Chapter 6 Christmas Spirit
Eliza really wasn’t sure if she was okay with this many people in her cottage.
And yes, technically, it wasn’t just hers, but after baking two batches of puffcakes, midnight merengues, red velvet biscuits, Eggnog pudding, and emotionally unpacking in every room, she felt entitled to being territorial.
She supposed she didn’t have much of a choice. Hansel and Gretel were going to help shovel the snow from the driveway, which meant she had to allow them inside to do some awkward small talk, or at the very least, allow them to linger on the front porch and offer them a cup of hot chocolate.
She trudged up the stairs, along with her bags, which Hansel pulled from her car, to get Lachlan. She felt a tinge of satisfaction knowing that she was disturbing him. She didn’t wait for a “come in” after she knocked.
But the joke was on her, because Lachlan was sitting there shirtless.
“Oop—” she chirped, yanking on the door to shut it. But the door wouldn’t budge. Suddenly, it felt like it weighed two tons. She put all her might into it, but … nothing. Clearly, the house was scheming.
She gave up, refusing to look anywhere but the bed. She focused her attention on the white chocolate trim, intensely intrigued by its design. “Hansel’s here. They’re going to start shoveling outside. Thought you might want to help.”
Lachlan shut his laptop and stretched, his muscles flexing. “Nah. I’d rather make the two siblings do all the dirty work. What are their names again? Pancake and Kettle?”
“Hansel and Gretel.” Eliza reiterated, crossing her arms. “Be nice. They can’t help their names. Besides, you’re one to talk. What’s Lachlan mean, anyways?”
She left out the part that she was genuinely curious, not just wanting to reprimand him for making fun of the siblings’ names.
“It’s Irish for the Land of the Lakes. It’s a family name, even though none of us are Irish.”
“Is that so?”
He nodded. “British as they come. What about you?”
Eliza shrugged. “I’ve never really asked. My mum’s from London and my dad is from Oxford. They met at university. Have been inseparable ever since.”
Lachlan seemed to consider this for a moment, lip twitching upwards slightly. “Figured you’d be from the North Pole yourself, with your baking skills and all.”
She laughed. A real, unexpected one.
Magical gingerbread house, indeed.
“I have my nan to thank for that. My family would come here every Christmas for as long as I can remember. She was the one who taught me how to bake.”
“All hail Nan Snow.” Lachlan playfully raised and lowered his hands in a gesture of praise. “Why didn’t they book it this year?” he asked.
“We stopped coming since she died,” she swallowed, her throat seizing up all of a sudden. The tears always felt just behind her eyes and ready to spill anytime she had to vocalize the truth—the reality of what had happened this past spring that she was too afraid to think about.
“I’m terribly sorry to hear that.” Then, he quirked a brow, a silent question. “But you’re still here.”
She exhaled sharply, still not willing to meet his eyes.
“Needed some space to clear my head. Not just because of her death.” She diverted the conversation away from her nan, being more willing to discuss her recent heartbreak than her.
Even though she was torn over the loss of the bakery and breakup, she knew she’d eventually recover.
The loss of Nan, however, she was certain she’d never fully recover.
“It was because of a breakup,” she continued, saving herself the humiliation of his asking.
But it was much more than that. It was a broken-off engagement. A lost business. Six years down the drain because of a reconnection with an old “mate.”
Silence stretched between them, like he was waiting for her to explain more, but that was all she was willing to give. And she certainly wasn’t going to ask why he was here. She was just eager to shovel this snow, get him settled in another place, and drown herself in biscuits and tears. Alone.
“My sister said I work too much this time of year,” he said finally. “So she booked me a getaway to spend through the week to hopefully find some Christmas spirit.” He forced out an exaggerated breath. “Whatever that means.”
“It means you’re a Scrooge,” she blurted.
Lachlan looked offended. “Would a Scrooge wear Christmas socks?”
“If he was trying to fool others,” she shot back.
“Oh, so what, I’m a phony Christmas boy who wears cheesy socks for no reason?”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, that’s exactly it. You’re a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”
They stared down at each other, eyes playful, and both nearly breaking into a smile. And the tension between them thawed just a little. He swung his feet over the edge of the bed and stood, flexing his bare chest. Eliza made herself busy by inspecting the Advent calendar on the wall.
Would you look at that? Five more days until Christmas.
It’d be her first one spent without her nan.
Without any family, including Davis and his less-than-charming mother.
