Chapter Five

BAILEY

I woke in a world of softness and quiet. Burrowed beneath a pile of quilts and blankets, I had to remind myself where I was: the third floor of Barrington Manor, tucked into a gigantic wrought-iron four-poster bed. I hadn’t slept so deeply in—I couldn’t even recall how long. No alarm blaring in my ear, no early-morning conference calls, no frantic rush to hail a cab or beat the traffic. Just warmth, hushed silence, and the gentle hush of wind outside the window.

I turned onto my side, inhaling the faint scent of lavender and something earthy in the linens. The heavy velvet curtains had been left half-open, and a pearly light filtered in, revealing that the snow was still coming down. Mother Nature had certainly decided to gift us with a frosted fortress—the drifts outside rose nearly to the windowsills, leaving nothing but ghostly shapes of hedges and trees beyond. There was definitely no going anywhere today. We were snowed in, well and truly. Yet somehow, the thought didn’t fill me with dread. Instead, it felt almost enchanting, as though we’d stumbled into a secret holiday hideaway sealed off from the rest of the world. If only we could all keep from killing each other, we might actually be able to enjoy ourselves a little. A rueful smile came to my face as I snuggled deeper under the covers and gazed at the swirling snowflakes outside the window.

Last night’s dinner replayed in my mind. After we’d discovered Edna’s hidden stash of supplies and coaxed the ancient generator to life, the four of us—Jacob, Theodore, Edna, and I—had ended up in the kitchen, cobbling together the stew. Edna had taken charge, and what a miracle-worker she proved to be: she turned a few root vegetables, a package of frozen beef tips, a tin of broth, and some dried herbs into the most mouthwatering stew I’d tasted in years. We’d devoured it at a makeshift dining arrangement in the parlor, not saying much because we’d all been worn out and ravenous. The meal had been unexpectedly comforting. Afterwards, Theodore’s grumblings had quieted, Jacob’s teasing had softened, and Edna had hummed a Christmas carol while tidying up. I’d helped her peel carrots and chop onions, enjoying the warmth of the kitchen and her cheerful chatter, feeling oddly at home despite the strangeness of the setting.

Later, we’d divided up the bedrooms. Theodore and Edna had chosen rooms on the second floor—he’d insisted on one with a view over the driveway, as if he expected a plow to appear at any moment—and Edna had settled into a chamber decorated with faded floral wallpaper. Jacob and I had ventured up to the third floor, following a corridor lit by a single string of Christmas lights plugged into a hallway socket. We’d found extra blankets, linens, and towels tucked neatly into old-fashioned armoires. My own room boasted an en-suite bathroom complete with a claw-foot tub, and I’d indulged in a long, hot soak, letting the stress of yesterday’s journey melt away. By the time I crawled into the large bed, I’d fallen asleep instantly, the kind of deep, dreamless slumber that comes only when your body is completely spent but utterly safe.

I stretched my arms overhead languidly, relishing the fact that no shrill beeping was forcing me to rise. Instead, I chose to get up out of sheer contentment. Swinging my feet to the floor, I found slippers (thankfully discovered in a closet last night) and padded over to the window. The snow was still drifting lazily down, big fluffy flakes that glimmered in the morning light. The power was on, judging by the soft hum of the house and the subtle warmth in the radiators near the wall. We had electricity, we had food, we had blankets—this storm would not defeat us.

After dressing—I made my way downstairs. The grand staircase was a sight to behold. Yesterday it had seemed a sad relic of times gone by, but now, with holiday lights twinkling along the banister, it was downright festive. The scent of something delicious wafted up, prompting my stomach to growl. I followed my nose toward the kitchen.

I entered to find a cozy domestic scene: Edna stood at the large wooden table, cracking eggs into a chipped porcelain bowl, her tinsel scarf replaced this morning by a Santa-patterned apron. The strands of her silver hair were twisted up in a loose bun, and she hummed quietly as she worked. Jacob, broad-shouldered and focused, hovered over the stovetop, turning strips of bacon in a cast-iron pan. The sizzle of hot fat was music to my ears, and a curl of smoky scent made my mouth water. Theodore appeared from a doorway that presumably led to the cellar, a dusting of flour on his impeccable trousers, carrying a sack of flour and a jug of maple syrup.

“Found your flour,” he said to Edna, trying to sound put-upon but not entirely succeeding. “And maple syrup. Anything else you require, madam?”

Edna looked over her shoulder. “No, Theodore, that’s all. Thank you.”

He gave a half-hearted huff, but I caught the corner of his mouth twitch upward. He liked being useful, even if he pretended otherwise.

“Good morning,” I said, stepping forward. “It smells amazing in here.”

“Morning, Bailey,” Jacob said, glancing over with a smile that sent a pleasant warmth through my chest. “We’re going all out for breakfast—pancakes, bacon, maybe some scrambled eggs if Edna is feeling generous.”

