Page 29 of The Enchanted Frost

The baker saw me standing outside her shop, and instead of turning me away, she gave me a bag of leftover bread. I’ve often wondered what I did to deserve such kindness, especially when I’d been so blind to the beggars who used to come to me back when I still had something to give, before…” Emotion clogged my throat and I couldn’t finish.

Rather than condemning me for the mistakes of my past self, Frost’s eyes simply softened as he listened, his usual cool demeanor melting into something more human, a quiet empathy that gave me the strength to continue.

“The bread was still warm,” I added, my voice thick with nostalgia. “But it wasn’t just the food that warmed me—it was her kindness. She didn’t have to help me, but she did, a small act of generosity that has stayed with me all this time.”

Frost stepped closer, his presence steady and comforting, his gaze thoughtful as it lingered on the bag. “I don’t need to view your memories to understand how much that kindness meant to you.”

I nodded, my throat tightening as I traced the stamp one last time before meeting his gaze. “It was one of the few moments in my life when someone truly saw me—not as a burden or inconvenience, but as a person worth helping. I’d forgotten what that felt like, but standing here with you...it’s all coming back. I want to be like that baker—someone who offers warmth and comfort to others, even in the smallest ways…even if my life is nearing its end.” No matter how short my remaining time, I wanted to fill it with as much joy as possible so that unlike my past, I could depart without any lingering regrets.

Frost’s fingers brushed against mine as he took the sack from me. “You already are that person, Blanche. You’ve brought warmth into my life, into this castle, in ways I never thought possible.”

His words, so tender and sincere, caused peace to settle over me, pushing away the cold that had once lingered in my soul. I smiled, though the ache brought by the reminder of my fleeting time tightened my chest. “I want to do more. I want to always remember there’s good in this world and try to be part of it.” My longing was so acute that for a moment I struggled to breathe…especially when I remembered how little time I had left to make that difference.

Frost looked at me with a mix of admiration and affection, his hand lingering on mine, his touch grounding me. “You’ve already made a difference in my life. Whatever you choose to do, I know it will be filled with the same light you carry within you.” He hesitated, as if unsure of whether to continue. “When we watched your memories together, admittedly I was…surprised by some of your actions.”

Shame flooded my face, but Frost gently tilted my chin up, gazing at me with no hint of condemnation.

“The more I thought about it, the more I realized that you were acting as you’d been taught. You’d never witnessed love, so how could you be expected to show it?”

I shook my head, the voices of hungry children ringing in my ears. “That doesn’t excuse ignoring a clear plea for help.”

Frost nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right, but I have seen your deep regret and your attempt to change and grow from your past mistakes. The past cannot be undone, but that doesn’t mean the future must follow the same path. I know you are not the same person now that you were then.”

His words touched something deep inside me, awakening a new resolve. I wanted to be someone who could offer warmth and comfort to others, even in the smallest of ways. Now with Frost by my side, surrounded by the ingredients he had so carefully gathered for me, I felt like I had the strength to carry that kindness forward for however long I had left.

I didn’t want to dwell on the reality that only a handful of moments remained for me to live out my new purpose before Frost finally fulfilled his duty in acquiring my soul; I wanted to spend my remaining time not just living and serving to the best of my ability, but enjoying life with the man who was becoming increasingly dear to me.

I pushed away the last wisps of melancholy and nostalgia that clung to the edges of my mind and focused on the present—the warmth of this moment with him. It was easy for our current tenderness to turn into laughter when Frost lugged a hefty bag of baking powder onto the counter. “You certainly went above and beyond.”

Puzzlement furrowed his brow, a perplexity that deepened further when I pointed to the recipe, explaining that we only needed a tiny spoonful. “Is that truly all that we need for an entire batch of gingerbread?” At my nod, his mystified expression cleared into one of his soft smiles, reminiscent of the tenderness blooming between us.

We continued working on the gingerbread, our shared laughter mingling with the warmth of the fire. The simple act of baking had become something more—a connection between us that allowed me to momentarily forget the weight of my looming future.

I watched as Frost carefully measured out the ingredients, his movements precise and deliberate, his brow furrowed in such concentration I couldn’t help but smile. I gently nudged him with my elbow. “You’re really taking this seriously.”

His lips curved into a small, almost sheepish grin as he looked up at me. “It’s important I get it right.”

There was something in his words—unspoken yet heavy with meaning—that sent my heart fluttering. He was expending so much effort forme, a thought that made this moment all the more precious.

When it came time to mix the spices, I noticed something that made me pause. Fighting to suppress my grin, I picked up one of the jars and turned it towards him. “Did you forget to label these?”

Frost blinked, his gaze flickering between the jar in my hand and the others lined up on the counter, each bearing a small amount of powder in various hues of brown. His expression slowly shifted from confusion to mild embarrassment. “I…didn’t consider that.”

A laugh bubbled from my chest as I shook my head, amused. “It appears we have quite the task ahead of us.”

We spent the next few minutes tasting and smelling a pinch from each jar, trying to distinguish the ginger from the cinnamon, the nutmeg from the cloves. With my limited baking experience the task proved harder than I expected, especially with Frost’s serious approach to every sniff and taste.

We initially got some of them wrong—mistaking nutmeg for cloves, causing us to almost use too much of the wrong spice. Each misstep brought another round of laughter, filling the frosty room with a lightness that drew my heart even closer to his, the space between us shrinking with every touch and glance.

I found Frost’s concentration endearing, especially the more his usual stoic demeanor and rigid posture relaxed as he allowed himself to enjoy the process. He closed his eyes as he took in each scent, a slight crease in his brow as he tried to place it. After lingering long over one particular jar,he triumphantly held it up, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“I’m quite confident this is the cinnamon.” Despite his showy declaration, a glimmer of doubt filled his tone.

I took a deep whiff, only to burst into laughter. “This is ginger! But you were close.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he set the jar back down. “This is more complicated than I thought.”

“For all your mastery over winter, spices seem to be your weakness.”

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