Page 8 of Mistletoe and Magic

Jace

Jace's gaze shifted downward to the casualties sprawled across the icy blanket of snow—a fallen army of sugar and spice. The gingerbread men, once destined for a display at the artisan grocery, now lay disarrayed, their candied expressions gazing skyward as if questioning their untimely fate.

"Looks like the cookies didn't make it," he murmured, the words tinted with a rueful humor that didn't quite reach his eyes. It was a triviality in the grand scheme of things, yet it stirred an unexpected pang of sympathy within him.

The woman, Felicity—her name a bright chime in his mind—cast her own look of dismay at the sweet disaster before them. Her sigh fogged the air, clouding momentarily over the wreckage. "Of course they didn’t. These were for the display at the artisan grocery. People are going to be disappointed."

Her voice trembled, not with cold, but with a tint of desperation that Jace recognized all too well—the pressure to perform, to please, to uphold expectations. It echoed his own concerns, the ones gnawing at the edges of his consciousness, threatening to dismantle the fragile hope he'd been building here.

There was an intimacy in that shared moment of loss, however small, a thread of connection spun from the frayed ends of their morning plans. Jace felt the pull of it, the warmth of her proximity mingling with the crisp bite of winter air, creating a cocoon that held them both.

Jace's hands sifted through the fluff of snow, uncovering a particularly plump gingerbread figure. It had all the makings of a cookie casualty, frosted smile askew and one sugared limb buried beneath a dusting of white. "They look... uh, mostly intact," he ventured, lifting it for inspection.

Felicity eyed the dismembered gingerbread man, her laughter bubbling up. "Mostly intact?" She clutched her stomach as if his words tickled her from the inside, her chuckles mingling with the soft chime of distant bells. "I think this guy needs a paramedic."

The crisp air carried the scent of pine and lost sweetness as Jace joined in the mirth, a low chuckle escaping him. His breath frosted before him, wrapping around them in an ephemeral cloud that seemed to hold the echo of their shared amusement. The laughter was a balm, soothing the raw edges of his anxiety over the lodge, if only for a moment.

Felicity's eyes sparkled, a gleaming blue that rivaled the stark winter sky above. Her merriment faded into a warm smile that reached deep, stirring something within Jace—a longing to linger in this instant where troubles were as fleeting as the steam from their breath.

He scooped up another gingerbread casualty, its frosting a tragic smile beneath a snowy blanket. Jace couldn't help but let out another low laugh, the sound rough-edged but genuine. It had been too long since he'd found humor in chaos.

"You’re going to need help triaging all these casualties." The words fell between them like the snowflakes that dusted his shoulders, light and unexpected.

Her grin was undiminished, a beacon of warmth in the chill air. "I’m afraid they’re all going to be declared dead on arrival," she offered, the quip rolling off her tongue with ease. "And thanks for the save, Jace. You have pretty good reflexes."

The compliment settled over him like the welcome weight of a well-worn jacket, familiar yet somehow new and exciting. He stood there, the gingerbread man still clutched in his hand, feeling the pull of something beyond the simple touch of their laughter.

Felicity's smile lingered, softening the edges of the morning with a glow that seemed to radiate from within her. Her gratitude was a warm brush against the coldness that had seeped into his bones, not just from the winter air but from the sense of defeat that had been his shadow of late.

In that moment, with her laughter still echoing in his ears, Jace felt the icy grip of dread loosen ever so slightly. There was a magic here in Christmas Valley, tucked away in unexpected corners like hidden treasures waiting to be uncovered.

Jace's hand remained beneath her elbow, the pressure light yet firm, as if he was still unsure whether she was steady on her own feet. "Years of practice," he said, the words floatingon a playful shrug that drew her gaze to the broad set of his shoulders. "Although I usually catch frying pans, not people." His smile was half a confession, half invitation to a secret only they shared in this snow-dusted street.

Her eyebrows arched, curiosity and amusement mingling in the bright blue pools of her eyes. "Frying pans?" Felicity echoed, her voice tinged with the wonder of a child uncovering the first layer of a treasured storybook.

Jace nodded, the motion sending a cascade of snowflakes from his hair, each one catching the early morning light as they spiraled down to join their fallen brethren. "I used to work in a kitchen where dodging airborne cookware was part of the job description." His words painted an image of clattering chaos, of sizzling passion amidst the flames of gas burners—of a life far removed from the stillness of Christmas Valley.

The corner of Felicity's mouth quirked upward, her breath releasing in a misty plume that danced between them, carrying with it the faint scent of sugar and spice. Her fingers twitched against his sleeve, and Jace felt the pull, electric and undeniable, like the north star guiding him through uncharted waters.

"Sounds... eventful," she mused, and there was a twinkle in her eye that suggested she might just be envisioning him, apron-clad and valiant, amid the culinary battlegrounds of some distant cityscape.

"Eventful," Jace repeated, the word rolling off his tongue as he let go of her arm, the absence of her touch leaving a space colder than the air around them. "But not nearly as thrilling as this moment right here."

Their exchange was a dance, each word a step closer, each glance a deeper dive into what might be. And though the bank loomed large in his thoughts, in that instant, with Felicity before him, all seemed possible—even the salvation of the Northwind Lodge, even the mending of his own fractured heart.

Jace's grin tilted sideways, a silent admission of his past life. "I used to be a chef," he confessed, his voice low, hinting at the fire and ice of restaurant kitchens now miles and memories away. "I guess I still am. I guess I’ll have to get used to catching people instead of kitchenware."

Felicity's laughter danced in the air, a sound that beckoned him closer to the warmth of her spirit. She cast him a look of mock severity, her eyes a vibrant blue that held histories untold, futures unimagined. "Well, you’ve got the hero thing down pretty well," she teased, the light in her gaze pulling him into a momentary fantasy where heroes and bakers shared more than just fleeting collisions. "I might need to keep you around."

He chuckled, the sound rumbling from deep within. Her words lingered, wrapping around him like the scarf snug at his throat, promising comfort he hadn't felt in ages.

"Keep me around?" Jace echoed, an eyebrow arched in playful challenge. The notion sent a thrill through him, one that stirred the remains of a long-abandoned hope. Could this town, with its festive charm and unexpected encounters, offer him not just redemption for the lodge but also a chance at rekindling his heart?

Their breath mingled, creating visible wisps as fragile and beautiful as the snowflakes adorning Felicity's hair. He felt the tug—the undeniable pull of a new beginning—as he stood before her, caught between the world he knew and the one that beckoned with her every smile.

Jace's smile lingered, a rarity that felt both foreign and delightful as it stretched across his lips. The cold of Christmas Valley seeped through his boots, but the chill was nothing compared to the warmth spreading through his chest. Felicity was an unexpected spark of warmth in the frosty morning.

He watched, captivated, as her laughter danced across the icy air, a melody that disarmed his well-guarded heart. Her smilewasn't just a curve of lips; it was light incarnate, pushing back the gloom that had settled over him since he left Boston. It wasn’t just her humor in the face of a tumble that charmed him—it was her resilience, shining through like sunlight glinting off snow.

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