Chapter 2
The gingerbread dragon shot from one end of the kitchen to the other in a festive sweet-smelling frenzy.
It couldn’t have been any bigger than a kitten, with bulging lavender eyes the size of gumdrops.
Its wings were decorated with pink and green icing.
The sugar encrusting them left a trail of dust in its wake as it flapped around madly, doing circles from the kitchen to the living room.
Eliza gawked, not believing her eyes. “Wonderful. There’s a miniature biscuit lizard in my kitchen.”
The creature barreled into the baker’s rack, knocking a jar of white chocolate chips off the shelf. As soon as the jar of sugar-glass shattered and a thousand tiny candies scattered, the jar reappeared, magically restored with more chocolate chips inside. Eliza blinked, doubly shocked.
It had been years since she’d witnessed the magic of this cottage—she’d seen it plenty of times before when she came here with her nan—but that didn’t make it any less jarring. Still, she’d never seen a flying hatchling of any kind before.
Lachlan, however, seemed immediately taken with the creature, as if it was an everyday occurrence that a living, breathing gingerbread dragon came flying into his life.
“Hey little bloke,” Lachlan greeted with a smile.
Eliza couldn’t help noticing how gently Lachlan approached the creature.
Slow, careful, and leaving it room to breathe.
Not out of fear, but out of respect for its personal space.
And the irony wasn’t lost on her, considering she was stuck with him for the evening, forced to share the gingerbread house.
Lachlan looked up from where he was bent over, flashing Eliza an apologetic smile. “I kind of have a thing for strays.”
Eliza gave something like a “hmph,” displeased with the turn of events. She crossed her arms. It wasn’t that she didn’t like animals. She loved them, actually. She’d always wanted a cat, but her fiancé—ex-fiancé—had been allergic.
She just didn’t want the extra stress. Not this week. Maybe that meant she was a little selfish, or maybe it just meant she was exhausted.
Still, Eliza’s fingers twitched, eager to reach out and get to work, but Lachlan and the frosting fire hazard were both still present.
Sensing her dissatisfaction, Lachlan quirked up a brow. “I take it you don’t like animals, then?”
“Animals? No, I actually quite like them. Sentient flying sugar biscuits? I haven’t decided yet.
” She eyed the creature, who was now sniffing about the place like a dog on a mission to find its missing treat.
“Though, I will say you both have lost points in your favor for keeping me from what I came here to do.”
“Oh, yeah?” Lachlan straightened, eyes running over her blonde hair, fresh manicure, and pale pink cable-knit jumper. “What’d I do, ruin your weekend retreat with your book club?”
“What? Absolutely not,” she sputtered.
“Emergency mad shopping trip for more pastel winter jumpers?”
She let out a huff, not amused in the slightest by his teasing. “Look, can we not just put him back outside?” Eliza protested. “He can clearly heat himself up, it’s not like he’ll get frostbite.”
In answer, the dragon narrowed its glowing eyes at her. A sound somewhere between a hiss and a sizzle came from the back of its throat.
Point taken.
Lachlan settled himself onto a vanilla wafer barstool. “He might be hungry. Maybe he’ll like the pastries you’re going to make for us.”
“For me,” Eliza corrected, already digging through her mental go-to of holiday recipes. “The pastries I’m going to make for me. If you’re lucky, you can have one single pastry.”
What did a gingerbread dragon eat, anyways?
“One pastry per clothing article,” Lachlan bargained, holding up a finger in objection.
Before Eliza could argue, the dragon fluttered over to her, sniffing at the icing crusted in her hair.
She stood perfectly still, worried that one wrong move might cause her to go up in flames.
Instead, it nuzzled the side of its jaw into Eliza’s shoulder, like a cat grazing against its owner’s leg.
“Okay, that’s adorable,” Lachlan said, and Eliza couldn’t say she disagreed.
The dragon, sensing he was being observed, fluttered over to Lachlan next. Eliza could’ve sworn she saw the dragon’s tail wagging.
Lachlan laughed, reaching out to boop the gingerbread dragon on the nose. The dragon blew a puff of smoke at him and rumbled a low growl in warning.
“Careful,” Eliza said over her shoulder. “Looks like you might be his next victim.”
“Guess that explains the scorch marks on the wall,” Lachlan muttered. “What should we call him?”
Eliza raised her brows. “Call him? We’re not keeping him.”
Lachlan and the sentient pastry both shot her a look.
