Chapter Seven

BAILEY

I woke on Christmas Eve day to a peculiar kind of quiet. The storm hadn’t ceased entirely, but its ferocity had gentled, and the wind thankfully no longer rattled the windowpanes like an impatient guest. Instead, I heard only the soft hiss of snow drifting down, a hush that made the old mansion feel like a silent, snowy globe, turned upside-down by fate where the snowflakes, all mixed-up, were left to settle. The low winter light filtered through the frosted panes of the window, painting the room I’d claimed as my own in muted blues and grays.

I took my time getting out of bed. The thick blankets and quilts had trapped my warmth through the night, making it hard to resist their pull. Finally, I rose and dressed, feeling like the previous days had been a whirlwind of old memories resurfacing with a bite sharper than the cold and feelings bubbling up like kicked-up snow. But something had shifted…The house seemed kinder today, more welcoming, as though it sensed that Christmas was near and was determined to set things right.

Jacob’s presence hovered at the back of my thoughts, but first, I had a task I couldn’t postpone. I’d been meaning to talk to Edna. Yesterday I had found that photograph of her and Theodore—so young, radiant, joyful beneath a chandelier’s glow at a long-ago Christmas ball. Their present-day bickering and guarded looks made so much more sense when I thought of what they might have lost long ago.

I ventured downstairs, following the smell of pine needles and the lingering aroma of coffee. I found Edna in the parlor, fussing with a set of crocheted doilies she’d pulled from a trunk. She wore a sweater decorated with prancing reindeer and her ornament earrings that tinkled softly whenever she moved. A small lamp on a side table cast a warm circle of light, illuminating her features and the fine lines of age that gave her face so much character.

“Edna,” I said softly, stepping forward. “Do you have a moment?”

She looked up, smiled gently. “Of course, dear.”

I settled into the armchair beside her, my hands clasped in my lap. I pulled the photograph out of my pocket and held it out to her. She didn’t need to look at it long. A sad smile curved her lips.

“What a wonderful time that was,” she said in a small voice, taking the photo and running her fingertips lightly over the smiling younger faces.

I hesitated before speaking. “I couldn’t help wondering…You and Theodore look so happy here. What happened?”

Edna’s gaze drifted to the window, where faint snowfall blurred the world outside. “We were young,” she began softly. “And we had many wonderful Christmases together. Not just Christmases—we laughed, we danced, we dreamed. But life is never just a simple, straight path, is it?” She paused, twisting one earring thoughtfully. “I was born poor, raised by a single mother who worked herself weary. Back then, it was a scandal for a woman to bear a child out of wedlock. My mother made the best life she could for me, but I always carried that stigma, that sense of not being… quite good enough.”

I listened, my heart tightening. I knew what it felt like to struggle. Bailey Pace, daughter of a veteran father and a mother who’d worked cleaning other people’s houses to keep them afloat. I could understand the shame society heaps on those who dare to be different or less privileged.

Edna continued. “Theodore, on the other hand, came from a wealthy family and I suppose you could say he was considered Wintervale’s Most Eligible Bachelor .” She smiled at the phrase. “For some crazy reason, he took a shine to little ole’ me. He saw past all the nonsense. He told me I was graceful, intelligent, worth more than I believed. But there was another woman…the one who eventually became his wife. She cornered me one day and told me that I’d be dragging Theodore down if I encouraged his affections. She said he needed a suitable match, not a girl who came from nothing. She told me he’d regret me. And I believed her.” Edna’s voice wavered slightly, but she straightened her shoulders. “So, I broke things off, made it seem as though I’d never loved him. He married her, and, well, that marriage ended in divorce anyway, but the damage was done. I thought I was doing the right thing for him.”

I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes. “Does he know why you ended it?” I asked softly, thinking of Theodore’s wistful stares at the Christmas tree.

Edna shook her head. “No, dear. He never knew. I thought it would be easier if he believed I just didn’t love him. Less complicated. But the truth is,” her voice caught. “I’ve never stopped loving him. It’s a foolish old story, isn’t it?”

I reached out and took her hand. “It’s not foolish. It’s heartbreaking.”

She gave me a grateful smile. “Life is full of heartbreak, but also second chances. I’ve learned that time is too precious to waste. If love presents itself, if forgiveness beckons at your door, you must have the courage to embrace it before it’s too late.”

