Chapter 5

5

FELICITY

F elicity's pulse quickened. She’d been aware of the solid strength of the man who’d caught her mid-fall. His hands, once strangers, now felt like a natural extension of her own being. Her skin tingled where he touched her, even through layers meant to guard against winter's embrace. She took in the rugged lines of his face, the tousled chestnut hair that begged for fingers to thread through it, and wondered at the serendipity that brought them together on a street corner in Christmas Valley.

“I’m Felicity Hart, by the way,” she said.

“Jace Winterborne.”

Of course he was Jace Winterborne, he could be no other. She had just lived the ‘meet cute’ she’d been trying to write for her novel, but instead of being able to capture it on her laptop, she was trapped inside her own story—the protagonist in her story about the idyllic town of Christmas Valley that had existed only in her mind until now. And now Jace had appeared. The ruggedly handsome chef and ski lodge owner she had meticulously crafted with every detail and trait was even better in person than she had described him.

She forced herself not to reach out and trace the lines of his face, a face she had envisioned so clearly in her mind. The mere thought of their paths crossing ignited an exhilarating excitement in Felicity's chest. This was more than just a dream—it was a chance to live out the perfect romance she had always fantasized about.

But doubt crept slowly into her mind. Felicity couldn't help but question if this was truly what she wanted or if this was even happening. If it was, how could she get back to her real life? Could she stay just long enough for a blissful holiday love affair to at least outline the remainder of her novel? Was she in a coma in a hospital? Or was she stuck in Christmas Valley and the only thing that would result was a complicated web of emotions and misunderstandings.

For once, Felicity wasn't sure if she was ready for the inevitable conclusion of her carefully constructed love story. Would this be the happy ending she desired, or a bittersweet finale to a chapter of her life? Only time would tell.

Jace

Jace's gaze shifted downward to the casualties sprawled across the icy blanket of snow—a fallen army of sugar and spice. The gingerbread men, once destined for a display at the artisan grocery, now lay disarrayed, their candied expressions gazing skyward as if questioning their untimely fate.

"Looks like the cookies didn't make it," he murmured, the words tinted with a rueful humor that didn't quite reach his eyes. It was a triviality in the grand scheme of things, yet it stirred an unexpected pang of sympathy within him.

The woman, Felicity—her name a bright chime in his mind—cast her own look of dismay at the sweet disaster before them. Her sigh fogged the air, clouding momentarily over the wreckage. "Of course they didn’t. These were for the display at the artisan grocery. People are going to be disappointed."

Her voice trembled, not with cold, but with a tint of desperation that Jace recognized all too well—the pressure to perform, to please, to uphold expectations. It echoed his own concerns, the ones gnawing at the edges of his consciousness, threatening to dismantle the fragile hope he'd been building here.

There was an intimacy in that shared moment of loss, however small, a thread of connection spun from the frayed ends of their morning plans. Jace felt the pull of it, the warmth of her proximity mingling with the crisp bite of winter air, creating a cocoon that held them both.

Jace's hands sifted through the fluff of snow, uncovering a particularly plump gingerbread figure. It had all the makings of a cookie casualty, frosted smile askew and one sugared limb buried beneath a dusting of white. "They look... uh, mostly intact," he ventured, lifting it for inspection.

Felicity eyed the dismembered gingerbread man, her laughter bubbling up. "Mostly intact?" She clutched her stomach as if his words tickled her from the inside, her chuckles mingling with the soft chime of distant bells. "I think this guy needs a paramedic."

The crisp air carried the scent of pine and lost sweetness as Jace joined in the mirth, a low chuckle escaping him. His breath frosted before him, wrapping around them in an ephemeral cloud that seemed to hold the echo of their shared amusement. The laughter was a balm, soothing the raw edges of his anxiety over the lodge, if only for a moment.

Felicity's eyes sparkled, a gleaming blue that rivaled the stark winter sky above. Her merriment faded into a warm smile that reached deep, stirring something within Jace—a longing to linger in this instant where troubles were as fleeting as the steam from their breath.

He scooped up another gingerbread casualty, its frosting a tragic smile beneath a snowy blanket. Jace couldn't help but let out another low laugh, the sound rough-edged but genuine. It had been too long since he'd found humor in chaos.

"You’re going to need help triaging all these casualties." The words fell between them like the snowflakes that dusted his shoulders, light and unexpected.

