Page 39 of Mistletoe and Magic

Jace's breath formed a wispy mist that drifted upwards, dissipating quickly into the night, as ephemeral as the hope that had buoyed him just hours before. He wrapped his arms around himself, not against the cold, but in a futile attempt to hold together the pieces of a breaking heart.

Turning away from the bakery, his boots crunched through the freshly fallen snow, each step an echo of his fracturing resolve. Christmas Valley’s Main Street was dressed in its festive best, garlands glistening with ice crystals and twinkling lights that cast a warm glow on the untouched snowbanks. Laughter spilled from the open doors of the Silver Bell Tavern, couples huddled close for warmth as they admired the holiday window displays.

But the cheer felt hollow to Jace. The vibrant reds and greens blurred before his eyes, while the melodies of carolers mingled with the dissonance of his thoughts. He saw Felicity's face in every shimmering ornament, heard her laughter in the jingle of sleigh bells. His heart ached with a longing that felt as vast as the night sky above him.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

The voice pulled him from his reverie. Mr. Puck, the town's eccentric clockworks shop owner, emerged from the shadows like a character from one of the mystical snow globes he kept in the shop—the only thing he sold that wasn’t a clock. His age was indefinable, much like the antique clocks and snow globes that cluttered his shop—each piece as enigmatic as the man himself.

"Quite the display," Jace managed, his voice sounding distant even to his own ears.

"Ah, but it's not just about the glitter and shine, is it?" Mr. Puck's eyes twinkled knowingly. "It's about what lies beneath. The magic hidden in plain sight."

"Magic?" Jace scoffed lightly, though the weight of Felicity's revelation made the term feel all too poignant.

"Indeed." Mr. Puck stepped closer, his breath visible in the cold air. "Tell me, Jace, have you ever believed in something... impossible?"

"Once, perhaps." Jace's gaze drifted, caught on a strand of lights that flickered erratically. "But reality has a way of crushing those beliefs."

"Or," Mr. Puck continued, undeterred, "it could be that those beliefs are what make reality bearable. Sometimes, love itself is a kind of magic. It transforms us, reveals worlds we never knew existed. And yes, sometimes it asks us to believe in the unbelievable."

Jace's heart skipped a beat, the words resonating with a truth he'd been reluctant to acknowledge. Was it so far-fetchedto think that Felicity's story held some merit? That their connection was more than mere chance?

"Love can bridge any distance, Jace. Even between realities." The old man's voice was soft, yet carried the certainty of one who had witnessed many such wonders.

"Even if it means letting go?" Jace asked, the internal struggle evident in his tone.

"Especially then. For in letting go, we hold on to what truly matters. You'll find your way, young man. Follow your heart, and trust in the magic of this place and this season."

With that, Mr. Puck tipped his hat and strolled away, leaving Jace alone once more. But the seeds of hope had been planted. As he looked around at the revelry, the beauty of Christmas Valley began to seep back into his senses. Perhaps the impossible could become possible—if only he dared to believe.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, pulling it out, he recognized the name immediately. Ryan Murphy, his former commanding officer when he had been a SEAL.

“Ryan? What’s Up?”

Felicity

Shortly Before Midnight

Christmas Eve

Felicity stood alone before the ancient clock tower, its hands inching toward the midnight hour with a steadfast resolve that mirrored her own. Mr. Puck had told her if she was there, the clock would shine down on her and she would be able to travel back to her reality. The biting chill of the December night seepedinto her bones but was nothing compared to the freezing of her heart. Her cheeks were painted a rosy hue as her breath fogged the air before her in short, punctuated bursts.

With each tick, the old clock's gears groaned softly, an intimate whisper against the silent backdrop of the night. Her heart, a captive to the rhythm, pounded fiercely within the confines of her chest. It was as if the very seconds slipping away were syncing with the beats of her pulse—a drumroll to the momentous decision that lay heavy on her heart and soul. Knowing she was doing the right thing was cold comfort as she waited.

The air around her hung thick with the impending change; each second that passed seemed to thicken it further, until she felt as though she could reach out and touch the fabric of time itself. Her fingers twitched, restless by her sides, aching to grasp something solid in the sea of uncertainty she waded through.

In the distance, the final moments of Christmas Eve unfurled with quiet dignity, the clock heralding the end of what had been and the beginning of what must come to pass. Felicity's eyes, limpid pools reflecting the moon's gentle glow, were fixed upon the face of the timepiece.

It wasn't just the cold that caused the shiver to traipse down her spine. She was keenly aware of the precipice upon which she teetered—between the life she had come to know and the one that beckoned her with a promise of salvation for those she loved. The courage it took to stand there, to contemplate the leap into the unknown, was a testament to the strength she rarely acknowledged she possessed. Had it been solely for her or the town, she feared her resolve might have crumbled, but for Jace, anything was worth it.

She’d wanted so badly to tell him she loved him, but that would only have served to make her feel better and might have inflicted a wound so deep in his heart that it would never heal.

A gust of wind teased the loose tendrils of her hair, and she tucked them absentmindedly behind her ear. Her thoughts meandered to her unfinished novel, the characters that seemed so real they whispered secrets in her dreams, urging her on and challenging her to breathe life into their stories, just as she sought to give new meaning to her own.

This old clock had witnessed countless such eves, its hands unyielding in their path, indifferent to human hesitancy. Yet tonight, it seemed to Felicity as though it understood the gravity of her choice, ticking down not just the minutes, but the fragments of her resolve.

She could almost hear the voice of her protagonist, as if channeled through her own subconscious:‘Leap, Felicity. For in the fall, you shall find your wings.’It was a line she'd written once in a moment of inspiration, never truly understanding its significance until now.

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