Chapter 15 Eliza
Eliza
The Storm Chalet is in full chaos when I hear the doorbell, which means Reed is twenty minutes late.
I’m balancing three different conversations—Eva asking about goat cheese photos, Ben explaining municipal composting regulations to anyone who’ll listen, and Koa trying to convince Esther that her gingerbread recipe needs rum—when Esther opens the front door.
“You must be Reed,” she says warmly. “Come in, come in. We’re just getting started.”
I turn from where I’m arranging cookies on platters to find Reed looking like someone just told him his hydroponic system caught fire. Of course, he probably heard me talking about him before he walked in. Now I feel like shit and stole the sparkle in his smile.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says, offering Esther a carton of eggnog. His voice has that careful, polite tone people use when they’re trying very hard not to show they’re upset.
“No worries at all,” Esther says, but I catch her glancing at me with raised eyebrows. “Let me introduce you to everyone.”
Reed nods and follows her into the living room, but something’s wrong. His shoulders are tense, his smile looks painted, and when Eva bounces over to hug him—because Eva hugs everyone—he accepts it like he’s bracing for impact.
“Reed!” Eden beams. “Perfect timing. We’re about to start the gingerbread house competition.”
“Great,” Reed says, and it’s the least enthusiastic ‘great’ I’ve ever heard.
I abandon my cookie arranging and approach him, studying his face. I should apologize. I should pull him aside to talk. What comes out of my mouth is, “Hey, you okay?”
His gaze meets mine for just a second before sliding away. “Fine. Just tired.”
He’s lying. Reed’s a terrible liar—his jaw does this twitching thing when he’s not telling the truth, and it’s twitching now like Morse code. He’s acting like he did when his father was ruining his investor pitch.
“Are you sure? You seem—”
“I’m fine, Eliza.” The words come out sharp, and now everyone in the room is looking at us.
Ben, bless his awkward heart, chooses this moment to launch into an explanation of sustainable packaging, giving me cover to pull Reed aside.
“I need to talk to you,” I whisper.
“Everything’s fine.” Reed straightens his shoulders, transforming into the polite, controlled person I met at the permit office. “Are we doing the contest?”
Before I can press him further, Eva appears with a toolkit of decorating supplies and an expression of pure competitive joy.
“Reed, you’re on my team,” she announces. “We’re going to destroy Eliza and Koa.”
“Teams are already decided?” Reed asks, and I swear there’s relief in his voice at the distraction.
“Eva’s been planning your strategy for an hour,” Koa says with a grin. “She’s taking this very seriously.”
“Good,” Reed says, and this time his smile looks almost genuine. “I like winning.”
The next hour passes in a blur of frosting, candy, and increasingly ridiculous architecture.
Eva and Reed work with scientific precision, measuring angles and testing structural integrity before placing each gingerbread shingle.
From what I can see, Eva is mostly taking photos for her online accounts while Reed acts like he’s in his hydroponic lab.
Koa and I go for artistic flair over engineering, which means our house looks charming but leans at an alarming angle.
“Your roof is going to collapse,” Eva observes, carefully piping icing along the perfectly straight roofline Reed constructed.
“Your house has no personality,” I counter, adding another gumball to our whimsical chimney.
Reed, I notice, seems to relax as he absorbs in the competition. He and Eva develop an easy rapport, with him calculating load-bearing walls while she provides color commentary that has everyone laughing.
“Reed, you’re like a gingerbread engineer,” Eden says, watching him reinforce a corner with mathematical precision. She and Nate made a gingerbread beehive, predictable and boring, and are now mostly eating and heckling.
“I prefer ‘confectionery architect,’” he says solemnly, which gets a genuine laugh from the room.
This is the Reed I’ve gotten to know—funny, smart, a little obsessive about details but in an endearing way.
So why did he arrive looking like someone had kicked his dog?
I realize he could have heard me bitching about his family right before his arrival, and a mess of emotion knots in my stomach.
I didn’t say anything I wasn’t thinking, but I also would probably offer Reed more context if he and I were sparring over hydroponic fluid.
“Time!” Esther calls, and we all step back to admire our creations.
Eva and Reed’s house looks magazine-ready—perfect proportions, elegant decoration, structurally sound.
It’s the sort of place I imagine Reed grew up in.
Koa’s and my house looks like a cottage designed by someone on hallucinogens, but it has character.