She couldn’t say she was upset with missing the Hall family Christmas dinner, but she was struck with a small pinch of guilt when she thought about how she wouldn’t be at her own family gathering this year either.
The pain was too much. She didn’t feel like spending it anywhere else than where it was supposed to be: here, in this very cottage.
On his way out the door, flannel in hand, Lachlan stopped beside her. He stooped down to meet her eyes and ever-so-gently lifted her chin with his thumb. “You okay, Snow?”
His brown eyes were downturned, his eyebrows furrowed slightly. There was an expression that Eliza knew to be sincere. He actually seemed to care.
She only nodded, plastering on a smile.
Though he seemed unconvinced, Lachlan didn’t push. He only traveled down the stairs and out the back door to help the siblings. When she heard the door shut behind him, she took a moment, blinking back tears as she sat on the bed. Just a moment. She closed her eyes.
The house was quiet. Only the faint hum of the hearth. The groans of the gingerbread beams as they settled, the drip-drip-drip of the ice melting from the rooftop.
Solitude at last.
She was thankful to the magical Airbnb that it allowed her this time, if only just this once. It was like it knew she needed it, and put its antics on the back burner for the time being so she could finally sit with her thoughts.
She lay back and pulled the patchwork quilt over her head, cocooning herself in the warm scent of gingerbread mixed with the sharpness of evergreen. Eliza grumbled. Could she not even have this moment not to be reminded of Lachlan’s presence?
Reaching for her mobile, she typed in the Wi-Fi code Gretel had given her earlier and waited for the signal to kick in. Her phone lit up like Piccadilly Circus.
Ding. Ding. Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding.
Fifteen missed calls. Twelve unread texts. Most from her best friend, Piper, but a few from her mum.
She clicked on her mum’s name first.
Did you make it there, sweetheart?
*a picture of a pair of hideous leather boots*
Do you like these, darling? Thinking of ideas to get you for Christmas.
Piper texted me to ask if I’d heard from you. Are you okay?
And just now.
Call me!!!
Before she could hit the call button, the phone started ringing. She answered, and the sound of her mum’s voice came through the other end, half-relieved and half-panicked.
“Eliza? Oh, Thank God! I was two seconds away from calling the police to file a report. Did you make it there okay?”
Eliza smiled despite herself. “Yes, mum. I made it. There’s no service here and I got snowed in. But I’m fine.”
Long story short.
Her mum inhaled a soft, motherly breath. “Are you enjoying your time so far?”
She swallowed. She thought of Puffcake. Lachlan. Hansel. Gretel. The magical cookbook and nostalgic moments in the kitchen. It wasn’t all bad, per se. Just not what she initially expected.
“It’s complicated.” She tried to make it sound humorous, but it just came out pathetic and sad.
“Oh, sweetheart. I miss you so much. I just wish you had stayed home with us.”
Eliza gritted her teeth. No. If it had all gone according to plan, she would’ve had a fine week here.
She wouldn’t have to share a house with sheets that smelled like him.
The house wouldn’t literally be trying to matchmake the two of them.
She’d be one of the blissful singles who stayed here, problem-free.
Just the magical kitchen and herself.
“It’s okay. I’m getting a lot of baking done. In fact, I have a batch of biscuits in the oven,” she fibbed. “Can I call you later?”
“Sure. Just glad you’re there, safe. I love you,” she said.
“I love you, too. Bye-bye.”
Eliza moved on to the next contact: Piper.
So many white bubbles. She scrolled to the top, reading each short message:
is your murderer fit, at least?
***
oh God Eliza please tell me this is a joke
ELIZA
if you don’t answer me back in 5 seconds I’m going to call your mum
called your mum. she said signal there’s rubbish. we’re trying not to panic but
honestly, if someone was going to kill you, it would be a place without signal
PICK UP YOUR PHONE ASAP
The mobile barely rang before Piper answered, her high soprano voice breaking through. “Elizabeth Jane Snow!” she exploded. “You’re alive? I was two seconds away from making a missing person’s TikTok account!”
“I’m fine,” Eliza laughed. “I didn’t mean to ghost you, my phone’s had no signal. I got snowed in, and— ” she tried to explain.
“You didn’t just ghost me. You left me on read, and then haunted my ever-waking thoughts until you answered. I was just starting to plan your funeral playlist!”
Eliza snorted, seeming genuinely cheered up. Leave it to Piper for that. “Let me guess. Lots of Taylor Swift and Adele on loop?”
