Chapter 12

12

FELICITY

T he days leading up to the county's annual holiday baking contest were a whirlwind of planning and baking. My plot wasn’t nearly this complex or rich, how is all of this happening? And why does it feel so real? Each morning, as the sun rose over Christmas Valley, she would already be in her kitchen, sleeves rolled up and hands deep in flour. Her mind raced with recipes and combinations, each one a tiny adventure that sent shivers of anticipation down her spine.

"More cinnamon," she murmured to herself one frosty morning, the tip of her tongue caught between her teeth in concentration.

She sprinkled the spice with a practiced hand, the scent mingling with the warm butter and vanilla, a heady perfume that made her heart quicken—a delicious, tight coil in her belly that thrummed with every whisk and stir. The bakery had become her sanctuary, where the clink of measuring spoons and the thud of the mixer beat a steady rhythm that mirrored the pulse of her own desire.

"Is this enough chocolate?" she asked the empty room, her voice absorbed by the warmth of the oven. But the question lingered, a silent plea for perfection in an endeavor where the stakes were more than just a blue ribbon—this was her proving ground, the place where the magic of her creativity met the heat of her ambition.

Felicity lost track of time as she moved from batter to frosting, the soft scrape of the spatula against the bowl a sensual cadence. The taste of sweet cocoa on her lips was a promise of the ecstasy to come—the same ecstasy she found in Jace's arms when night fell, and her apron came off.

"Perfect," she whispered to the rows of pastries lined up like soldiers ready for inspection. Her gaze roamed over her creations, each one a testament to the hours spent dreaming and daring in equal measure.

"Will they love it?" she wondered aloud, casting a critical eye over the delicate swirls atop her cupcakes, each one a miniature masterpiece. "Will it be enough?"

But Felicity knew, deep in the marrow of her bones, that she baked not just for accolades but for the fierce joy of creation, the rush that came with every challenge met and conquered. She stood before her array of treats, a queen surveying her realm, ready to share the passion and pleasure that had poured from her soul into every bite. The bakery, usually a haven of sweet aromas and flour-dusted counters, felt like a crucible, each passing day bringing the holiday baking contest in Christmas Valley closer. The warmth from the ovens couldn't keep the chill of anticipation from creeping up Felicity's spine as she piped rosettes onto a chocolate torte with mechanical precision.

"Steady now," she murmured to herself, her breath catching with every precise movement—a coil that seemed to wind tighter with each tick of the clock hanging above the prep station that counted down to the day of judgment. Day of judgment? It’s a baking contest, she reminded herself, not the doomsday clock!

The scent of spices mixed with butter and sugar lingered like an intoxicating perfume, weaving through the air and wrapping around her, a heady reminder of the stakes at hand. Although the cash prize wasn’t all that much, the bragging rights were. Besides it would be embarrassing to lose the year the competition was held in her own village. With each batch of pastries, each blend of exotic spices, her confidence increased, but so did the haunting fear of not rising to the occasion.

"Come on, Felicity," she coaxed herself, her voice a soft chant lost amidst the sound of mixers and timers. "You've got this."

"Ah, you're talking to yourself again," she chided, a private joke between her and the walls that had witnessed her moments of doubt and bursts of inspiration.

Each day bled into the next, a montage of sugar-dusted dreams and creamy concoctions that left her hands sticky and her heart racing. The rhythm of her routine became a dance, her body moving with a grace born of necessity and desire intertwined.

"Almost there," she sighed, the end now just a whisper away, a promise that hung heavy in the bustling bakery.

And then, with the last tray nestled in the oven's warm embrace, she stepped back, her eyes tracing the fruits of her labor. Her pulse thrummed like the beat of distant drums, a wild tempo that matched the fluttering in her chest.

Felicity's fingers danced over the contours of room-temperature butter, her knuckles white as she folded it into the flour with practiced ease. She needed to keep up on the regular things for her bakery, including the artisan bread she sold. The bakery hummed with quiet energy whispering of sugar and spice, a prelude to the contest that loomed like an ever-growing shadow in her mind

"Another batch, Felicity?" Jace's voice rolled over her like a soothing balm, his presence both a comfort and a welcome distraction.

She glanced up, meeting his vibrant eyes that never failed to spark a fire within her. "I need to nail this recipe," she murmured, her focus sharpening as she wiped a stray lock of hair from her forehead with the back of her wrist. "It has to be perfect."

