Chapter One #3
Grey isn’t with me, but I’ve decided to still walk to the cookie shop. The shop itself is a novelty. They have cozy chairs and delicious cookies and decadent hot cocoa, and the space is filled with bookshelves that remind me of Grey’s bookstore.
Their hot chocolate calls my name. It’s a tradition, and I don’t think I could go to sleep without it tonight.
I open the door, the tiny bell jingling as the golden interior welcomes me, and my heart instantly begins to race.
The music-loving mystery man sits at a table directly in front of me.
I freeze, taking in the single curl falling over his forehead and the ceramic cup sitting in front of him.
Ever so slowly, his eyes lift to meet mine, and my lungs expand with hope.
“You’re here.” His rich voice cuts through the smell of warm cookies and hot chocolate. Softly, he smiles, and that devastating dimple makes an appearance again. He stands, moving around the table and pulling out the chair across from him. “Would you like to sit with me for a bit?”
The invitation is the last thing I expect, but as a smile forms across my face, I think it may be exactly what I’ve needed.
A pulling feeling in the center of my ribs warns that I’ll regret it if I don’t accept his invitation.
There’s no stage to hide behind or opportunities to overthink.
I just know I want to spend more time with this man, and time seems to be on our side with this fated meeting.
His gaze lingers heavily on mine, a hint of playfulness around the edges.
“Who do you belong to?” My mittened hands wrap together behind my back like a Degas painting, the press of my palms together preparing my heart for however long we’re together this evening.
“Belong to?”
“Mm-hmm. Everyone here belongs to someone. They must. Are you a friend, a family member . . . How did you end up here? I’ve lived here my whole life, and we’ve never met before . . . Well, I do live in New York City now.”
A wide smile spreads across his face, making my breath catch. “I live a few towns over. My sister has been looking for a place to put a storefront. She’s a great baker. Just thought I’d come and see what all the charm was about.”
“The charm?” I step closer to him.
He nods. “Everyone within a hundred-mile radius surely must know about the town of Birch Borough. Its events and people are legendary. And apparently, it’s also home to a woman I’d rescue from an unpleasant encounter with an ice-skating rink. The last part is a new, but welcome, addition.”
His eyes scan my face as he says the words, starting at the corner of one of my brows and slowly roving over until they land on my lips. The blush rises to my cheeks as his eyes shift sharply to mine.
“Noted,” I say breathlessly.
At this, a full grin pulls at his moody mouth, and my knees nearly give out.
This man is saying everything so visually, but it’s so effective.
Never in my life have I ever been this moved by so few words.
I’m getting the intense feeling that he’ll never say more than he means, that he only says what he means, and a haven of comfort wraps around me at the thought.
“As for sitting with you, I would love to,” I admit, circling to his original question.
The way he tilts his chin down farther makes me sway toward him as he extends his hand. “I’m Jace,” he says.
Jace. His name creates a pattern of hope in my mind. I pull off my mittens, and when our palms connect, every nerve ending in my palm feels like it’s being awakened. I sink into the chair across from him.
“You okay?”
A lilt to his voice catalogs my senses, and I lean back, looking up, up, up into his eyes. I’m not sure what I’ll find there, but it feels like there may be an answer for me somewhere within their amber depths. A sudden hesitation grips me.
“I—well, I—how do I know that I can trust you?” I release his hand and cross my arms, willing the throbbing of my heart to quiet enough for me to hear what it wants me to do next. He won’t stay. The thought creeps in. And then I hear another whisper within. Maybe he’ll keep surprising you.
His hand moves up, the clock face on his tattooed hand wrapping around his chin.
He glances at the menu board. With an air of decision, he pulls out his phone and dials a number.
I see the contact’s name, M it’s notably smoky and something that seems to stand out about me, which never really helped me in the dance world since my life has been spent in silence on the stage.
“She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Mina,” Jace adds, and suddenly, tears sting my eyes. It’s not the words; it’s the sincerity with which he said them. “Golden hair. Eyes that remind me of hot chocolate. The good kind.”
There is a pause, then, “Jay, you’d better not mess this up!” Mina’s voice rings clearly between us through the phone as Jace laughs.
“I love you, M&M. Thank you for your vote of confidence.”
“M&M?” I ask.
“Her nickname. She loves the candy.” Jace sits up a little taller, watching me as if I’m the most fascinating thing in the world.
The fact that he hasn’t even noticed the Rudolph knockoff dancing outside the window beside us this whole time is a testament to his ability to concentrate.
His attention is solely on me, and I get the sense that his focus might be a spotlight where I could be found instead of lost.
“Okay, then, Mina,” I say into the phone. “I think he just may be worth the chance.”
Jace lifts a fist in the air, a quiet testament to his excitement, and gives me a smile I’ll think about whenever I need to remind myself there’s still magic in the world.
“Talk later, sis. Thanks again.”
“You’re welcome. And if she ends up being the one, you know you owe me that new easel I’ve wanted, right?”
He smiles. “The very best one. See you at home!” Jace sighs in relief, excitement spilling from his frame as he motions to the counter behind us. “Shall we?”
“I think I just might.” A feeling of joy settles into my bones as I pull off my mittens, and he reaches over to help me out of my coat, hanging it off the back of my chair. He stands.
“What would you like?”
I nearly stutter as I try to answer. “A candy cane hot chocolate, please.”
Jace nods and heads to the counter. I study him while he orders, observing the way he holds his shoulders and the intriguing image of a clock tattooed on his hand as it moves through his hair.
He shifts his weight as he waits for the order, glancing back at me once or twice, the first real sign of nervousness I’ve seen from him.
When he’s across from me again, delivering our drinks and a plate of Christmas cocoa cookies—which are as delicious as they sound—I’m struck by how tiny the table looks in light of his big frame.
“You’ve really never been to Birch Borough before?” I question.
Jace lifts his arm to take a sip of coffee, and I follow the movement of his muscles beneath his shirt. This man could be in a museum as the textbook example of the way muscles should be chiseled beneath fabric.
“I haven’t,” he says, taking another sip.
“And what were you doing before you made your way to our town this evening?” My question hovers in the holiday-treat-filled air.
“I was at a boxing studio, training some of my students.”
I attempt, in vain, not to think of him wrapping those manly hands with tape and the way his muscles must work as he punches a heavy bag. But the thought has already taken residence in my mind and installed a mailbox to celebrate.
“But now you’re making me want to buy a ticket to a dance performance, if you’re in it.” An easy smile brightens his features in fascinating ways.
It’s the first moment I’ve ever considered being able to look at a man’s face for the rest of my life and finding something new every time.
“How do you know I’m a dancer?” I ask, delighted he would say such a thing.
“Your feet are turned out.”
I look at my feet under the table, my toes angled in opposite directions as a result of training my body to move as a ballerina, and let out a laugh.
And as I look back toward him and see the smile on his face as he takes a huge bite of a dreamy dessert from Four Leaf Cookies, I think coming home might have brought me some holiday luck.