Chapter 16

16

FELICITY

F elicity's hands trembled slightly as she arranged the gingerbread men in the wicker basket, each one frosted to perfection with a hint of spices in their sweet scent—a small comfort that tethered her to this peculiar world that was both foreign and familiar. She had believed that the secret of her displacement, her existence in a reality not her own, was hers alone to bear. Yet, the truth seemed as fragile as the delicate buttons made of icing on the gingerbread figures.

"Be careful," she murmured to herself, more out of habit than necessity. "These little guys have quite the fan club."

The morning sun cast a buttery glow over Christmas Valley as Felicity stepped out into the chill, the air crisp against her skin. Her breath danced away into nothingness, much like the remnants of her old life seemed to do. The town was awakening, shops opening their arms to the day's promise, and yet Felicity felt a thrum of tension beneath the quaint charm.

"Back with your famous cookies, I see," Vonna Harper, the owner of the artisan grocery, greeted her with a warm smile as she entered. Her eyes crinkled at the corners, genuine delight evident in her voice.

"By popular demand," Felicity replied, attempting to match her enthusiasm while her heart raced with secrets untold. She placed the basket carefully on the counter, the gingerbread men lined up like soldiers awaiting their sweet fate.

"Can't keep these on the shelves for long," Vonna said, her gaze appreciative as she admired her handiwork. "You've got a real gift, Felicity."

"Thank you," she said softly, her fingers absentmindedly brushing a stray curl behind her ear, a gesture of bashfulness that often accompanied her compliments. "It's just... it's nice to be good at something that brings joy."

"More than just something, I'd wager," Vonna mused, her tone laced with intrigue. "There's a certain... magic about what you do."

Felicity's pulse quickened, her mind racing as she wondered if Vonna knew more than she let on. Could she see through her, to the woman who didn't belong? To the aspiring novelist who whispered words to a shooting star in another reality, longing for a love as consuming as the tales she spun?

"Magic is a tricky thing," Felicity ventured, her voice barely above a whisper, her senses heightened as she sought any sign of deeper knowledge in Vonna’s expression. "It can make you believe in the unbelievable."

"Ah, but isn't that the best part?" Vonna chuckled, her attention now on arranging the basket amidst other local delicacies. "The believing?"

"Perhaps," Felicity conceded, her heart aching with the weight of her own disbelief. As she turned to leave, the soft chime of the door's bell and the rustle of leaves in the gentle wind whispered of mysteries yet to unfold, of desires that lay dormant within her soul—desires that, like her gingerbread men, yearned to be discovered and savored in this strange new reality.

Felicity's boots clicked against the cobblestones as she made her way back toward the bakery. The air was crisp, nipping at her cheeks with each step, but it was the sight of a mantle clock through the window of Mr. Puck's clock shop that stopped her cold. It was identical to the one that had graced her own living room in a reality far removed from the charming village of Christmas Valley.

Drawn inside by some unseen force, Felicity found herself stepping inside the shop, the scent of aged wood and oiled metal gears greeting her as warmly as the quaint chime of the bells that hung over the bakery’s door. Rows upon rows of clocks ticked in unison that echoed the steady beat of her heart.

"If we adjust the narrative, perhaps we can just keep her guessing… keep her here," Mr. Puck's voice drifted from the back of the shop, shrouded in mystery.

"Perhaps, but do we have that right? She has earned the choice. It has to be hers," Mayor Moorehouse replied, her voice smooth as velvet. “You have to tell her."

Felicity froze behind a tall grandfather clock, its pendulum swinging like the rhythm of her pulse. She dared not breathe too loudly, for fear they would discover her eavesdropping.

"I know, but I’d hate to lose her. She is so much a part of this community," Mr. Puck said, his voice oddly sinister amid the ticking around her.

"She is and her leaving could present us with complications…" the mayor conceded.

"Complications?" Mr. Puck's curiosity was palpable even from his tone.

"Jace Winterborne." The mere mention of his name sent a jolt through Felicity's body, igniting a warmth that contrasted sharply with the cool air of the shop.

"Ah, the lodge owner. I see. His involvement could be... problematic. Or perhaps serendipitous," said Mr. Puck, musing over the possibilities.

"Only time will tell," Mayor Moorehouse said with a note of finality.