“Of course. Festive, but also respectfully tasteful.” Piper paused. “But enough about your funeral—we won’t need the playlist for a few more years, hopefully. Since you never answered earlier ... is he fit?”
Eliza rolled her eyes. Her friend sounded like one of those girls in the movies who curled the cord in their finger as they gossiped on an old landline. “He’s not hard on the eyes, and I think he knows it.”
“Tell me everything right now! Who is he? Is he single? Is he the Airbnb host? A lost hiker? A Hallmark lumberjack?”
“He’s none of those, unfortunately.” Eliza blew out a breath.
“Except for the single part, I’m not sure about that.
” She thought for a moment. Surely no one in a serious relationship with someone would take a week-long trip by themselves, especially during Christmas.
“He’s staying here with me. The Airbnb was double-booked. ”
Piper squealed so loud that Eliza had to remove her ear from the phone. “This is a Hallmark knockoff at the minimum! This gives a “hard launch winter romance” vibe all the way. Imagine how many likes you’d get from TikTok on a story like this!”
She groaned. “It’s nothing but a hard launch migraine, trust me.”
Piper ignored her. “Does he chop wood? He totally chops wood, doesn’t he?”
Eliza glanced out the window, seeing him shoveling in the distance, flannel underneath his coat and all. “He burned a frozen pizza. Does that count?”
She was not about to tell her that the house was magical and tried forcing the two of them together whenever it got the chance.
“Oh no,” Piper gasped. “He’s damaged. You can fix him. No, really, you can.”
“I’m not fixing anyone, Piper. I just want to be alone.” She rolled onto her side, letting her voice drop. “He’s not terrible. We’re just mostly annoyed with each other by the circumstances.”
“That’s absolutely what someone in love would say,” Piper said.
Eliza didn’t respond.
Piper let out a sigh. “Well, sometimes good things can come from the unexpected. You deserve good.”
Eliza’s throat tightened, and she sat up. That was her cue to hang up. “Hey, I gotta go. The oven just went off. Burning some biscuits as we speak!”
“Love you! Send me hourly updates. I want all the deets. The longing stares, the mistletoe kisses, the snowball fights. Now that I’m fairly positive you’re not going to get murdered, I’m living vicariously through you.”
“Love you too,” Eliza giggled. “Bye.” She shook her head, clicking the red “end” button.
Eliza still had one more unread message. From Davis.
I’m sorry you felt hurt last week, but I think my motives were misinterpreted.
You know the business was always safest in my hands.
I was the one with all the ideas, anyway.
I put in so much time and effort for you, more than anyone else would’ve, and it still didn’t seem like enough.
It was just so exhausting trying to prove myself to someone who doesn’t appreciate everything I’ve done.
Enjoy your getaway. Hopefully, you’ll get some closure. It’s for the best this way.
Eliza’s hands shook as she read the text, a pit forming at the base of her stomach.
One day, she’d know how much she dodged a bullet. But right now, it was hard not to wonder if he was right. If she truly was the problem. If the business truly was better left to Davis.
Honeycomb. That had been the name of the bakery she started. The nickname her nan gave her one tiring, sugar-filled day when Eliza was too short to see over the kitchen counter.
It hadn’t just been a name. It’d been hers. Theirs, hers, and Nan’s.
Not his.
She hadn’t asked to keep it; she only asked for him not to keep it. But she didn’t have the money to fight him, and Davis knew that. He would’ve dragged out the legal battle long enough to let her desperation show, until her resolve thinned out.
The victory for him wasn’t about taking the name—it was about knowing he took it because he could. The power. It was just another thing he’d taken from her.
Eliza blinked hard and deleted the message. She wouldn’t cry about this again. It would’ve been the thousandth time, and this trip was to get away. While she was thinking about it, she blocked his number.
Good flipping riddance.
Eliza changed her clothes, stepping out of Lachlan’s joggers and into jeans and a butter yellow sweater. She pulled on her thick wool socks and Uggs and headed downstairs.
At the foot of the staircase, Puffcake looked like a frosted gargoyle as he sat next to the mantle. Her heart twitched just a little. Had he waited for her?
He looked up at her, letting out tiny puffs of smoke as he danced in a circle.
“Yeah, I’m ready too. Let’s go.”
Eliza opened the back door, and Puffcake sprang like a shotgun out of its barrel and into the cold.