“Fine.” Eliza rolled her eyes, not willing to put up a fight. She couldn’t say she was happy about it. Not in the slightest. Not only would she now be in the company of a complete stranger for the evening, but she now had a pet to take care of.
Despite her temptation, she knew she couldn’t kick either of them out in the middle of a snowstorm. “Keep things ticking over while I go upstairs. Do you mind if I borrow those clothes now?” She was already tired of wearing jeans.
Lachlan nodded politely, crossing the room and pulling out a festive t-shirt and a pair of gray sweats. He offered the clothes to her with an eyebrow raised, “Hope you like Christmas shirts. That’s all I packed this week.”
Eliza took the clothes without looking and headed up the stairs, murmuring her thanks.
The bedroom was as she remembered. Quaint and cozy.
She stalked over to the bedside table, and in its drawer, she found the guest-book log.
She parted the leatherbound book, one of very few things in the house that wasn’t edible, and scanned over the names until she found her nan’s curly handwriting.
Marjorie Elizabeth Snow
Tears gathered as she traced her finger over every lacy letter of the signature her nan once used on every Christmas gift tag, and at the bottom of her grocery lists. Not here, though. Here, the baking supplies never ran short.
She pulled out her mobile and snapped a picture of it before shutting the guest-list book and setting it back on the nightstand.
In the bathroom, the sugar-spun tile was the same outdated geometric-green pattern.
As a kid, she used to run her finger along the edges of the design for what felt like hours until she went cross-eyed.
And there, on the door, her tiny, smeared handprint was still there from the time she finger-painted and got a little too excited that she forgot to stay on the paper.
Her nan scrubbed and scrubbed until Eliza was certain the wall would’ve crumbled underneath Nan’s forceful grip, but the damage was done. It was forever a part of the house–just like the memory of her nan was forever branded into the very presence of it.
So many fond memories. So many good holidays spent here.
Eliza shrugged out of her sweater and into Lachlan’s t-shirt.
She couldn’t help but note the sharp evergreen scent, which seemed to surround her now in a relentless cloud.
She couldn’t help herself as she breathed it in repeatedly, enjoying the fragrance.
He smelled of peppermints and Christmas trees, with a blend of a manly sort of musk that Eliza couldn’t place.
She glanced in the mirror and rolled her eyes. It was a band t-shirt with the graphic of a hand in the “Rock and Roll” symbol, and the slogan above saying: “Sleighing It.”
Whatever. She wasn’t going to a fashion show.
And she certainly wouldn’t feel insecure in these baggy clothes.
She was here for one reason, and one alone.
It wasn’t to look cute or impress anyone.
She did, however, pinch her cheeks and nose, cursing the storm outside for not allowing her to get into her makeup bag.
She stalked back down the stairs and rounded the corner to find Lachlan sitting at the kitchen island, hanging a treat over the dragon’s nose, commanding the creature to sit.
The dragon was wagging its tail with its head cocked to one side, but it wasn’t listening.
Lachlan glanced over at Eliza. “He doesn’t know how to sit.”
“Or he does, and he’s choosing to ignore you.” She leaned against the counter.
She swore she saw the little dragon cast her a wink. “So. Back to naming you.” She eyed the dragon.
He eyed her back.
Eliza thought for a minute. “How about Biscuit?”
The little dragon pastry audaciously made a gagging noise before flapping over to the baker’s rack, this time much more carefully than before. With a delicate wing, he tapped on a little metal tin of recipe cards, making sure not to topple anything else over in the process.
“Not Biscuit, I take it?” Eliza giggled, opening the box for him. He shook his head back and forth vigorously, extending his wing even further. “What is it you want in here?”
She sifted through each colorful cardstock page one by one, each recipe more enticing than the next. Yuletide Christmas Cake, North Pole Panettone, Pistachio and White Chocolate Stollen, and Jingle Bell Bundt Cake ...
The collection was massive, and the possibilities swirled in her mind as she tried to narrow down which sweet treat she would craft first. Some of the recipes even sparkled faintly, as if competing for her attention.
Her fingers thrummed across one labeled “Reindeer Chow.” Before she could pull it free, a low growling noise rumbled through the dragon. His gumdrop eyes narrowed at the recipe card, hissing his displeasure.
“Not a fan of reindeer chow?” Eliza asked. To her amazement, the little fire-breathing biscuit shook his head. He batted his wings, planted his feet on the rim of the tin box and shuffled through each card with his snout.
