Page 26 of Mistletoe and Magic

"For being here this morning, for making me believe," she said, her gaze locked with his, "that some dreams might just be worth chasing."

And as the northern lights shimmered across the night sky, their glow dancing like promises waiting to be kept, Jace stood beneath the weight of the winter evening’s stillness. The carolers’ distant song carried on the cold breeze, wrapping the world in tradition and longing. He stared at the horizon toward where he knew the Northwind Lodge was located and realized with a startling clarity that his greatest adventure wasn’t waiting out there. It was right here, daring him to open his heart before it slipped through his fingers like snow on warm skin.

16

FELICITY

Felicity's hands trembled slightly as she arranged the gingerbread men in the wicker basket, each one frosted to perfection with a hint of spices in their sweet scent—a small comfort that tethered her to this peculiar world that was both foreign and familiar. She had believed that the secret of her displacement, her existence in a reality not her own, was hers alone to bear. Yet, the truth seemed as fragile as the delicate buttons made of icing on the gingerbread figures.

"Be careful," she murmured to herself, more out of habit than necessity. "These little guys have quite the fan club."

The morning sun cast a buttery glow over Christmas Valley as Felicity stepped out into the chill, the air crisp against her skin. Her breath danced away into nothingness, much like the remnants of her old life seemed to do. The town was awakening, shops opening their arms to the day's promise, and yet Felicity felt a thrum of tension beneath the quaint charm.

"Back with your famous cookies, I see," Vonna Harper, the owner of the artisan grocery, greeted her with a warm smile as she entered. Her eyes crinkled at the corners, genuine delight evident in her voice.

"By popular demand," Felicity replied, attempting to match her enthusiasm while her heart raced with secrets untold. She placed the basket carefully on the counter, the gingerbread men lined up like soldiers awaiting their sweet fate.

"Can't keep these on the shelves for long," Vonna said, her gaze appreciative as she admired her handiwork. "You've got a real gift, Felicity."

"Thank you," she said softly, her fingers absentmindedly brushing a stray curl behind her ear, a gesture of bashfulness that often accompanied her compliments. "It's just... it's nice to be good at something that brings joy."

"More than just something, I'd wager," Vonna mused, her tone laced with intrigue. "There's a certain... magic about what you do."

Felicity's pulse quickened, her mind racing as she wondered if Vonna knew more than she let on. Could she see through her, to the woman who didn't belong? To the aspiring novelist who whispered words to a shooting star in another reality, longing for a love as consuming as the tales she spun?

"Magic is a tricky thing," Felicity ventured, her voice barely above a whisper, her senses heightened as she sought any sign of deeper knowledge in Vonna’s expression. "It can make you believe in the unbelievable."

"Ah, but isn't that the best part?" Vonna chuckled, her attention now on arranging the basket amidst other local delicacies. "The believing?"

"Perhaps," Felicity conceded, her heart aching with the weight of her own disbelief. As she turned to leave, the soft chime of the door's bell and the rustle of leaves in the gentle wind whispered of mysteries yet to unfold, of desires that lay dormant within her soul—desires that, like her gingerbread men, yearned to be discovered and savored in this strange new reality.

Felicity's boots clicked against the cobblestones as she made her way back toward the bakery. The air was crisp, nipping at her cheeks with each step, but it was the sight of a mantle clock through the window of Mr. Puck's clock shop that stopped her cold. It was identical to the one that had graced her own living room in a reality far removed from the charming village of Christmas Valley.

Drawn inside by some unseen force, Felicity found herself stepping inside the shop, the scent of aged wood and oiled metal gears greeting her as warmly as the quaint chime of the bells that hung over the bakery’s door. Rows upon rows of clocks ticked in unison that echoed the steady beat of her heart.

"If we adjust the narrative, perhaps we can just keep her guessing… keep her here," Mr. Puck's voice drifted from the back of the shop, shrouded in mystery.

"Perhaps, but do we have that right? She has earned the choice. It has to be hers," Mayor Moorehouse replied, her voice smooth as velvet. “You have to tell her."

Felicity froze behind a tall grandfather clock, its pendulum swinging like the rhythm of her pulse. She dared not breathe too loudly, for fear they would discover her eavesdropping.

"I know, but I’d hate to lose her. She is so much a part of this community," Mr. Puck said, his voice oddly sinister amid the ticking around her.

"She is and her leaving could present us with complications…" the mayor conceded.

"Complications?" Mr. Puck's curiosity was palpable even from his tone.

"Jace Winterborne." The mere mention of his name sent a jolt through Felicity's body, igniting a warmth that contrasted sharply with the cool air of the shop.

"Ah, the lodge owner. I see. His involvement could be... problematic. Or perhaps serendipitous," said Mr. Puck, musing over the possibilities.

"Only time will tell," Mayor Moorehouse said with a note of finality.

Felicity backed away from the door and the conversation as quietly as she had entered, her mind a whirlwind of questions and fears. She had been so certain that her true identity, the woman behind the words of an unfinished novel in another reality, was undetected in this world. But now, she wondered just how much these two pillars of village society knew—and what role she was truly meant to play in the curious tale of Christmas Valley.

The sound of the gears and springs working together seemed to build to a crescendo, a cacophony that mirrored the chaos now churning in Felicity's mind. Each tick was a hammer strike against the anvil of her reality, forging new doubts with every resonant beat. The scent of metal and clockwork oil hung thick in the air, mingling with the mustiness of old wood—a pungent reminder that this place, so similar to her own world, held secrets she had never intended to uncover.

Felicity edged away from the conversation that had ensnared her, her heart pounding in time with the relentless ticking. She could not unhear the words that suggested her existence here was as crafted and intricate as the timepieces surrounding her. The air felt thicker, each inhalation laced with her newfound awareness.

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