Chapter 22

22

JACE

J ace's heart thrummed against his ribs, an erratic tempo that matched the storm brewing within him as he pushed open the door to the lodge. Its usual welcoming warmth, the scent of pine and burning wood from the fireplace, now felt like an oppressive shroud, smothering him with a heat that clashed with the icy dread in his veins.

He moved mechanically through the space, the laughter and chatter around him fading into a distant murmur, lost beneath the deafening rush of his own thoughts. Felicity's confession echoed in his mind, each word a hammer strike to the foundations of what he had believed to be real. She was from another reality—a truth so bizarre, so fantastical, that it threatened to topple everything he knew about the world, about her, about them.

The lodge, once a haven, became a cell. He no longer belonged within its walls; they seemed to close in on him, trapping him in a life suddenly foreign and unrecognizable. He needed air, space—needed to escape the sense of betrayal that clawed at his throat, the confusion that clouded his vision.

Without a word to anyone, Jace slipped back outside, the cool night air a sharp contrast to the false comfort he left behind. He climbed behind the wheel, the Range Rover seeming to carry him instinctively back toward town, toward her place, though he couldn't say why. Maybe he hoped to find her there, lights ablaze, ready to laugh off this absurd tale and pull him back into her arms.

But as he approached, his heart sank. The bakery lay in darkness, its windows like vacant eyes staring back at him, devoid of the light that once spilled onto the snowy pavement. No sign of life flickered within or above; no shadow moved behind the curtains as he parked in front of her place. It was as if she had vanished, taking with her the last embers of the warmth he'd clung to.

Getting out, he stood alone under the watchful gaze of the moon, a chill seeping through his coat—not from the winter air, but from the realization that the woman he loved might be slipping away from him, perhaps to a place he could never reach. Confusion swirled with the snowflakes that danced around him, each one a silent witness to the turmoil that raged in the quiet of his soul.

Jace's breath formed a wispy mist that drifted upwards, dissipating quickly into the night, as ephemeral as the hope that had buoyed him just hours before. He wrapped his arms around himself, not against the cold, but in a futile attempt to hold together the pieces of a breaking heart.

Turning away from the bakery, his boots crunched through the freshly fallen snow, each step an echo of his fracturing resolve. Christmas Valley’s Main Street was dressed in its festive best, garlands glistening with ice crystals and twinkling lights that cast a warm glow on the untouched snowbanks. Laughter spilled from the open doors of the Silver Bell Tavern, couples huddled close for warmth as they admired the holiday window displays.

But the cheer felt hollow to Jace. The vibrant reds and greens blurred before his eyes, while the melodies of carolers mingled with the dissonance of his thoughts. He saw Felicity's face in every shimmering ornament, heard her laughter in the jingle of sleigh bells. His heart ached with a longing that felt as vast as the night sky above him.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

The voice pulled him from his reverie. Mr. Puck, the town's eccentric clockworks shop owner, emerged from the shadows like a character from one of the mystical snow globes he kept in the shop—the only thing he sold that wasn’t a clock. His age was indefinable, much like the antique clocks and snow globes that cluttered his shop—each piece as enigmatic as the man himself.

"Quite the display," Jace managed, his voice sounding distant even to his own ears.

"Ah, but it's not just about the glitter and shine, is it?" Mr. Puck's eyes twinkled knowingly. "It's about what lies beneath. The magic hidden in plain sight."

"Magic?" Jace scoffed lightly, though the weight of Felicity's revelation made the term feel all too poignant.

"Indeed." Mr. Puck stepped closer, his breath visible in the cold air. "Tell me, Jace, have you ever believed in something... impossible?"

"Once, perhaps." Jace's gaze drifted, caught on a strand of lights that flickered erratically. "But reality has a way of crushing those beliefs."

"Or," Mr. Puck continued, undeterred, "it could be that those beliefs are what make reality bearable. Sometimes, love itself is a kind of magic. It transforms us, reveals worlds we never knew existed. And yes, sometimes it asks us to believe in the unbelievable."

Jace's heart skipped a beat, the words resonating with a truth he'd been reluctant to acknowledge. Was it so far-fetched to think that Felicity's story held some merit? That their connection was more than mere chance?