Jace shook his head. "I can attest to the fact that your hands work magic." He was teasing her as he moved to stand behind her, his hands skimming the edge of the counter. "Trust them—and yourself."

The setting sun cast long shadows across the floor, a quiet audience to her resolve. She shed her apron, leaving behind the warrior-baker to find solace in Jace’s passionate embrace, where she could lose herself and find herself renewed.

Nights were their sacred domain, where the heat of the oven was replaced by the warmth of entwined bodies. As the sun dipped below the horizon, signaling the end of another day, anticipation licked at Felicity's insides, hot and heady. She craved the exploration of flavors just as much as she yearned for Jace's touch—each one feeding off the other, a symbiotic desire that drove her forward.

"Shall we try that new chocolate ganache tonight?" Jace suggested, a playful lilt in his voice that promised more than culinary delights.

A spark ignited within her, a flicker of excitement that ran deeper than the mere thought of sweets. "Yes," she breathed out, feeling the tension of the day begin to unravel. "Let's get creative."

As dusk settled, Felicity and Jace dabbled in the alchemy of food, mixing and melding ingredients with an intimacy that transcended the physical. She savored chocolate as it melted on her tongue, moaning as she did so. They experimented with flavors punctuated by kisses, each one a promise of the passion to come when the aprons would fall to the floor.

When the final dish was set aside, Jace reached for her, his hands warm and sure. Without a word, he led her to the refuge of her bedroom, where the world narrowed to the space between breaths, the press of skin on skin.

"Show me the way," Jace whispered, his lips tracing the line of her collarbone as they tumbled onto the bed.

"Every time," Felicity replied, eager to surrender to the rhythm of their nocturnal dance. There, wrapped in the sanctuary of Jace's arms, she found the courage that daylight sometimes stole away. They moved together through the night, every caress a verse, every gasp a chorus, writing a symphony of pleasure that bolstered her spirit.

In the tender, tangled dawn, the specter of competition seemed distant, vanquished by love's tender embrace and the quiet confidence that bloomed anew. Felicity lay entwined with Jace, the gentle rise and fall of his chest against her back a comfort as the first light of dawn crept through the curtains. The passage of days was marked by the softening of butter, the dusting of flour, and the rhythmic beating of eggs. Yet it was in these quiet mornings that Felicity found solace from the frenzy of her baking ambitions.

"Are you worried about the contest?" Jace's voice rumbled against her ear, warm breath sending shivers down her spine despite the warmth of the morning sun.

"Terrified," Felicity confessed, turning within the circle of his arms to face him. Her eyes searched his for reassurance, finding it in the steady gaze that had come to be her anchor in moments of self-doubt.

"Your baking transcends just being something to eat. Your creations are magical," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Magic can be fickle," she replied with a wry smile, thinking of the delicate balance of ingredients and emotion that went into both her baking and her relationship.

"Then we'll be wizards together." His fingers traced patterns on her bare skin, igniting fresh desire even as the world outside beckoned them to begin another day.

Later, as the hours passed, filled with the clatter of pans and the whir of mixers, Felicity's hands shaped dough and piped frosting with an artist's precision, her mind teeming with visions of Christmas Valley decked in holiday splendor and tables groaning under the weight of confectionery masterpieces.

"Will you be there with me?" she asked softly.

"Every step," Jace promised, capturing her lips in a tender kiss that spoke of unwavering support and unspoken vows.

And so, as the day of the contest drew closer, Felicity carried not just her baked goods but also the essence of their late-night labors—the shared laughter and whispered encouragements woven between sighs and kisses. She stepped into the fray, heart pounding with anticipation, knowing whatever the outcome, she would always have the sanctuary of Jace's arms, and the memories of nights spent creating far more than just recipes.

The rolling pin glided over the pastry with a gentle, rhythmic motion, mirroring the rhythm of her own heart. Each press and turn against the floured surface kneaded away her doubts. The contest was no longer just a distant thought; it was an arena where her skills would be tested, her creative prowess challenged.

"Looking good," Jace's voice came from behind her, as warm as the preheating oven. "But I bet it'll taste even better."

Felicity glanced over her shoulder, offering a smile that mixed gratitude with nerves. His presence was a constant reassurance, a reminder that this competition was but one layer of their deepening connection. "I hope so. This tart could be the crown jewel or my downfall."

"Then we make sure it's regal," he said, stepping closer to wrap his arms around her waist, his hands covering hers as they worked and his breath tickling her ear. "Confidence, Felicity. You've got magic in these hands."