Her words settled over me like a heavy mantle. I knew she spoke not just of her own past but also of me and Jacob, and anyone else trapped between regret and hope. I thought of the things I’d been determined to cling to: chasing my career, grieving my mother, and holding onto old wounds as if they were a shield. Perhaps it was time to let go. Perhaps I needed to forgive myself and trust my heart most of all, even if it meant stepping out into the unknown.

I squeezed Edna’s hand once more. “Thank you,” I said, my voice steady. “For sharing this with me.”

Shortly after, we drifted toward the main hall, where Theodore and Jacob were placing small electric candles in each window. The mansion’s gloom had given way to a warm glow that beckoned us to come together. The storm might have slowed, but we were still snowed in together on Christmas Eve. Instead of lamenting, we decided to lean into the enchantment, as if this old house had cast a Christmas spell on us all.

We gathered in the music room—an elegant space with a slightly out-of-tune upright piano. Edna discovered a worn songbook filled with carols on the shelf, and we attempted to sing along. My voice wavered at first, self-conscious, but soon we were all laughing at our missed notes and strange harmonies. Jacob’s tenor surprised me—it was richer than I expected, and I found myself smiling just to hear him.

After the carols, Edna produced craft supplies she’d been storing in the basement: ribbons, pinecones, glitter, scrap fabrics. We sat around a low table, making simple ornaments to hang on one of the smaller trees we’d placed in the hallway. My fingers got sticky with glue, and Theodore complained half-heartedly about glitter on his jacket, but there was something liberating about creating small decorations with no goal other than to bring joy. Jacob threaded a red ribbon through a cinnamon stick bundle, and the scent reminded me of childhood mornings in my parents’ kitchen.

As daylight began to fade, we prepared a holiday meal. The supplies Edna had stashed away were astonishing—cans of vegetables, dried herbs, even a packet of chestnuts that we roasted over the fire. We made a thick, hearty soup, warm rolls brushed with butter, and a salad sprinkled with pomegranate seeds. For dessert, Edna and I improvised a bread pudding with dried cranberries and orange zest. The savory scents and the soft lighting gave the dining room a storybook feel. We ate by candlelight, sharing laughter and the occasional heartfelt sigh. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so at peace during a holiday. Sure, it was unconventional, but that was part of its charm.

I caught myself glancing at Jacob throughout the meal. His blue eyes crinkled when he smiled, and there was a tenderness in his gaze whenever I looked up. I thought about Edna’s words: about forgiveness, about accepting love. If I kept retreating, I’d lose him again. And losing him a second time would hurt more than anything else I could imagine.

After dinner, we cleaned up the dishes in companionable silence. Then, as we wandered into the hallway, Jacob and I noticed Edna and Theodore lingering beneath a door frame decorated with mistletoe. We paused, peeking around the corner like mischievous children. The two of them exchanged a few soft, murmured words we couldn’t quite catch, and then Theodore leaned in. They kissed—hesitantly at first, then with gentle familiarity. My heart gave a delighted leap, and I heard Jacob’s quiet intake of breath.

I nudged him, unable to suppress a grin. We stepped back, careful not to intrude. He caught my eye, raising his eyebrows. “Well,” he said softly, “it looks like the past can sometimes circle back around.”

I smiled. “Yes, it can.” I told him, in hushed tones, what Edna had revealed about her past with Theodore—the reasons she pushed him away, the love she never lost. Jacob listened with a thoughtful expression, then said, “I hope they find their way back to each other now. It’s never too late.”

The warmth of his words pressed at my heart. I realized I wanted him to believe the same for us. I wanted him to know that maybe I, too, was ready for a second chance.

Night fell gently, draping the world in darkness. I went to my room, intending to rest. But as the hours passed, sleep evaded me. My mind kept replaying the day’s events: Edna’s confession, Theodore’s soft laughter as they played cards, Jacob’s steady presence by my side. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Jacob’s face in the candlelight, felt the spark when his hand brushed mine. The longing was no longer a flickering ember. It was a bright flame I couldn’t ignore.

I slid out of bed, pulling on a robe and slippers. The mansion’s halls were dimly lit by the glow of the fairy lights we’d strung up. I followed the faint glow from the downstairs parlor, where I guessed Jacob might be. Something in my chest knew I’d find him there.