Eliza couldn’t help but smile. “You’ve got opinions now, huh?”
He stopped once he reached a card labeled “Gingerbread Snap Dragons.”
Eliza’s mouth dropped open. This was the recipe card that made him. And he wanted to eat them? “You can't be serious. You want me to make these?”
Now that she knew he could understand what she was saying, she certainly wasn’t going to voice that she didn’t wish to make any more pastries of his kind.
The dragon shook his head again, nudging her with his gumdrop and pointing at the name. “Oh, I see,” retorted Eliza. “You’re trying to tell me what you are!”
The dragon nodded his head yes in response.
“But that isn’t your actual name, is it?” She blinked.
Another shake.
“Well, what is it, then?” she asked.
With his snout, he began shifting through the cards again until he stopped. He tapped a word halfway down the page.
“Puffcake ...” she recited. Her eyes shot wide. “That’s your name. Your name is Puffcake!”
The creature flapped his wings, barking as he spun midair.
A genuine laugh escaped Eliza’s lips, one of the first since the breakup and the shop closing down. “Well, Puffcake, I think it’s only fitting that we first paid homage to your name. Do you mind grabbing two eggs from the fridge?”
She’d never made Puffcake, and, truth be told, she wasn’t exactly sure what they were. She was just excited to get stuck with anything that involved baking.
“Call me if you need a taste tester,” Lachlan said. “I’ll be here reading about the rising interest rates, if anyone needs me.” He gathered his laptop from the counter and headed toward the living room.
“Sounds great,” Eliza gave a little sing-song as she rinsed her hands at the sink. “But just so you know, I won’t need you.”
Finally, she thought. Finally, I get to bake alone. Or at least, almost alone.
The cabinet door flew open and slammed into Lachlan’s kneecap. A crack sounded, and he grumbled under his breath, trying not to curse from the impact.
Puffcake and Eliza exchanged a glance. “A-are you okay?” Eliza asked, shocked.
“Never better.” Lachlan turned around, jaw set tightly.
“I swear neither of us did that.” Eliza held her hands up in innocence. Puffcake followed suit, but let out a little snort.
Lachlan narrowed his eyes at Puffcake, but said nothing, only slowly turning around again to cross the threshold into the living room. Again, he was met with the cabinet doors stopping him from exiting.
He ran a hand through his hair. “I think it’s giving me a cheeky ‘not-so-fast.’”
Eliza’s shoulders slumped. She looked about the house like it had eyes and could see her displeasure. “Can you try again? This time, just try walking really slowly so the door doesn’t hit you hard.”
Lachlan tried a third time. The cabinet seemed to swing open harder than before, knocking into his other knee. “Ow!” he howled, and Eliza cupped her hand to her mouth.
“Sorry.” She winced. “I feel like that was my fault.”
“No worries.” Lachlan waved her off. “I’m just going to sit right here, if that’s okay.” Lachlan half-walked, half-limped over to the island and took a seat again. He opened his laptop—or at least tried to—but the top wouldn’t unlatch from the bottom. It was like the laptop had been glued shut.
They all stared down at it, amazed. Lachlan raised an eyebrow at Eliza. “Is this some sort of cruel joke to get me to leave?”
“What?” Eliza choked out. “You think I’m behind all this?”
He just shrugged, leaning back in the chair and crossing his arms.
“I was halfway across the room when the cabinet went berserk. And I’m not cruel enough to glue your laptop closed.
” When Lachlan still didn’t look convinced, Eliza placed a hand on her hip.
“Look, I didn’t want to share this cottage with anyone this week.
Why would I purposefully try and keep you in the same room as me? ”
He didn’t answer immediately. Eliza raised her brows at him, expectant.
They locked eyes, neither of them willing to back down as the grandfather clock marked every painful, heavy second. The house seemed to chuckle its delight at the cruel little irony of the scene.
Lachlan finally raised his hands in surrender. “By all means, don’t let me, or the house, try and keep you from your baking.”
“Fine,” Eliza said, lips tight. “But don’t expect me to keep you company. Soon, I’ll be in my zone, and I won’t want to chit-chat with you about interest rates or fancy beach houses. Got it?”
Lachlan gave a silent salute. In response, the kitchen began pulling ingredients from the recipe card. Eliza never had to lift a finger and instead just watched the magic of the cottage unfold around her.