Edna winked at me. “I’m always generous. Especially when it comes to feeding people.”

“I can help, too,” I offered. “How about I make coffee and set the table?”

“That would be perfect, dear,” Edna said. “The coffee beans are in that tin on the counter. There’s a grinder and a French press too. Help yourself.”

I got to work carefully grinding beans and filling the kettle to boil water. As I did, I noticed Theodore straightening silverware and checking the mugs, as if he couldn’t resist making himself useful. The tension from yesterday had abated somewhat, though it still lingered beneath the surface. The storm outside had forced us into a kind of truce, each of us leaning into our best behaviors—or at least trying to.

Jacob plated the bacon, his forearms flexing as he lifted the heavy pan. I turned away quickly, feeling a flush on my cheeks. The coffee beans released their aromatic oils under the grinder’s burrs, and I inhaled deeply to steady myself. Focus on coffee, Bailey, I told myself. Not on Jacob’s arms. Not on the way he’d smiled when he saw you this morning.

Eventually, we settled around the small kitchen table. Edna poured pancake batter onto a griddle while Theodore warmed the syrup in a small pot. I brought over a tray with fresh coffee, cream, and sugar. Jacob took the seat across from me, his knee brushing mine under the table as we arranged ourselves. The accidental touch sent a spark through me, but I pretended not to notice. We were all just too close together in this cozy kitchen, that’s all.

Conversation was pleasant, if slightly strained. We talked about the snow—how long it might be before a plow ventured this far out into the countryside, how the roads must be completely buried. Edna speculated that it might be two days at least, given the drifts. Theodore grumbled that he had no intention of spending Christmas trapped, but he didn’t sound as aggressive as before. Jacob mused that maybe we’d just have to make our own Christmas magic right here. I glanced up at him over my coffee mug, and he shot me a playful, almost conspiratorial wink that made me smile behind the rim.

Breakfast was sumptuous: fluffy pancakes drizzled with real maple syrup, crisp bacon that melted in your mouth, scrambled eggs that Edna whipped up at the last second. By the time we finished, I felt delightfully full and content. Outside, the storm continued to swirl, but inside we had warmth, good food, and—dare I say it?—the beginning of a team spirit.

After cleaning up (Theodore washed while Jacob and I dried, and Edna arranged the dishes neatly in the cabinets), we retreated to the various rooms. Edna settled into the living room, a basket of colorful yarn at her feet, and soon began crocheting something—perhaps a scarf or a blanket, it was hard to tell with the speed of her nimble fingers. Theodore claimed an armchair by the window and cracked open a paperback thriller he’d found on a dusty shelf. He looked oddly at ease, his rigid posture softened as he immersed himself in the story.

Jacob and I had planned to do some work—at least, that was the excuse. We retrieved our laptops and set up at opposite ends of a large mahogany desk in the study. Snowy light filtered through the tall windows, and a pair of old-fashioned lamps provided a cozy glow. The problem was, I couldn’t concentrate. Instead of reviewing documents or answering emails (not that I had much signal to send anything out), I found myself sneaking glances at Jacob’s profile. The way he ran a hand through his hair when he was thinking, the subtle furrow of his brow as he stared at the screen. Occasionally, our eyes met, and a silent current passed between us. I couldn’t quite decipher it—anticipation, uncertainty, something that made the air feel electric.

After half an hour of pretending to work, I gave up. “I’m going to explore the mansion a bit,” I said softly, closing my laptop.

Jacob looked up, curiosity in his gaze. “Need company?”

I hesitated. Part of me wanted him to come along, but another part needed space to clear my head. “I’ll be fine,” I said, offering a reassuring smile. “I’m just going to poke around. I’m feeling restless.”

He nodded, though I noticed a hint of disappointment flicker across his face. “All right. Don’t get lost among the cobwebs.”

I laughed softly. “I’ll leave a trail of breadcrumbs.”

Easing out of the study, I took a hallway I hadn’t tried yet. The house revealed itself in layers: dusty corridors leading to rooms that seemed frozen in time. I passed a small sitting room with delicate rose-patterned wallpaper and lace curtains. Another room contained shelves of antique dolls; their painted faces eerie but beautiful at the same time. Further along, I entered a room that appeared to be some sort of storage space for holiday decorations—vintage Christmas ornaments, strings of old-fashioned bulbs, tinsel in faded colors, and hand-carved nutcrackers. A treasure trove of Christmas past.

In another adjoining room, I found boxes of antique toys: tin soldiers, wooden trains, porcelain dolls with carefully painted faces. It felt like stepping into a history book of childhood wonder. On a low table, I discovered several old photograph albums with leather bindings cracked with age. Curiosity got the better of me, and I sat on a small stool, turning the pages slowly.

Black-and-white snapshots revealed generations of holiday gatherings at Barrington Manor—elegant women in long gowns, men in formal suits, children bundled in snowsuits playing outside. The decades passed with each turn of the page, fashion and hairstyles evolving. But the constant theme was Christmas: wreaths on doors, ribbons on staircases, everyone smiling around a grand tree.