Her grin was undiminished, a beacon of warmth in the chill air. "I’m afraid they’re all going to be declared dead on arrival," she offered, the quip rolling off her tongue with ease. "And thanks for the save, Jace. You have pretty good reflexes."

The compliment settled over him like the welcome weight of a well-worn jacket, familiar yet somehow new and exciting. He stood there, the gingerbread man still clutched in his hand, feeling the pull of something beyond the simple touch of their laughter.

Felicity's smile lingered, softening the edges of the morning with a glow that seemed to radiate from within her. Her gratitude was a warm brush against the coldness that had seeped into his bones, not just from the winter air but from the sense of defeat that had been his shadow of late.

In that moment, with her laughter still echoing in his ears, Jace felt the icy grip of dread loosen ever so slightly. There was a magic here in Christmas Valley, tucked away in unexpected corners like hidden treasures waiting to be uncovered.

Jace's hand remained beneath her elbow, the pressure light yet firm, as if he was still unsure whether she was steady on her own feet. "Years of practice," he said, the words floating on a playful shrug that drew her gaze to the broad set of his shoulders. "Although I usually catch frying pans, not people." His smile was half a confession, half invitation to a secret only they shared in this snow-dusted street.

Her eyebrows arched, curiosity and amusement mingling in the bright blue pools of her eyes. "Frying pans?" Felicity echoed, her voice tinged with the wonder of a child uncovering the first layer of a treasured storybook.

Jace nodded, the motion sending a cascade of snowflakes from his hair, each one catching the early morning light as they spiraled down to join their fallen brethren. "I used to work in a kitchen where dodging airborne cookware was part of the job description." His words painted an image of clattering chaos, of sizzling passion amidst the flames of gas burners—of a life far removed from the stillness of Christmas Valley.

The corner of Felicity's mouth quirked upward, her breath releasing in a misty plume that danced between them, carrying with it the faint scent of sugar and spice. Her fingers twitched against his sleeve, and Jace felt the pull, electric and undeniable, like the north star guiding him through uncharted waters.

"Sounds... eventful," she mused, and there was a twinkle in her eye that suggested she might just be envisioning him, apron-clad and valiant, amid the culinary battlegrounds of some distant cityscape.

"Eventful," Jace repeated, the word rolling off his tongue as he let go of her arm, the absence of her touch leaving a space colder than the air around them. "But not nearly as thrilling as this moment right here."

Their exchange was a dance, each word a step closer, each glance a deeper dive into what might be. And though the bank loomed large in his thoughts, in that instant, with Felicity before him, all seemed possible—even the salvation of the Northwind Lodge, even the mending of his own fractured heart.

Jace's grin tilted sideways, a silent admission of his past life. "I used to be a chef," he confessed, his voice low, hinting at the fire and ice of restaurant kitchens now miles and memories away. "I guess I still am. I guess I’ll have to get used to catching people instead of kitchenware."

Felicity's laughter danced in the air, a sound that beckoned him closer to the warmth of her spirit. She cast him a look of mock severity, her eyes a vibrant blue that held histories untold, futures unimagined. "Well, you’ve got the hero thing down pretty well," she teased, the light in her gaze pulling him into a momentary fantasy where heroes and bakers shared more than just fleeting collisions. "I might need to keep you around."

He chuckled, the sound rumbling from deep within. Her words lingered, wrapping around him like the scarf snug at his throat, promising comfort he hadn't felt in ages.

"Keep me around?" Jace echoed, an eyebrow arched in playful challenge. The notion sent a thrill through him, one that stirred the remains of a long-abandoned hope. Could this town, with its festive charm and unexpected encounters, offer him not just redemption for the lodge but also a chance at rekindling his heart?

Their breath mingled, creating visible wisps as fragile and beautiful as the snowflakes adorning Felicity's hair. He felt the tug—the undeniable pull of a new beginning—as he stood before her, caught between the world he knew and the one that beckoned with her every smile.

Jace's smile lingered, a rarity that felt both foreign and delightful as it stretched across his lips. The cold of Christmas Valley seeped through his boots, but the chill was nothing compared to the warmth spreading through his chest. Felicity was an unexpected spark of warmth in the frosty morning.