"Love can bridge any distance, Jace. Even between realities." The old man's voice was soft, yet carried the certainty of one who had witnessed many such wonders.

"Even if it means letting go?" Jace asked, the internal struggle evident in his tone.

"Especially then. For in letting go, we hold on to what truly matters. You'll find your way, young man. Follow your heart, and trust in the magic of this place and this season."

With that, Mr. Puck tipped his hat and strolled away, leaving Jace alone once more. But the seeds of hope had been planted. As he looked around at the revelry, the beauty of Christmas Valley began to seep back into his senses. Perhaps the impossible could become possible—if only he dared to believe.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, pulling it out, he recognized the name immediately. Ryan Murphy, his former commanding officer when he had been a SEAL.

“Ryan? What’s Up?”

Felicity

Shortly Before Midnight

Christmas Eve

Felicity stood alone before the ancient clock tower, its hands inching toward the midnight hour with a steadfast resolve that mirrored her own. Mr. Puck had told her if she was there, the clock would shine down on her and she would be able to travel back to her reality. The biting chill of the December night seeped into her bones but was nothing compared to the freezing of her heart. Her cheeks were painted a rosy hue as her breath fogged the air before her in short, punctuated bursts.

With each tick, the old clock's gears groaned softly, an intimate whisper against the silent backdrop of the night. Her heart, a captive to the rhythm, pounded fiercely within the confines of her chest. It was as if the very seconds slipping away were syncing with the beats of her pulse—a drumroll to the momentous decision that lay heavy on her heart and soul. Knowing she was doing the right thing was cold comfort as she waited.

The air around her hung thick with the impending change; each second that passed seemed to thicken it further, until she felt as though she could reach out and touch the fabric of time itself. Her fingers twitched, restless by her sides, aching to grasp something solid in the sea of uncertainty she waded through.

In the distance, the final moments of Christmas Eve unfurled with quiet dignity, the clock heralding the end of what had been and the beginning of what must come to pass. Felicity's eyes, limpid pools reflecting the moon's gentle glow, were fixed upon the face of the timepiece.

It wasn't just the cold that caused the shiver to traipse down her spine. She was keenly aware of the precipice upon which she teetered—between the life she had come to know and the one that beckoned her with a promise of salvation for those she loved. The courage it took to stand there, to contemplate the leap into the unknown, was a testament to the strength she rarely acknowledged she possessed. Had it been solely for her or the town, she feared her resolve might have crumbled, but for Jace, anything was worth it.

She’d wanted so badly to tell him she loved him, but that would only have served to make her feel better and might have inflicted a wound so deep in his heart that it would never heal.

A gust of wind teased the loose tendrils of her hair, and she tucked them absentmindedly behind her ear. Her thoughts meandered to her unfinished novel, the characters that seemed so real they whispered secrets in her dreams, urging her on and challenging her to breathe life into their stories, just as she sought to give new meaning to her own.

This old clock had witnessed countless such eves, its hands unyielding in their path, indifferent to human hesitancy. Yet tonight, it seemed to Felicity as though it understood the gravity of her choice, ticking down not just the minutes, but the fragments of her resolve.

She could almost hear the voice of her protagonist, as if channeled through her own subconscious: ‘Leap, Felicity. For in the fall, you shall find your wings.’ It was a line she'd written once in a moment of inspiration, never truly understanding its significance until now.

The night held its breath with her, poised in a silent vigil as midnight approached. And there, beneath the watchful gaze of the clock, Felicity Hart let her courage swell. She would step back into her reality and rewrite the necessary chapters to save Jace and the town with the same fortitude it took to fill blank pages with worlds born from the whispers of her imagination.

Because just as the clock would continue its eternal march, so, too, would she move forward, chasing the story yet to be told—her fate intertwined in the relentless dance of time.

The chime of laughter and the soft murmur of voices wrapped around Felicity like a cashmere shawl, warm yet weighty with the impending decision that lay upon her shoulders. Her gaze traced the whimsical dance of lights as they wavered and wound through the trees, casting shadows that seemed to sway in time with the carolers' harmonious melodies. Couples, bundled in their winter finery, laughed and spoke in quiet, dulcet tones, their cheeks rosy from the cold and excitement.