My fingers paused on one particular photograph. There was Edna, easily recognizable by her bright eyes and the soft line of her jaw, though much younger. She must have been in her twenties. Beside her stood a handsome young man in a tailored suit, dark-haired and proud. It took me a moment to realize that man was Theodore. They were arm in arm, standing in front of the very staircase we’d used last night, a lush Christmas ball in full swing behind them. They looked radiant, deeply connected, and happy in a way I’d never seen from them in the present day.

I stared at the image, astonished. So, Edna and Theodore had a past. Were they once lovers? The tenderness captured in that photo was unmistakable. Given the tension between them now, I had to wonder what had happened. What on earth could have driven them so far apart?

A floorboard creaked behind me, and I nearly jumped. Turning, I found Jacob leaning against the doorframe. He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Just got curious about where you’d wandered off to.”

I held out the photo. “Look at this.”

He crossed the room, joining me on the stool’s edge so we had to sit close, our shoulders brushing. The scent of his aftershave—something woodsy and clean—made my heart flutter.

“Is that…?” he began, peering at the photograph.

“Edna and Theodore,” I confirmed quietly. “Hard to believe, isn’t it?”

Jacob took the photo from my hand, studying it thoughtfully. “They look so...enthralled with each other. It’s not just a friendly smile, either, from the looks of it.”

I nodded, my eyes drifting over their elegant attire, the gentle way Theodore’s hand rested at Edna’s waist. “I’d say they were in love. Or at least something close to it.”

He whistled softly. “I suspected they had history, but this pretty much knocks my socks off. How did they go from that to...this?” He gestured vaguely, encompassing the tension and bickering we’d witnessed over the last twenty-four hours.

I shook my head. “No idea. But it’s obvious there’s more to their story than petty arguments over property.”

Jacob returned the photo to me. Our fingers brushed, lingering a second longer than necessary. I caught my breath, and he cleared his throat softly.

“Maybe we’ll find out before this storm ends,” he said. “Being trapped here might force some truths into the open.”

“Maybe.” I carefully closed the album as a mixture of curiosity and tenderness filled my heart toward Edna and Theodore’s younger selves. Love lost, or love misunderstood—either way, it was sad, and my heart ached for them.

We wandered back toward the main living areas, discussing possibilities for passing the time. Jacob mentioned we could rummage for board games, while I suggested maybe we could try a puzzle—something to keep our hands busy and minds distracted from the snow.

As we entered the living room, we found Edna pacing near the fireplace, her yarn and crochet hook momentarily abandoned. Theodore peered over the top of his thriller; eyebrows raised.

“What’s got you restless?” I asked Edna, approaching her with a gentle smile.

“I’m bored!” she declared, throwing up her hands. “We can’t just sit around reading and crocheting all day. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and we need to get into the holiday spirit. I say we bake cookies. Proper holiday cookies—gingerbread, sugar cookies, maybe even some peppermint shortbread or even Linzer cookies if we have the ingredients.”

Theodore groaned. “Really, Edna? Cookies?”

“Oh, don’t be a grump,” she chided, wagging a finger at him. “Unless you want to spend the rest of the day sulking behind that book while the rest of us are having fun?”

He glared, but it lacked malice. “Fine. I suppose I could assist. Just don’t make me pipe frosting into intricate shapes. My patience has limits.”

Jacob laughed, shutting his laptop. “I was trying to come up with an excuse to avoid doing more work. Baking cookies sounds like the perfect distraction.”

I shot him an amused look. “Guess I’ll join, too. It’s not like I’m getting anything productive done anyway.”

Ten minutes later, we’d convened in the kitchen. Edna rummaged through cupboards, producing canisters of sugar, jars of molasses, and even a packet of peppermint extract. Theodore retrieved cookie cutters shaped like stars and bells. I found mixing bowls and spatulas, while Jacob raided the pantry for chocolate chips and dried cranberries.

The kitchen became a hive of activity. Edna directed us all with the confidence of a seasoned general. “Theodore, sift that flour, would you? Bailey, cream the butter and sugar in that big bowl. Jacob, can you crack those eggs without getting shells in the batter?”

Jacob winked at me as he cracked an egg expertly on the rim of the bowl. “I have many hidden talents.”

I flushed and focused on stirring the butter and sugar. The aroma of cinnamon and vanilla soon filled the air as we measured out spices and extracts. The warmth of the oven preheating enveloped us, and for a moment, it felt like a proper holiday gathering—no storms, no foreclosures, no old grudges, or rivalries. Just four people working together to create something sweet and festive.

At one point, Edna decided we needed Christmas tunes. I found an old radio on a sideboard and managed to tune it to a station playing holiday classics. Soon, gentle strains of “White Christmas” and “Jingle Bell Rock” underscored our efforts.

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.