He watched, captivated, as her laughter danced across the icy air, a melody that disarmed his well-guarded heart. Her smile wasn't just a curve of lips; it was light incarnate, pushing back the gloom that had settled over him since he left Boston. It wasn’t just her humor in the face of a tumble that charmed him—it was her resilience, shining through like sunlight glinting off snow.

Compelled by something beyond politeness, Jace lowered himself to the ground, his knees pressing into the chilly white blanket. He reached for the scattered gingerbread men still clinging to the tray, their sweet-spiced scent mingling with the crisp air. "Here," he said, offering the salvaged treats to her, "at least a few of these guys survived the fall."

His fingers grazed the broken edges of the cookies, each touch a silent apology for their crumbled dreams. They were survivors, much like the man who held them—a little battered, a touch misshapen, but enduring nonetheless. As he lifted his gaze from the fractured sweets to the woman before him, he found a reflection of his own spirit. In her bright eyes, he saw a kindred flame, burning steady even in the face of adversity.

"Survivors," Felicity echoed softly, her breath forming a delicate cloud as she accepted the gingerbread from him. Her fingertips brushed against his, an electric jolt that threatened to melt the snow beneath them. She was the promise of a fire's blaze on a winter's night, a comfort he didn't know he’d sought until now.

In the simple act of saving cookies from the snow, Jace discovered a truth as clear as the frosted air: sometimes the heart found what it needed most when braving the cold unknown. And as he rose, brushing snowy remnants from his jeans, he carried with him not just the hope for his lodge, but the flickering possibility of a warmth that could thaw his cautious heart.

Felicity crouched low, reaching for the scattered cookies. Jace watched the way the winter sun caught on her hair, turning it into a halo of spun gold against the snow's stark white canvas. "Thanks," she said, her voice laced with an undertone of laughter. "Not exactly the grand display I was hoping for today, but... I appreciate the rescue."

He couldn't help but smile at her words—a genuine, unguarded smile. The kind he thought he'd forgotten how to make. "Glad I could help," Jace responded, rising and stretching out his hand. It was an offering, a bridge between two strangers who might just be on the brink of something more.

Her hand slipped into his, small and warm against the chill, a perfect fit that sent a ripple of something electric up his arm. For a heartbeat, or perhaps an eternity, they stood there, connected by touch, by chance, by fate—as if all the crooked paths they'd each walked were meant to cross right here, right now. Jace brushed the last of the snow from his palms, the cold biting his fingertips as he watched Felicity gather herself.

“So,” Felicity began, her words floating into the space between them, “are you new in town, or just passing through?”

Her question hung there, and Jace felt the weight of it, heavy with the potential of what his answer might mean. He hesitated, but only for a heartbeat. His gaze met hers, those curious eyes that seem to see right through him, and he made a choice—a choice for truth over mystery, for openness over the armor he was so accustomed to wearing.

“I just inherited the Northwind Lodge,” he admitted, the words feeling foreign yet freeing as they escaped into the chilled morning air. The lodge, his unexpected anchor in this small town, suddenly became a bridge to this moment, to her. “I have fond memories of the place, so I figured I’d come check it out and see if I can get it back on its feet.”

He didn’t add how the thought of reviving the lodge felt like trying to capture the Northern Lights—beautiful but daunting. Instead, Jace watched for Felicity's reaction, searching her face for any sign of recognition, of judgment, or maybe some sliver of shared hope.

The corner of her mouth lifted into something that wasn't quite a smile but promised more than simple politeness. It was an unspoken acknowledgment, a delicate thread weaving through their conversation, pulling them together with the gentle insistence of fate.

And there it was—that flicker of connection, fragile and fierce all at once, stirring the embers of possibility within Jace's heart. He felt the pull, the draw of this woman who stood before him, a stranger still, yet somehow familiar in a way that echoed in the hollow spaces of his heart left barren by past heartache.

This woman, Felicity—with her hesitant grace and the untold stories dancing behind her eyes—might just be the kindling he needed to ignite the dormant fire of his spirit, to warm the chill of uncertainty that gripped him when he thought of the monumental task ahead.

In the dance of their brief encounter, amidst the spilled gingerbread and whispered confessions, Jace found himself standing at the precipice of something vast and uncharted. There, on the cusp of Christmas Valley's awakening streets, he sensed the beginning of a journey—not just in the revival of the Northwind Lodge, but in the intertwining of two souls seeking warmth in the depths of winter.