He stood by the fire, one hand on the mantel, watching the embers shift and spark. He looked so at home in this scene—broad shoulders silhouetted by the soft glow, dark hair catching the light. His sweater, pushed up at the sleeves, revealed the sinew and strength of forearms that had once wrapped me in security. When he turned at the sound of my entrance, his face softened with relief and something warmer—an unspoken welcome that made my heart twist.

“Bailey,” he said quietly, as if saying my name was all the greeting he needed.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I replied, moving closer. The scent of pine and faint smoke hung in the air, and the Christmas tree in the corner shimmered like a distant constellation. “I kept thinking about…everything.”

His eyes met mine. “Me too.”

We stood a foot apart, and my pulse quickened. There was no need for grand speeches. We had talked enough. I lifted my hand and placed it on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart under the knit fabric. He inhaled sharply at my touch, and I saw the question in his eyes: Was I sure?

I answered by rising onto my toes and pressing my lips to his. The kiss began softly, a gentle brush of warmth, before deepening into something more fervent. He tasted of the mulled wine we’d shared earlier, sweet and spiced. As we kissed, he slid one hand into my hair, cradling the back of my head as though I were precious, as though he couldn’t bear to let me go again.

We found our way to the old velvet sofa, where a quilt lay folded at one end. He helped me out of my robe, his fingers deliberate and reverent as they slipped beneath the collar, easing it over my shoulders. He let his eyes travel over me, appreciation and wonder making them glow in the low light.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, voice roughened by desire.

My cheeks warmed under his praise. I reached for him in turn, helping him out of his sweater and pressing my hands over the toned planes of his chest, the dips and contours that hinted at his strength. He shivered slightly, though the room was warm, as if my touch stirred something deep within him. We kissed again, more urgently this time. His mouth traced a path along my jaw, the curve of my neck, igniting sparks under my skin. I arched toward him, tangling my fingers in his hair, breathing his name into the hush of the room.

We took our time. He lowered me back against the cushions, his body following mine. Our breathing grew softer and slower, punctuated only by quiet gasps and sighs. I felt no hurry, no rush—only a sweet, luxurious tension building between us.

His hands explored my skin, fingertips gliding over my shoulders, along my arms, down the curve of my waist and over my hips. Each touch was deliberate, as if committing me to memory. I responded in kind, learning his body anew. The smooth expanse of his back, the subtle swell of muscle across his shoulders, the way his breath caught when I pressed my lips to the hollow of his throat.

When we finally became one, it was gentle but sure, a joining that felt both exhilarating and familiar. I gasped softly at the exquisite sensation of his presence inside and around me, his body fitting against mine in ways I’d missed more than I dared admit. He whispered my name, voice low and reverent, and I answered with a trembling sigh of “Yes,” arching closer, allowing pleasure and emotion to blend until I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

The sofa’s old springs gave a quiet creak as we moved together in a slow, sensuous rhythm. The glow from the Christmas tree reflected in his eyes, turning them into fragments of colorful light. I held his gaze, letting him see everything I felt: the regrets, the longing, the love that had never truly vanished. He brushed a lock of hair from my face and pressed a kiss to my palm. Our bodies communicated all that words had failed to express. Every gentle thrust seemed to pull us tighter into this intimate world that existed only for us.

Outside, the world remained muffled by snow. Inside, I could hear our breathing grow heavier, and the distant sound of a log shifting in the fire. I felt the tension coil low in my belly, warmth spreading through my limbs, and I clung to him as waves of sensation built with delicious inevitability. His voice grew huskier, coaxing me to let go, to trust this moment.

When release came, I buried my face in his shoulder, feeling his heart race against my cheek. He held me close, murmuring my name over and over, as if it were the most beautiful prayer he knew. I trembled in his arms, pulling him deeper inside me until he couldn’t hold back anymore. His release was powerful, and I wrapped my legs around his back, holding him until he was completely spent.

In the afterglow, we remained tangled together, skin flushed and hearts still pounding. The quilt had slipped to the floor, and he retrieved it, draping it over us. I snuggled against him, breath gradually slowing. His fingers traced idle patterns along my spine, sending aftershocks of warmth through me.

My eyelids grew heavy, lulled by his warmth and the reassuring steadiness of his breathing and the gentle crackling of the fire in the hearth. Jacob adjusted the quilt around us, and before long, I surrendered to sleep.