Page 16 of It's the Worst Time of the Year

Jacob and I ended up at the same side of the counter, rolling out gingerbread dough. He dusted the surface with flour,grinning mischievously. When I reached for the rolling pin, his hand “accidentally” nudged the flour toward me, leaving a white smudge on my sleeve.

I gasped, pretending outrage. “Did you just flour me?”

He smirked, eyes dancing. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

In retaliation, I dabbed my fingertips in the flour and tapped his nose, leaving a dusty white patch there. He blinked, mock-offended. “Oh, you’re in trouble now.”

A brief, playful skirmish ensued, resulting in both of us giggling helplessly, smears of flour on our cheeks and sweaters. Across the kitchen, Edna scolded us good-naturedly. “You two children behave! This is a kitchen, not a playground.”

But her lips twitched in amusement, and even Theodore looked mildly entertained, his posture more relaxed than I’d seen it.

Soon, we had trays of cut-out cookies shaped like trees, stars, and gingerbread men ready to go into the oven. Edna handled that part, sliding the trays onto racks with the ease of a true home baker. Theodore mixed icing sugar and water to make a simple glaze. Jacob arranged cooling racks on the table, and I chopped candied cherries for decorations.

Between batches, we sampled a few broken cookies (purely for quality control, of course) and sipped hot cocoa that Edna conjured from her stash. The tension that had lingered seemed to dissolve into the sweetness of sugar and spice.

As dusk approached, the kitchen glowed with lamplight and oven warmth. The radio played “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” and I hummed along softly, wiping a stray crumb from the corner of my mouth. My heart felt strangely full, as though I’d stumbled into the pages of a Christmas storybook.

Jacob caught my eye as we worked side by side, and something passed between us—a soft recognition of the moment’s sweetness. He lifted a sprig of greenery from a basket on the counter. It took me a second to realize it was mistletoe, small white berries nestled among the green leaves.

“Hey, Bailey,” he said lightly, raising the mistletoe above his head. “Look what I found.”

My pulse quickened. I glanced around, suddenly nervous. Edna and Theodore were busy with the icing at the other end of the kitchen, paying us little attention. Jacob stepped closer, his voice low and teasing. “Isn’t there some holiday tradition associated with this stuff?”

I swallowed, my throat dry. “M-maybe. Something about a kiss, I think.”

His gaze flickered to my lips, then back to my eyes. We stood so close I could feel the warmth of his body, smell the mix of flour and soap on his skin. My heart hammered as if it might break through my ribs.

This was it—a moment hanging in the balance. Outside, the snowdrifts could have reached the roof for all I cared. Inside, time slowed. Jacob lowered his head slightly, his mouth just inches from mine. I could see the subtle green flecks in his irises, the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks.

But as his breath mingled with mine, uncertainty flared within me. This was all so sudden, so intense. The past, the future, the what-ifs tangled in my mind. Before our lips could meet, I pulled away, stepping back just enough to break the spell.

“Sorry,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the soft hum of the radio. My cheeks burned, and I couldn’t quite meet his eyes.

Jacob froze for a second, the disappointment in his expression so fleeting I might have imagined it. Then he recovered, offering me a gentle, understanding smile. “No need to apologize. I guess I just got caught up with holiday spirit.”

I managed a shaky laugh. “It’s definitely in the air.”

Behind us, Edna hummed a carol, and Theodore coughed lightly, maybe noticing nothing, maybe noticing everything. I couldn’t tell. All I knew was that my heart was still pounding, and my mind was racing with emotions.

The day would end soon, darkness falling early in this snowy wonderland. Tomorrow would be Christmas Eve, and we’d still be here, stuck in this old mansion with secrets in the walls and snow piling high outside. There would be more chances to talk, to understand what I was feeling—and what Jacob might be feeling too. At least, so I hoped.

Chapter Six

JACOB

I woke on Christmas Eve to the quiet crackle of a distant fire and the gentle hum of the old mansion’s heater doing its valiant best. I felt like the entire house was caught between centuries—creaking floors and antique furniture playing gracious host to the shiny new holiday décor that Edna had insisted on hanging. Outside, the storm had gentled into a peaceful snowfall. The light filtering through the windows in the morning had been thin and gray, and the day had unspooled slowly, like a spool of crimson ribbon released by a lazy cat.

Now it was late afternoon, maybe early evening, and I found myself settled in one of the manor’s many sitting rooms with Theodore. The room had become a de facto gathering place when we weren’t all working in the kitchen or exploring the old corridors. The fireplace mantel was draped with evergreen boughs and cranberry garlands, and the tree we’d put up stood proudly in the corner with its ornaments glinting softly. We’d managed to salvage a few more strands of lights from Edna’s seemingly bottomless boxes of Christmas supplies, and now thetree shimmered with tiny bulbs that winked and smiled like old friends.

I sat across from Theodore, each of us cradling mugs of mulled wine that Edna had brewed using spices and a bottle of red she’d found. The scent of clove and cinnamon drifted through the room, mingling with the faint aroma of woodsmoke. Theodore stared at the tree, eyes distant, the reflection of the tiny lights like stars in his pupils.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a tree so beautifully done up,” he said quietly, almost to himself. His voice had lost the edge of sarcasm that so often accompanied his pronouncements. Here, in the warmth and hush of Christmas Eve, he sounded like a man remembering a younger version of himself. “My family used to put up a grand tree every year—a real showstopper. Back then, we held dances, parties…everyone would come. I guess time changes a lot of things.”

I sipped my wine, the warmth blooming in my chest. “Time does that,” I agreed. I didn’t push him to elaborate. Theodore wasn’t the type to be rushed.

“By the way, will you be attending the Christmas Day Gala at the ski resort? Assuming we’ll be rescued by then, of course,” I added with a chuckle, remembering the event on my itinerary. My firm had paid for a VIP ticket for me, wanting to make sure that I passed around plenty of business cards to the people of Winterhaven after winning the big case.

Theodore scowled. “I’m slated to make an appearance.” I noticed his fingers tightening on the mug’s handle.

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