5. Chapter 5
Chapter five
Bella
T he ball of Christmas lights slipped from my fingers for the umpteenth time, tumbling to the floor. I sighed, blowing a stray hair out of my face. “Note to self: next blog post idea—‘How to Detangle Christmas Lights Without Losing Your Mind.’”
As I bent to retrieve the fallen lights, my phone buzzed. Sophie’s name lit up the screen, and I snatched it up, grateful for a distraction from the tangled mess at my feet.
“Please tell me you’re calling with good news about the magazine feature,” I said, wedging the phone between my ear and shoulder as I attempted to untangle the lights one-handed.
Sophie’s sharp intake of breath sent a chill down my spine. “Um… not exactly.”
I froze, a knot forming in my stomach. “What is it?”
“Madison’s in town. She’s decorating the lodge for the same magazine feature.”
The lights slipped from my grasp again, but this time, I didn’t bother picking them up. “Madison? As in ‘Madison the Menace’ from high school?”
My pulse quickened as memories of high school flooded back—Madison’s smug smile, her backhanded compliments, the way she’d always managed to make me feel two inches tall. And now she was here, gunning for the same opportunity I’d been working towards for months.
Sophie’s sigh crackled through the phone. “She’s playing dirty, Bella. Just don’t let her get to you, okay?”
I forced a laugh. “Easier said than done.”
“Look, I know this is a setback, but you’ve got something Madison doesn’t—genuine talent and heart. Don’t forget that.”
I nodded, even though Sophie couldn’t see me. “Thanks. I’ll try remembering that when she’s inevitably throwing shade my way. “
After hanging up, I took a deep breath, forcing my hands to stop shaking as I picked up the lights again. I’d come too far to let Madison the Menace derail me now. This was my chance to prove I belonged in the big leagues, and I wasn’t about to let my high school nemesis steal my spotlight.
I started wrapping the lights around the banister, humming, “Deck the Halls.” Madison might think she had the upper hand, but I also had a few tricks up my sleeve. Game on, Madison Drake. May the best decorator win.
My mind was still spinning as I wound the last lights around the banister. I glanced over at Devon, slouched on the couch, flipping through an old magazine with disinterest.
Should I tell him? The thought of bringing up our shared history with Madison made my stomach churn, but keeping it from him felt wrong, too. I took a deep breath and bit the bullet.
“Madison’s in town,” I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper.
Devon’s brow furrowed, his eyes clouding with recognition. “Madison Drake?” He sat up straighter, the magazine forgotten in his lap. “The one who...”
His voice trailed off, but we both knew exactly what he meant. The one who had caused so much drama. The one who had played a part in tearing us apart.
“Yeah, that one,” I said, fiddling with the end of the string of lights.
Devon ran a hand through his tousled hair. “What’s she doing in town?”
I sighed, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice. “Working on my lodge project. Apparently, when the mayor found out I was stuck here, he contacted Madison. I’m sure she jumped at the opportunity to try and steal the magazine feature.”
“Ah,” Devon grunted, his face unreadable. “That’s... unfortunate.”
Enough of letting Madison overpower my thoughts. I refused to let her get the best of me. “I’m going to see if I missed something last time in the attic. Want to help me look?”
I tried to inject some enthusiasm into my voice, but even to my ears, it sounded forced. Devon shrugged, his gaze already drifting back to the magazine.
“Go ahead. I’m not in the mood to dig through old boxes.”
So much for teamwork. The Devon I once knew would have jumped at the chance for an adventure, even if it was just rummaging through dusty attic boxes. It was like he was avoiding being in there.
“All right, suit yourself,” I said, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice. “I’ll be back in a bit. Try not to have too much fun without me.”
Grabbing a flashlight, I headed towards the attic stairs, determined to distract myself from thoughts of Madison. As I climbed, I silently prayed I wouldn’t encounter any mice this time. The last thing I needed was to embarrass myself by screaming like a banshee and having Devon come to my rescue. Again.
I made my way through the cluttered space. My fingers trailed over cardboard boxes and old furniture, each touch stirring up ghosts of the past.
I remembered sneaking up here with Devon years ago, giggling as we explored the hidden nooks and crannies. Back then, the guesthouse had been alive with laughter and warmth. Now, it felt like a sad, hollow shell of its former self.
As I pushed aside an old coat rack, my hand brushed against something small and leathery. Curious, I pulled it out, revealing a weathered journal. My heart skipped a beat as I flipped it open.
“No way,” I whispered, eyes widening as I scanned the pages.
The journal was filled with entries from couples who had stayed at the guesthouse over the years. Some dated back decades, the careful, looping handwriting so detailed compared to today’s hasty scrawls. Each entry told a story of love, adventure, and the magic of Serenity Falls.
This was it—the perfect feature for the blog.
I scrambled down the attic stairs, nearly tripping over my feet in my haste. I burst into the living room, waving the journal like a victory flag.
“Devon! Look what I found!”
He glanced up from his magazine, one eyebrow raised. “An old diary?”
“It’s more than that,” I insisted, plopping down beside him on the couch. I flipped through the pages, my enthusiasm growing with each entry. “It’s a piece of history. We could feature it in the blog—uncover the stories of the couples who stayed here. Maybe it’s connected to the old ornaments with the initials.”