Evenings in the bakery had become their clandestine kitchen dance; her culinary creations complemented by his adventurous taste tests. As the sun dipped below the horizon, they'd transform the bakery into a sensual playground of flavors and textures, each new recipe a testament to their burgeoning intimacy.

"Ready to take a break?" Jace murmured, nuzzling her neck, eliciting a shiver that ran down her spine and urged her to abandon the dough for a moment.

"Break or another round of experimentation?" Felicity teased, turning in his embrace to meet his gaze—those eyes that promised mischief and support in equal measure.

"Both," he replied with a grin that told her body to prepare for more than mixing ingredients. They left the tart to rest, unfinished like their own story, brimming with potential.

In the quiet of the bakery after hours, Jace revealed his latest concoction—a savory chestnut cream-filled pasta that bordered on decadent. The sauce was smooth and delicious with a dash of chili for heat. While she experimented with baked and dessert goods, he tried out and invented new savory recipes he planned to serve at the lodge.

They sampled it together, the spice igniting a passion that needed no further kindling. With every spoonful shared between eager lips, the lines between taste and touch blurred until Felicity found herself lifted onto the cool marble countertop, the stainless-steel bowls and wooden spoons becoming silent witnesses to their fervor.

"God, you're incredible," Jace breathed against her skin, his hands exploring the contours of her body as if memorizing a recipe too precious to forget.

"Show me," Felicity whispered back, a challenge laced with yearning. He responded with a hunger that matched her own, clothes discarded with impatient hands, desire spilling out like flour from an overturned bag.

They moved together in a rhythm as natural as breathing—their bodies finding a harmony that rivaled the most finely tuned ovens. Whispers of pleasure intermingled with the lingering scents of sugar and cinnamon, each moan a note in the music that played only for them.

As the moon climbed higher, casting a silvery glow through the windows in her flat, they tumbled into bed, but exhaustion never found them. Instead, they explored each other with a slow burn, stoking fires that simmered long into the night. In those moments, Felicity's doubts were replaced by a profound certainty—Jace was her anchor in the tempest of competition, her partner in every sense.

By the time dawn painted the sky with hues of pink and orange, Felicity knew that win or lose, she had already claimed the sweetest victory in Jace's embrace. The contest would come, but for now, she reveled in the love that was both her secret ingredient and her greatest reward.

The bakery hummed with the promise of festive delights as Felicity dusted a fine layer of flour over the rolling pin, her movements fluid and assured. The scent of melting chocolate and warming spices mingled in the air, wrapping around her like an aromatic shawl. She rolled out the dough with a practiced touch, each press of the pin smoothing the way for the perfect holiday pastries that would soon nestle in her pastry cases.

"Jace would love this one," she murmured to herself, imagining his surprise when he tasted the delicate infusion of nutmeg she had added to the mix. Her thoughts of him lingered like the sweet aftertaste of her creations, igniting a familiar warmth within her.

In the midst of her musings, Ivy wandered into the kitchen, as she often did. It was their habit before each opened her shop to share a cup of coffee and a pastry still warm from the oven. Ivy’s eyes were bright with the kind of curiosity that often led to prying.

"So, how's the prep coming?" she asked, leaning against the counter with a knowing smile, her gaze flitting over to the recipe cards splayed across it.

"Good, I think," Felicity replied, trying to mask her nerves beneath a veneer of confidence. "I'm still tweaking it."

"Ah, Jace's input must be invaluable," Ivy said, a playful tilt to her voice as she picked up a dusting of cocoa on her fingertip and tasted it. "You two have been spending every night together, huh? Experimenting?"

Felicity felt a blush rise to her cheeks, her heart fluttering at the memory of their nocturnal adventures—both culinary and carnal. "We're just... you know, making sure everything is perfect for the contest," she stammered, tucking a stray curl behind her ear.

"Of course," Ivy nodded, her eyes locked onto Felicity's as she looked at her with an infectious grin.

As Ivy continued to talk, Felicity let the rhythm of the day, which had come to feel as normal as breathing, draw her back, the clatter of pans and whir of the mixer grounding her. But the seed had been planted, and as she worked, her mind danced between the lines of the unfinished manuscript she’d left behind and the man who had unwittingly become her hero not just on paper, but in the very essence of her life. The problem was, if she was ever able to return to her own reality and finish her manuscript, would she have to leave Jace and Christmas Valley behind? If so, was she willing to do that? And did she really have a choice?