Chapter Thirty-Seven
Work had grown quieter as term wound down, and many of the staff and students had left to spend the holidays with their families—though many would miss loved ones who were still at war.
Edmund had already made it clear he would remain, both to pursue the investigation and to keep watch over her, for which she was grateful.
She desperately wanted to also spend the holidays with Andrew, but she refused to ask him.
It was probably pride holding her back, but what if he wanted to go home to his family?
She didn’t know what his plans were, and the thought of asking made her stomach tighten.
She didn’t want to appear needy without family to claim her.
Tomorrow would be Christmas Eve, and the university had fallen silent, as had the attacks. She was sick of the lingering fear and in some ways just wanted to face it all head-on instead of constantly waiting.
The halls were emptying. For now, though, Isla was trying to be in the present.
She tuned back in to the lively hum of Juliette’s kitchen.
Their tradition had quietly grown over the years: Juliette baking, bustling about with sleeves rolled high, with Isla nearby pretending to be useful, though neither of them were great cooks.
In truth though, Juliette always made sure Isla had everything she might need for an abundant Christmas dinner—though it was only ever for one. Still, her kindness always touched her heart.
Every year, Juliette asked her to come along to her own family’s home, and every year Isla gently refused.
She could never quite shake the worry of intruding on someone else’s family Christmas, of being the extra guest who didn’t belong.
Juliette never pressed, but her fussing in the kitchen spoke louder than any words—small acts of care to soften the edges of her friend’s loneliness.
“Here, grate those carrots,” Juliette said, pushing a bowl toward her with mock sternness. “If you can’t have a proper Christmas pudding this year, we’ll make do with carrot cake.”
Isla laughed, taking up the grater. “You should write a cookbook: Wartime Delights on Half a Ration.”
“Don’t tempt me.” Juliette grinned, weighing out the flour with precision. “Now, keep grating. You’ll see—spices make all the difference. I was lucky to get them. A bit of cinnamon, a touch of nutmeg—it will be like a hug in cake form.”
There was no luck about her friend finding the ingredients. Juliette went out of her way every Christmas to get Isla the best she could despite the rationing making it extremely difficult.
A modest cut of goose sat in her fridge, which Juliette had bartered from a local farmer. It wasn’t turkey—a luxury for those with more coupons to spare—but with herbs, onions, and gravy, it would make a fine centerpiece.
Juliette glanced at her. “I know you don’t want to intrude on my family,” she said softly. “But Isla, you’re no burden. You never could be. If you changed your mind, you would be most welcome.”
Isla lowered her eyes to the carrots, feeling her chest tighten at the kindness. “Thank you, Juliette. Truly. But this is enough ... more than enough.”
As the carrot cake baked and filled the apartment with its warm, spiced scent, Juliette rummaged in a cupboard and pulled out a neatly wrapped parcel.
“Juliette,” Isla protested softly, “you’ve already done enough with the food.”
“Hush now—the Ivy Queen can never have too many gifts,” Juliette replied in her most regal voice.
Laughing, Isla reached for her bag and produced a smaller package, holding it out in return. Juliette squealed with delight and tugged her friend down onto the rug in front of the fire. They both tucked their skirts beneath them, the flames crackling cheerfully at their backs.
“Right,” Juliette said, eyes gleaming with mischief. “On the count of three ...”
As with every year before, the two of them tore into the packages as though they were children of three, not women in their twenties. Paper crinkled, ribbons came loose, and laughter filled the little room.
“Oooh!” Juliette exclaimed, holding up a paper bag brimming with her favorite boiled sweets. “These are much better than another plant. I killed the last one.”
“Hey!” Isla laughed, swatting her arm. “Plants make the best gifts.”
“For you, maybe. Especially now you can keep them alive with a wave of your hand. Honestly, what need have you now for any more plants as gifts when you can summon them?”
Isla rolled her eyes but then fell silent as she looked down at her own gifts—beautifully knitted gloves in soft wool and a book with a delicately embossed cover. She turned the book over, cheeks coloring when she read the title. “A romance novel?” She looked up, one brow raised.
Juliette grinned smugly. “Well, the gloves are practical. Cold hands and warm heart, as they say, and since I’d wager your heart is warmer than ever at the present, I thought the gloves might come in handy. Plus, they will help with the rest of the problem.”
“The rest of the problem?” Isla repeated, narrowing her eyes.
“Mm-hmm.” Juliette wriggled her eyebrows. “Falling for an Aqua Summoner could be quite problematic as their hands may be extremely cold after summoning ice; you’ll be the first woman in York to suffer frostbite for romance without these gloves.”
“Juliette!” Isla cried, utterly mortified.
“And the book,” Juliette continued innocently, holding back a smirk, “is because you’re clearly open to romance now. It’s one of my favorites—a gallant knight, a swooning damsel in distress ...”
“I am not a swooning damsel.”
Juliette leaned closer, whispering in mock scandal.
“You are too a damsel. He has rescued you more than once, and there’s nothing wrong with that!
It’s okay to be a damsel sometimes. As women, we don’t always have to be strong.
I am well aware something special is happening between the two of you, though—I know you’ve been trying to hide it, and I think as your best friend I should have been told.
The way you two look at each other now is a dead giveaway.
Have you kissed him yet? Are his lips cold? ”
“Juliette!” Isla buried her face in her hands, half laughing, half dying of embarrassment. “There will be no talk of lips—and no, they are not cold!”
“Aha!” Juliette clapped her hands triumphantly. “So you have kissed him. I knew it!”
Isla groaned, throwing one of the knitted gloves at her friend, who only cackled and ducked.