Chapter 14

14

FELICITY

T he scent of sweet cream butter and vanilla wafted through the air as Felicity meticulously piped frosting onto her latest creation, a three-tiered cake that seemed to mimic the soft hues of the sunset. Her focus was absolute, each swirl and flourish a testament to her need for precision, for creating something perfect in this imperfect, unfamiliar world.

"Looks like you're going to be the star of the baking contest," Ivy remarked from the doorway, leaning against the frame with an easy grace that Felicity envied.

Felicity glanced up, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips despite the flutter of anxiety in her chest. "I'm just glad I was able to get my old mixer repaired. I know I should just buy a new one, but I’ve been through a lot with this old one, and I can’t stand the thought of retiring it," she quipped, placing the last dollop of frosting with a flourish.

"I don’t get it, but then my idea of baking is a box mix and canned frosting," Ivy said, laughing as Felicity cringed. “It’s funny, but I don’t remember ever hearing you wax poetic about your mixer before.” Ivy’s voice was casual, but her eyes were probing, like she could see right into the depths of Felicity's soul.

For a moment, Felicity paused, the air around them thickening. She placed the piping bag down, feeling suddenly out of place. The excitement over the contest dimmed slightly, overshadowed by the reality of her situation. She wasn't just Felicity Hart, Christmas Valley baker; she was a woman not quite of this time and place, a stranger in a world that shouldn't have been hers.

"Sometimes, I feel like I'm waiting for the clock to strike midnight, to wake up and find this isn’t my life," Felicity admitted, her gaze drifting towards the window where the village square lay quiet under the twilight sky.

Ivy snorted. “Well, whose life would it be? And if it isn’t yours, can I have Jace? That’s one fine hunk of man.”

“Keep your sticky fingers off my boyfriend,” laughed Felicity.

"Ohhh, boyfriend, is it?” teased Ivy. “I don’t know Felicity, maybe you feel like you're waiting for it to strike midnight because you fear what comes with the dawn." Ivy moved closer to peer at the cake's intricate details.

"Maybe." Felicity's hands fidgeted with the hem of her apron, her thoughts a whirlpool of what-ifs and maybes. "But dreams have to end sometime, don't they?"

"Only if you want them to," Ivy murmured, reaching out to gently nudge Felicity's chin up, meeting her gaze. "If it isn’t here in Christmas Valley, where do you think you were meant to be? And doing what? Oh god, wait, this isn’t your less than subtle way of saying you and Jace are thinking about leaving, is it?”

It was Felicity’s turn to snort. “Now where would we go? The lodge, my bakery—our lives are here.”

Ivy turned serious. “But do you ever wonder if this is where you're meant to be? I do, and I wonder what my story might be if I wasn’t here?"

Felicity considered her words, the idea settling in her like the first drops of rain before a storm—terrifying and yet, somehow, a relief. "Maybe we’re supposed to live the lives we’re offered. I’m not saying don’t change them if they don’t make us happy, but perhaps wishing them away without putting any real work into them isn’t the right choice."

"Exactly." Ivy smiled, her dark eyes warming. "And every good life, like your pastries, needs a dash of unexpected spice, doesn't it?"

"Like chili powder in a chocolate cake," Felicity mused, a genuine smile blossoming on her face, her spirit lighter. "Unexpected, but sometimes, exactly what was needed."

Felicity traced a finger along the worn leather of her journal, the corners frayed from the countless times she'd flipped through its pages. The soft scratch of pen against paper was usually a comfort, a familiar anchor in the storm of her thoughts, but tonight it felt different; each word a reminder of a life that seemed an ocean away. She paused, pen hovering above the page as a sudden longing gripped her—a yearning for the cacophony of city life, the aroma of freshly ground coffee from her favorite café, and the predictable chaos of a world she understood.

"Could it be as simple as closing my eyes?" she murmured to herself, envisioning the life she had left behind. "To just... wake up there, leaving all of this behind?"

The mere thought sent a pang through her heart, a tug-of-war between the comfort of the known and the allure of the love she had found here with Jace. As if conjured by her inner turmoil, she heard his laughter from outside, carried on the cool night breeze that slipped through the slightly ajar window. It mingled with the distant sounds of the village that both soothed and saddened her.

"Jace," she whispered, her lips curling around his name, tasting the bittersweet tang of a romance that was as unexpected as it was intense.