With each passing moment, the ethereal beauty of it all etched itself deeper into Felicity’s heart, the splendor of the night a stark contrast to the tempest brewing within her. She could feel the very essence of Christmas Valley seeping into her veins, and it was intoxicating, seductive, but it also served as a poignant reminder of what she stood to lose—or to save.

She pulled the thick wool coat tighter around her frame, not just against the chill of the December air, but as if the action could somehow shield her from the torrent of emotions that threatened to spill forth. Her fingers found the hem, teasing the frayed edge with a nervous energy that mirrored the inner tumult of her thoughts.

"By New Year's Eve," she whispered to herself, the words barely audible above the wind that had begun to pick up. It was a mantra, a tether to the choice that had to be made if she were to attempt to rescue this very joy, these very moments. Felicity knew that stepping back into her own reality meant peeling back layers of her own vulnerabilities, confronting ghosts that haunted the silent corridors of her heart.

She almost wished the clock would speed up. Remaining here amidst the cacophony of life in Christmas Valley was agony—each note of mirth a poignant stab reminding her of the gulf between this reality and hers. And yet, the thought of leaving tore at her, the fabric of her being interwoven with the magic of this place, a tapestry too complex to unravel without consequence.

"Courage, Felicity," she murmured, adjusting the glasses perched precariously on the bridge of her nose, seeking solace in their familiar weight. With each tick of the clock, the future—a future she might yet alter—loomed closer, its approach as relentless as the passage of time itself.

The juxtaposition of the joy of the night with the ache of her decision lent a bittersweet tang to the air, sharper than the winter's bite. But within that pain bloomed a fierce determination, a resolve to reclaim the narrative of her own life, much like the heroines of the novels she so cherished and would, she promised herself, someday write.

But tonight, Felicity stood at the crossroads of her destiny, the courage of her convictions blazing within her, a beacon that would guide her through the encroaching darkness. Before the new year dawned, she could shape not only her own fate but the very fabric of Christmas Valley itself.

As the old clock tower announced the arrival of midnight, a hush seemed to fall all around her. Felicity's breath caught in the cool winter air, her eyes reflecting the twinkling lights that adorned the festive scene. And then, he was there, striding toward her through the snowfall—a figure at once familiar and heartbreakingly handsome.

Snowflakes clung to the curls of his hair like a crown of frost, yet they seemed unable to chill the warmth that radiated from him. As he neared, the intensity in his eyes pierced the distance between them, stirring something deep within Felicity's chest.

He stopped before her, close enough for her to see the flecks of gold around his pupils, close enough for his body heat to mingle with hers. The scent of pine and the faintest hint of woodsmoke clung to his flannel shirt—a scent that spoke of nights spent by roaring fires and days amidst the snowy embrace of the valley.

"Jace," she whispered, her voice barely rising above the whispering wind. The timbre of her own words surprised her—there was no tremble of uncertainty, only the resonance of a woman standing on the precipice of fate.

“Do you love me?” he asked and waited.

She owed him the truth. “Yes…” she started to say more but he placed two fingers over her lips to silence her.

“And do you believe I love you?”

“Yes.”

"Then whatever the hell it is you think you have to do will have to wait until midnight on New Year’s Eve," Jace said, a smile tilting his lips despite the solemnity of the occasion.

“You don’t understand. I have to go back and have enough time to fix this.”

“I have faith in you that you can, but do you have enough faith in me and in us to wait?”

The tenderness in his gaze threatened to unravel her, but Felicity held fast, anchored by the courage that had blossomed within her. His mere presence solidified her resolve, for he embodied the very essence of what she feared losing—the connection, the passion, the spark of something extraordinary.

“Kiss me, Felicity. Believe in us.”

He pulled her into a passionate embrace as the clock struck midnight. But this moment was more than the sum of their desires; it was the fulcrum upon which the future balanced. With each heartbeat, with each toll of the bells, the weight of their choices pressed down upon them, shaping the contours of tomorrow—its fate and theirs suspended on the precipice of a single, crystalline moment.