Page 35 of Mistletoe and Magic

He turned on his heel but stopped at the door. "I appreciate your concern," Jace said, his voice steadier now, the timber resonant with the beginnings of a plan yet unformed. "But I'm not one to back down without a fight."

The bank manager looked at him, perhaps seeing more than just the rugged charm and flannel-clad resilience. Maybe he saw the ember of a flame that refused to be snuffed out, the same ember that had warmed the hearts of the community rallying behind him.

"Very well," the manager replied, his own resignation clear. "You have until the last minute of the year. After that..."

"I know." Jace cut him off. The bank manager rose, every movement deliberate, signaling an end to their meeting.

Outside, the chill of the oncoming winter nipped at his skin, but Jace barely felt it. He was already thinking of strategies, of ways to keep the fire alive. Candace Prescott may have bought the note, but she hadn't yet snuffed out the spirit of Christmas Valley—or the man determined to save its beating heart.

20

FELICITY

Felicity's breath formed misty puffs of white in the crisp Christmas Valley night, each exhale a visible reminder of the time slipping through her fingers like the melting snowflakes on her knitted gloves. She stood in the town square, her gaze fixed on the towering clock that had become both her sentinel and tormentor. Its ticking, once lost amidst the festive laughter of carolers, now resonated within her, louder with each passing day.

"Tick, tock," she whispered, the words escaping her lips as though they could slow the relentless march of the minute hand. "Just like in those suspense novels where the bomb's about to go off."

The clock tower loomed, a silent, brooding observer of her internal struggle. It was a grand old thing, ornate hands inching forward against a backdrop of stars, commanding the nighttime sky. But to Felicity, it felt more like a countdown—a measure of the dwindling moments left in a world she'd grown to cherish, a presage to the inevitable farewell she wasn't sure she could bear.

"Time is heartless, isn't it?" she muttered, her fingers tracing the outline of a snowflake against the lamppost, watching as it disappeared—transient and beautiful. Her breath hitched, aquiet sob of realization that everything she loved here was as fragile as ice under the midday sun.

"Shouldn't you be somewhere warmer, Felicity?" The concern in the voice matched the warmth of the hand that suddenly covered hers, stilling its motion.

She turned, her eyes locking onto the grinning face of her friend Ivy. Felicity watched her, her gaze tinged with understanding that only came from years of reading people between the lines of their favorite stories.

"Perhaps," she admitted, reluctant to confess the gravity of her pensive vigil. "But I'm afraid... not just of leaving, but of what I'll leave behind."

"Ah, the classic dilemma of the protagonist at the crossroads," Ivy said, offering a concerned smile. She rippled her fingertips one against the other. "The plot thickens, and the reader wonders which path she will choose."

"Except I'm no character in a novel, Ivy. My choices are real, and they have consequences," she replied, her voice laced with a melancholy that mirrored the dwindling light in the streetlamps above.

"Of course, they do. But remember, every good story requires a leap of faith. And sometimes, the most extraordinary tales are born from the most ordinary moments." Ivy gave her a quick hug. “I was just giving you a hard time,” she said, leaving her with a parting nod that seemed to offer empathy and encouragement.

As the clock chimed, marking the late hour, Felicity felt the urgency of her decision press against her chest, a physical ache that mirrored the emotional tumult churning inside her. The shops around her were closed, their windows dark and their joyous decorations seeming to mock her with their cheer.

"Tick, tock," the clock called out again, and Felicity shivered—not from the cold, but from the foreboding sense that everytick was a step away from this magical place, every tock a step back toward a reality she no longer wanted.

"Choices," she breathed into the night, a plea for clarity to the stars above. "Why must they be so hard?"

With a last glance at the clock—an anchor in a sea of uncertainty—she wrapped her arms around herself, seeking solace in the thought that perhaps the right choice would reveal itself before the final chime echoed across Christmas Valley.

Felicity wandered through the whispering pines that bordered Christmas Valley, her breath visible in the crisp night air. The scent of pine needles mingled with the earthy aroma of frostbitten soil, grounding her as she grappled with the decision that loomed over her like a specter. The mysterious clock in the town square had become not just a keeper of time but a herald of her dwindling moments in this enchanting place.

The deadline for her choice was intertwined with Jace’s own reckoning—the note that could strip him of the Northwind Lodge unless paid in full. Her mind danced with possibilities, with the power that lay dormant in her hands. If she left now, returned to her reality, she could rewrite their fates, save the lodge, Jace, and perhaps even the town from financial ruin. She could be the architect of their salvation.

A soft sigh escaped her lips, each exhalation forming a cloud that mingled with the night's essence. The thought of rewriting the book was seductive, but it came at a cost that she wasn’t sure she could pay—a life devoid of Jace's presence.

Images of him flooded her senses; the way his eyes sparkled like emerald flames when he laughed, the warmth that radiated from his flannel-clad chest, the rugged charm that made her heart race. His voice, rich and confident, seemed to echo through the trees, whispering promises of adventure and solace in an embrace she feared might soon slip away.

Her footsteps slowed, and she wrapped her arms tighter around herself, seeking comfort in the imagined hold Jace might offer. The idea of leaving him behind, of severing the invisible thread that had woven itself between them, was daunting. It felt like contemplating a plunge into frigid waters, knowing the cold would seep into her bones, leaving a chill that would rob her of her breath and the life she had come to want more than anything.

"Jace," she whispered, the name a talisman against the encroaching despair. The man who had sought escape in Christmas Valley now personified everything she yearned to cling to—passion, connection, a shared vulnerability that had brought them closer than she'd ever anticipated.

Could she truly leave behind the bond that had grown between them, as natural as the pines reaching skyward? But if staying meant watching his dreams, and that of the others in the village, crumble, could she live with the guilt?

Felicity stood still amid the trees, the looming decision pressing close, as though the forest itself held its breath. In the distance, the first flakes of an oncoming snowstorm began their silent descent, painting the world in shades of white and gray—a blank canvas upon which their story might yet be rewritten.

The following day, Felicity's fingers traced the delicate spines of books as she wandered the aisles of Ivy's quaint bookstore, her gaze distant. Each title seemed to whisper promises of escapism, but none could ease the restless turmoil that churned within her. The enchanting allure of the snow-dusted streets outside had dimmed, and now, the once-charming jingle of sleigh bellssounded more like a dirge for her departing days in this wintry haven.

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