Eden’s beehive is boring as hell, and Esther makes sure to point that out as she and Ben feed their collapsed structure to his dog, Maurice.
“We win on technical merit,” Eva says smugly.
“We win on artistic vision,” I counter.
“You win on most likely to be condemned by the building inspector,” Ben adds helpfully.
As everyone argues about judging criteria, I catch Reed watching me with an expression I can’t quite read. There’s something sad about it, like he’s memorizing this moment for later.
“What?” I whisper.
“Nothing,” he says, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Just enjoying the chaos.” He munches a cookie. “I never asked what the winner gets. Is there a prize?”
I arch a brow. “Prize?”
He recoils a bit, like he’s said something dumb. “Don’t contests usually have prizes?” He looks around for validation, but everyone is busy squabbling.
“Reed.” I sigh and pat his arm. “The prize is the gloating. Knowing you’ve dominated. Queen of the Storms.”
My sisters and their significant others come to a surly agreement, and Esther bangs a spoon on her glass of nog. “All right, everyone. We have chosen a winner.”
Eden smiles. “I hope nobody acts mean this year. We all made really nice structures.” She pats her hive lovingly, and I squint, noticing it doesn’t budge under her touch. Did she cheat and use real glue?
Koa points a thick finger in Reed’s direction and raises a glass in his direction.
“Eva and our new contender are the winners.” The room echoes with a collective gasp.
“Cheers, mate.” Koa claps Reed on the back as he visibly works to hold in a gloating celebration.
Eva does nothing to contain herself, whooping and hip-checking Reed until he howls and bumps into the table, toppling their so-called winning construction as everyone devolves into laughter.
The party winds down gradually, with everyone taking cardboard boxes full of cookies. There’s a moment of exasperated hooting when Reed realizes Eila is the brewer behind his favorite new IPA.
Reed smacks himself on the forehead. “Eye of the Storm. Perfect Storm. I should have guessed once I met Eliza.”
Eila beams. “You’re a beer guy, eh? Eliza made it sound like you only drink iced Chilean chardonnay.”
Reed’s smile fades, and Eila winces, tugging Ben out the door with promises to bring Reed a sample of the honey ale.
Eva loads the dishwasher while Esther wraps leftovers, leaving Reed and me to tackle the gingerbread debris covering her dining room table.
“Your family is awesome,” Reed says, carefully scraping hardened frosting off the tablecloth.
“They’re loud,” I say.
“They care about each other. It shows.” He’s quiet for a moment.
“Reed…” I start, but Esther appears with a garbage bag.
“You two are saints for cleaning up,” she says. “Eliza, walk Reed to his car. I’ll finish this.”
I want to argue, but Esther has a tone that means the discussion is over. So, I grab my jacket and follow Reed outside into the cold December air.
“Thank you,” he says when we reach his car. “For including me today. Your family is… They’re really special.”
“They like you,” I say, which is true. Eva spent ten minutes explaining her online presence to him, and even Koa—who’s protective of all of us—seemed charmed by Reed’s earnest questions about plant life in New Zealand.
“Did they?” Reed asks, and something in his voice makes my chest tight.
“Of course they did. Why wouldn’t they?”
He doesn’t answer, just unlocks his car and turns to face me. In the porch light, his eyes look impossibly sad.
“Reed, what’s—”
Before I can finish the question, something compels me to step closer and press my lips to his cheek. It’s meant to be a friendly gesture, a thank-you for being so good with my family despite whatever’s bothering him.
But when my lips touch his skin, everything changes. His breath catches, his hand comes up to rest lightly on my waist, and suddenly we’re standing much too close in the winter air.
I pull back, flustered, and Reed’s looking at me with an expression of such hope and confusion that it makes my heart race.
“Goodnight,” I say quickly, backing toward the house.
“Eliza, wait—”
But I’m already at the front door, fumbling with the handle and definitely not looking back at his car as he drives away.
Inside, Esther’s waiting with two cups of tea and a knowing expression.
“So,” she says, settling onto the couch. “Want to tell me why that boy looked like someone stole his lunch money?”
I sink into the chair across from her, touching my lips where I can still feel the warmth of his cheek. “I have no idea.”
The lie tastes bitter, because I have a terrible feeling I do know. And if I’m right, I’ve just made everything infinitely more complicated.