Devon frowned, his blue eyes clouding over. “Why would people want to know about that?” he muttered.
“Because it’s fascinating,” I pressed on, determined to break through his wall of indifference. “It would bring the guesthouse to life. Don’t you want to know about all the love stories that happened right here?”
As soon as the words left my mouth, I wished I could retract them. Our love story happened here. Look at how that turned out.
Devon’s jaw tightened, and his fingers drummed an erratic rhythm on the armrest. “If you ask me, some things are better left buried.”
I saw something deeper beneath the surface—his memories, his pain. Something that I couldn’t quite reach. He just stared at his magazine, and I opened my mouth, then closed it again. I tended to rattle on when I was nervous, and I didn’t want to do that.
“I found an old Scrabble set in the attic,” I said, deciding to change the subject. “How about a quick game?”
Devon looked at me skeptically, his eyebrow arched in that infuriatingly attractive way of his. “Scrabble? Really?”
I shrugged, trying to keep my tone light. “What, afraid I’ll beat you? Come on, it’ll be fun.”
A flicker of the old Devon—competitive and playful—sparked in his eyes. After a beat, he shrugged. “Fine. I’ll humor you. But don’t come crying to me when I crush you with my superior vocabulary.”
“‘Zymurgy’?” Devon squinted at my latest play. “Now you’re just making stuff up.”
I grinned, feeling a surge of triumph. “Oh, it’s real all right—the study of fermentation in brewing. Don’t believe me. Look it up.”
I watched as Devon’s fingers danced over his phone screen, his brow furrowing as he read the definition. A grudging smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“Fine, you win this round,” he conceded, shaking his head. “But don’t get cocky. I’m just warming up. Next thing you know, I’ll be dropping ‘kakorrhaphiophobia’ on you.”
“How do you even spell that?” I quipped. “Let me guess, the fear of failing at Scrabble?”
Devon chuckled. “Close. It’s the fear of failure or defeat.”
“Well, in that case,” I said, laying down my next word, “prepare to face your fears.”
For a few fleeting moments, it felt like the old days—before the breakup, before everything got complicated. I couldn’t help but notice how his hands lingered over the wooden tiles as if remembering all the games we’d played here years ago.
I found myself staring at him, drinking in the sight of his relaxed features. Was I developing feelings for him again? Or had they never really gone away?
As the game wrapped up, I decided to seize the moment. “I noticed the old Santa sleigh covered up in the attic. What if we put it on the roof? It would be perfect for the magazine feature—such a statement piece.”
The change was instant. Devon’s smile vanished, replaced by a tight frown that made my stomach clench. “No,” he said sharply.
I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden intensity in his voice. “But it would look so—“
“I said no, Bella,” he interrupted, his tone final.
I bit my lip, unsure what had just triggered him. The warmth from our game evaporated, leaving a chill in its wake. Devon stood up abruptly, running a hand through his hair.
“That sleigh...” he started, his voice strained. “It’s not just some decoration. It was my mom’s favorite thing about Christmas. Putting it on the roof was my dad’s job. I’m not dragging it out for a stupid blog post.”
The words felt like a slap to the face. I guess he didn’t think my career was anything much. Sigh. What had changed him so much? He had always been grumpy, yes, but this felt different like he was guarding something painful.
“Devon, I didn’t mean to upset you,” I said softly, reaching out to touch his arm.
He flinched away from my touch. “Just leave it alone, Bella,” he muttered, turning away.
The slam of Devon’s bedroom door echoed through the house, leaving me surrounded by scattered Scrabble tiles. My fingers traced the edges of the ‘Q’ tile, its ten-point value was a poor consolation for the points I’d just lost with Devon.
Later that night, I curled up by the fireplace, Maple’s warm body pressed against my feet. I couldn’t stop replaying Devon’s reaction in my mind. The pain in his eyes, the tension in his voice—it was all so raw.
I pulled out my phone and stared at my favorites list. Mom’s comforting voice or Dad’s steady wisdom? I opted for the latter, hitting “dial” before I could second-guess myself.
“Hey, sweetie.” His warm voice filled the line. “How’s the winter wonderland coming along? Olivia told me about your change of plans.”
I sighed, sinking deeper into the couch. “It’s... complicated, Dad. I feel like I’m trying to decorate a minefield.”
“Ah,” he said, understanding in his tone. “Devon giving you trouble?”
“He’s not being easy,” I said, absent-mindedly petting Maple’s head. “But, it’s more like... I keep stepping on emotional landmines I didn’t even know were there.”
Dad hummed thoughtfully. “You know, sweetie, sometimes the best decorations are the ones that come from the heart. Maybe instead of creating the perfect Christmas, you should focus on creating moments. The rest will follow.”
I smiled, feeling a bit of the tension ease from my shoulders. “When did you get so wise, old man?”
He chuckled. “I’ve always been wise. You just never listened before.”
We chatted for a few more minutes, his steady presence calming me. As I hung up, I realized Dad was right. I couldn’t force the Christmas spirit, but I could create moments.
I stood up, stretching as I formed a plan. Operation Defrost Devon was officially a go. With a grin, I headed to the kitchen. It was time to raid the pantry and see what kind of Christmas magic I could conjure up. After all, nothing says, “I’m sorry for dredging up painful memories,” quite like middle-of-the-night stress baking, right?