Felicity backed away from the door and the conversation as quietly as she had entered, her mind a whirlwind of questions and fears. She had been so certain that her true identity, the woman behind the words of an unfinished novel in another reality, was undetected in this world. But now, she wondered just how much these two pillars of village society knew—and what role she was truly meant to play in the curious tale of Christmas Valley.

The sound of the gears and springs working together seemed to build to a crescendo, a cacophony that mirrored the chaos now churning in Felicity's mind. Each tick was a hammer strike against the anvil of her reality, forging new doubts with every resonant beat. The scent of metal and clockwork oil hung thick in the air, mingling with the mustiness of old wood—a pungent reminder that this place, so similar to her own world, held secrets she had never intended to uncover.

Felicity edged away from the conversation that had ensnared her, her heart pounding in time with the relentless ticking. She could not unhear the words that suggested her existence here was as crafted and intricate as the timepieces surrounding her. The air felt thicker, each inhalation laced with her newfound awareness.

She moved through Mr. Puck's shop like a ghost, unseen and silent, her presence a mere whisper against the din of mechanical life. The rows of clocks seemed to watch her, their faces impassive yet all-knowing, as if they, too, were privy to the unfolding drama of her unintended journey.

Outside, the crisp winter air was a balm to her senses, stilling the relentless tick-tock that echoed in her skull.

Felicity's grip tightened on the steering wheel, her knuckles whitening as her compact SUV carved a path through the snow-dusted road leading to Northwind Lodge. The passing pines stood as silent sentinels, their branches heavy with winter's touch, indifferent to the turmoil that churned within her. Anxiety gnawed at her insides like an unrelenting beast as she pondered her next move.

"Confront them?" she whispered to herself, tasting the bitterness of the word. "Talk to Jace?" Felicity shook her head, unsure if her voice could make him understand her newfound reality or if it would crumble under scrutiny. The idea of trying to find a way back to her own world lingered at the edges of her consciousness, teasing her with the possibility of undoing the chaos she had unwittingly sewn in this enchanting yet foreign existence.

The guilt of living another Felicity's life was a cloak wrapped tightly around her shoulders, and Jace... sweet, captivating Jace, now entwined in a narrative he never bargained for. She exhaled a shaky breath, fogging up the windshield momentarily before the defroster cleared it away, as if erasing her doubts.

The lodge loomed ahead, its warm lights flickering like beacons against the encroaching dusk. She parked and gathered the basket filled with treats, each step toward the entrance heavy with hesitation.

"Hey, Felicity," Jace called out as she entered, his smile reaching his eyes, those green pools of sincerity that always seemed to see right through her. He approached, dusting off wood shavings from his flannel shirt—a testament to his hands-on approach to the renovations.

"Hey," she managed, her voice betraying none of the inner tumult.

Jace's gaze lowered to the basket and then back to her face. "What's this? Treats for me and the boys?"

"Something like that," Felicity said, hoping her smile was convincing.

Pulling up a chair, he gestured for her to sit beside him by the crackling fireplace. The warmth of the flames caressed her skin, but it was the heat from Jace's proximity that truly made her heart beat erratically.

"Can I tell you something?" he began, his tone unexpectedly solemn. His hand found hers, enveloping it with a tenderness that sent a ripple of longing through her veins.

"Of course."

"It's about Heather—my ex," Jace confided, dropping his gaze as if the words pained him. "She showed up here, with Candace Prescott, the developer, no less. And, I don't know, seeing her just made me realize how much I've changed. What I ever saw in her seems so far away now."

The vulnerability in his voice, raw and unguarded, struck a chord deep within Felicity. In his eyes, she saw a reflection of her own uncertainty, her own search for something genuine amidst the shards of past regrets.

"Jace," she whispered, squeezing his hand in reassurance, though the gesture served to steady her own heart just as much. Her decision, whether to stay entangled in the magic of Christmas Valley or seek the solace of her reality, had become a puzzle with pieces that refused to fit.

"Thank you for trusting me," Felicity added, the words laced with layers of meaning only her heart could fully understand.

As the fire crackled and the evening deepened, the two sat in a companionable silence, sharing not just the warmth of the hearth but the unspoken bond of souls seeking solace in a world that often felt too vast and enigmatic. She wondered how he would feel when he realized she hadn’t been completely honest with him? Would he see it as one more betrayal? If she found her way back to her own reality, could she fix the disruption she’d caused in this one?