was a testament to his grit, a sanctuary built with sweat and dreams. Selling was not an option, not even when the bank manager, with furrowed brow and pitying eyes, had urged him to let go. The denial of the loan stung less than the insinuation that he couldn't make it. But Jace knew resilience like the back of his calloused hands; he had other plans, hidden cards up his sleeve—a group of investors who weren't afraid of a gamble and whose deep pockets were lined with the promise of future prosperity.

As he was ready to cross the threshold into his sanctuary, the shrill ring of his cell phone cut through the silence like a storm siren. He hesitated, hand hovering over the lodge keys,the metallic jingle a stark contrast to the urgency in the vibration against his thigh.

"Jace Winterborne," he answered, voice steady despite the sudden thrum of adrenaline that coursed through his veins.

"Jace, it's Hank from down at the hardware store. We've got a group of hikers caught in the snowstorm up on the ridge. The mayor thought you might be able to help."

Without a second thought, the lodge and its warmth, the incessant pressure from the bank, and the prowling corporate wolves at his door all faded into the backdrop of his mind. Duty and an innate desire to protect roared to the forefront.

"Count me in," Jace said firmly, already moving towards his Range Rover, urgency lending speed to his stride.

As he passed by the SUV, the driver, still recoiling from their earlier encounter, glanced up, an uncertain question in his eyes. Jace could feel the man's gaze following him, but the impending peril of the hikers overshadowed any concern for the intruder's bewilderment.

"Get off my land, and if I were you, I’d get into town and find a place to stay.” He looked up at the sky. “I’m not sure you’re going to have time to get back to any nearby city before this storm hits." Jace’s tone brooked no argument.

The driver blinked, startled, as Jace shoved the door of the passenger compartment closed again with a resolute thud. Not breaking pace, he gripped the handle of the driver's doors, yanking it open to push the driver inside, leaning in close enough for his breath to fog the glass.

"Next time you come back, you better have an invitation," he growled, the timber of his voice low and menacing. The driver nodded, wide-eyed, and Jace slammed the door shut, the finality of the act reinforcing his resolve.

With a swift turn, Jace headed to his Range Rover, the cold biting at his skin, reminding him of the harshness awaiting onthe mountain. But there was no room for hesitation; his heart pumped fiercely, driven by the knowledge that every second mattered when lives hung precariously in nature's unforgiving grasp.

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