She stood and moved to the window, pressing her palm against the cool glass, her gaze seeking out his form in the moonlit square. He was there, hands animated as he shared a story with some townsfolk, his presence a beacon of warmth in the crisp night air. The sight of him, so vibrant and full of life, made her chest tighten with emotions she hadn't even begun to unravel.

"Would I trade all the chapters of all my unfinished novels that have yet to be written or the life I left behind for just one more moment here? If this is a dream, do I even want to wake up?" Felicity pondered, her breath fogging the glass in front of her.

"Talking to yourself now, are we?" Jace's voice came from behind her, startling her into turning around. He leaned casually against the doorframe, a playful twinkle in his eyes that never failed to draw her in.

"Sometimes it's the only way to get a sensible conversation around here," she retorted, her attempt at levity falling short as she looked away, unable to hold his gaze.

"Is everything all right?" Concern laced his words, and he took a step closer, bridging the gap between them with a gentle ease that threatened to crumble her resolve.

"I'm just..." Felicity started, the truth clamoring for release. "I'm torn, Jace."

"Between what?" His hand reached out, fingers brushing hers with a tenderness that made her shiver.

"Between the life I always planned for and... this. You. Everything here." She met his eyes, finding not judgment, but a depth of understanding that beckoned her to lean into his strength.

"Love isn't meant to be easy, Felicity. It's messy and complicated and...” His voice broke off as he searched her face, his hand now cupping her cheek. "It's also the most incredible thing we can experience. And I want to experience it with you, if you'll have me."

Her breath hitched, caught in the gravity of his words, the weight of her own desires. Felicity knew the choice wasn't just about geography; it was about where her heart felt most at home.

"Jace, I...” But the rest of her words were swallowed by the space between them, a chasm filled with might-have-beens and could-bes, a future unwritten but tantalizingly within reach.

The following day, Felicity strolled through the quaint village square, the cobblestones cool and reassuring beneath her feet. A gentle breeze tousled her curls, carrying with it the mingling scents of fresh, crisp air and the warm, buttery aroma from her bakery. As she passed by the various businesses and street vendors that were set up around the village square, her heart danced to the rhythm of the bustling life around her—laughter, chatter, and the clinking of porcelain from the corner café. The cafe was so different from the bustling bistro, where she had worked to pay her rent, she had left behind.

Her fingers played absently with the hem of her sweater, a familiar motion that accompanied the whirlwind of thoughts swirling within her. The fear that had once gripped her, the stark realization that she was an anachronism in a world so unlike her own, had faded into a quiet acceptance. It was startling, this admission that she had not sought a way back, had not scoured ancient texts at the library or begged the town's eccentrics for arcane knowledge.

As if on cue, the clock tower loomed ahead, its aged face presiding over the square like a sage watching over its charges. The chimes sounded the hour, their resonant tones reaching out to every corner of the village. Felicity's gaze lifted to the clock, watching as the hands moved with purposeful grace, but the glass that protected its visage was fogged and speckled with the vestiges of time, obscuring the clarity of the hours marked behind it.

Felicity moved towards the wrought-iron fence, her fingers dancing along the top as it bordered the square, her thoughts as tangled as the ivy that clung to it. The clock’s aged face still haunted her with its murky glass and obscured hands. Compelled by a sudden need for clarity, she approached Ivy, who was tending to a cluster of vibrant poinsettias near the base of the tower.

The intricate metalwork was lost in the haze, the numbers a mere suggestion behind the clouded barrier. In that moment, Felicity saw a reflection of her own journey, the uncertainty that had once clouded her vision now giving way to a piercing desire to see, to understand where the hands of fate were guiding her.

She realized then that the veiled clock face was much like her own heart—guarded yet yearning to be seen, to be known in its entirety. And as the final chime echoed into silence, Felicity felt a silent kinship with the clock in the tower, as if they shared a secret and stood together, resilient against the passage of time.

"Has anyone ever thought to clean the clock face?" Felicity inquired, her voice carrying a note of curiosity over the lingering chime's resonance. "It seems like it would be quite beautiful if it were more... visible."

Ivy straightened up, wiping her hands on her apron, and glanced toward the looming timepiece. She shrugged, a nonchalance in her posture that could only come from years of unquestioned tradition. "Oh, that old thing? It’s been that way since before I can remember," she said with an easy smile. "Some things in this town are just accepted as they are, without question."

The response nestled into Felicity's chest, a weightless acceptance that contrasted sharply with her own restless quest for answers. The townspeople's contentment was a world away from the relentless pursuit of perfection she had known in her previous life. Yet, there was a charm to it—a sense of peace in the permanence.

As she wandered through the square, her gaze lingered on the faces of those she passed. There was Mr. Alcott, the cheesemaker, whose hands crafted cheeses as though he were spinning stories in cream. Mrs. Pembroke sat on the bench, knitting a scarf with the same care she used to read stories to the children at a weekly event at the library. And Jace, with his enigmatic smile and eyes that seemed to pierce the very fog that shrouded the clock tower, now filled her vision like the morning sun dispelling the mist.

The realization crept upon her like the first warmth of dawn stretching across a sleepy horizon; this place, with all its quirks and mysteries, had become a part of her. A soft affection bloomed in her heart—a wildflower finding root in the most unexpected of soils. The laughter of children playing by the fountain, the smell of fresh bread wafting through the air, the way the sunlight dappled through the leaves of ancient oaks; all of it whispered of a life simpler, yet richer than any story she might ever have dared to pen.

Felicity turned once more to the clock tower. Though its face remained veiled by time's relentless passage, its presence spoke to her of something enduring—an emblem of the town's spirit. It stood resolute, much like she found herself amidst the winding paths fate had drawn for her. There was a beauty in its constancy, in the way it held its ground against the elements, much like the steadfast hearts of those around her.

In that moment, Felicity felt an overwhelming affection for the town and its people, their lives intertwining with hers in a tapestry of shared moments and silent understandings. They had become the unexpected characters in her story, the one she was living now, each one teaching her that sometimes the most profound romances were not just found within the pages of a book, but in the pulse of everyday life.

Felicity's fingers traced the contours of an ancient stone bench, her touch tentative as if she could disturb the centuries of secrets it held. Ivy was beside her, their shoulders brushing occasionally, a comforting presence in the quiet of twilight.

"Love is like the wind," Ivy said softly, breaking the relaxed silence. "You can't see it, but you can feel it. It's about taking chances, letting go of certainty."

Felicity turned to her, her eyes reflecting the soft glow of the lanterns that hung from the wrought-iron fixtures around them. "But what if the wind changes?" Felicity asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "What if it carries me away from all this, from... from him?"

"Then maybe that's where you're meant to be." Ivy's hand found Felicity's, a gentle squeeze imparting strength. "But don't forget, Felicity, sometimes the bravest thing you can do is not to let the wind carry you, but to stand against it, to choose your own direction."

The words settled over Felicity like a shawl, warming without being weighty. She had never considered herself brave, always cocooned in the safety of her aspirations and the familiarity of her fears. But here, in this place, courage had taken root in her heart, blossomed into something wild and beautiful.

"Jace..." Felicity began, the name a caress upon her lips, "he's become a part of me. I didn't expect to feel…"

"Passion often takes us by surprise," Ivy interjected, a knowing smile curving her lips. "It sneaks up on us, reshapes our world before we even have a chance to protest."

"Exactly." Felicity's gaze drifted to the stars peeking through the velvet sky, considering each one as a possible destination for her wandering soul. "I've been so focused on finding my story, I didn't realize I was living it."

"Life has a funny way of doing that," Ivy murmured, her gaze also upward. "We chase dreams only to find they were chasing us all along."

A laugh, soft and genuine, bubbled up from Felicity's chest. "That sounds like something that should be in a great romance novel." Her eyes met Ivy's once more, a silent gratitude for the reflection of her inner turmoil.

"Perhaps," Ivy conceded, "maybe you should write it. Maybe it's time to trust that part of yourself, the one that knows about love and taking chances, and put it in one of those books you’re always threatening to write."

Felicity felt the truth of Ivy's words resonate within her. She had spent so much time yearning for the validation of a world that seemed increasingly distant. Now, faced with the prospect of returning, she found herself hesitant, tethered to this place by invisible threads woven from the essence of moonlit kisses and whispered confessions.

"Thank you, Ivy," Felicity breathed out, her heart swelling with a myriad of emotions. "For everything."

"Always," Ivy replied, her tone laced with the warmth of a sisterhood that had nothing to do with DNA.

As the night began to deepen, wrapping the town in its silent embrace, Felicity realized that every second in this strange, beguiling world was a stolen moment, a heartbeat in time that belonged to no one else but her. And as much as the uncertainty scared her, the thought of leaving it behind was akin to extinguishing a flame she wasn't sure could ever be rekindled.