Chapter 19 The Great Flour War
Lachlan and Eliza stumbled inside the gingerbread house, breathless from laughter. The door locked shut behind them with a gentle thud as they shed their boots and scarfs by the door.
Puffcake carried the extra box of scones inside, clasping the red ribbon between his claws. Lachlan flipped on the light switch, and a soft amber glow spread throughout the room and danced over the icing-piped rafters.
The house seemed to sigh in relief now that the two of them were back inside. Even the fire in the hearth flickered more vibrantly, the Christmas tree glowed brighter.
“So … how about a nightcap?” Lachlan asked.
“Obviously,” Eliza said, already moving to the kitchen. “Only if there’s biscuits and peppermint bark, too.”
Puffcake perked up at Eliza’s suggestion. “I’ll brew the chai, properly spiced. I know the perfect recipe,” Lachlan smiled. “We make a good team, Snow.”
Lachlan stepped behind Eliza to get into the fridge, his arm brushing up against hers. They moved around the kitchen together, their steps unhurried and rhythmic. His touch seemed to linger when she stepped in front of him, and he placed his hand on the small of her back to go around her.
Snow began to fall beyond the house, and Eliza smiled to herself, thankful for the magical storm that happened the day she arrived here. “Today was kind of perfect,” she reflected, gently placing the bowl of melted white chocolate down on the counter.
“Yeah?” Lachlan got the bourbon from the liquor cabinet and tilted a dash into each of the steaming mugs.
“Yeah,” she breathed. She turned to face him. “And you’re to blame for, like, ninety percent of that, Lachlan. Thank you.”
He placed his hands on each side of the counter and looked at her.
Really looked at her. “I’m really proud of you, you know.
For crushing the contest. After the year you’ve had, you could’ve just tucked your tail instead of putting yourself out there and risk facing rejection again.
But you didn’t. That was a really brave thing to do. ”
She snorted. “You talk about my life as if I’m a cancer survivor.”
He set down his mug, ignoring her deflection.
“No,” he said, “I talk like someone who knows what it’s like to be gutted by the person who was supposed to love you and still finds the courage to try again.”
Eliza opened her mouth, but couldn’t seem to find the right words.
“You didn’t have to come here. You didn’t have to bake, or sign up for that contest, or let yourself feel anything again. But you did. You got back up and put your heart into something again. That takes guts, Snow.”
She glanced away, unsure how to hold his gaze. “To be fair, Gretel entered me into the contest. I just made the pastries, I’m not exactly a war hero.”
“You’re my hero,” he placed his hand to his chest. “You slayed at least three metaphorical dragons this week and tamed an actual one with gingerbread wings.”
She laughed despite her tightening throat. “I wouldn’t say I tamed him.”
Lachlan stepped closer to the island, leaning casually against it. “Still. Takes guts to win over a sentient sugar biscuit.”
“Oh, hush,” Eliza giggled, booping Lachlan on the nose with her flour-coated finger. “You know Puffcake chose me.”
Lachlan blinked. “Did you just boop me on the nose?”
Another flurry of giggles escaped her. “You look like Rudolph. Rudolph the powdered nose.”
“Careful, Snow,” he said, inching closer to the mixing bowl. “That sounds a lot like a challenge.”
“What are you doing?” she asked as she watched him grab a handful of the flour. Seeing the mischief in his eyes, she cocked her head. “You wouldn't dare.”
“Oh, I would.” He grinned.
“You even think about throwing that and you’ll wake up tomorrow morning with marshmallow cream in your shoes.”
“I accept those terms.”
Before she could dive for cover, a puff of flour launched across the counter, hitting her square in the chest and face. She gasped, coughing and blinking through the cloud of powder. Her apron, sweater, and hair were completely covered in white.
“Oops,” Lachlan shrugged innocently.
Eliza wiped a slow hand down her front, then fixed him with a deadly calm expression. “You’re a goner.”
He grabbed some more flour from the bowl before backing away from her. “What? You said marshmallow cream! I was prepared for a mild inconvenience, not mortal consequences!”
She launched herself forward, reaching into the mixing bowl and grabbing a handful. She struck him straight in his smug face. It hit with a satisfying pouf, coating his jaw and the front of his dark henley.
He coughed. “Snow! I am drenched!”
She gave a smug expression. “Now we’re even.”
“Oh, no we’re not. You just started a flour war.” He threw another handful at her, this time pelting through the air and raining onto the counters like snow.
And in a flurry of shouts, they ducked behind the island and flung handfuls across the room like they were snowballs.
Puffcake let out screeches of joy as he looped between them, pretending to act as a referee with a spatula between his claws. The bowl sat in the center of the island like a powder keg.
Getting an idea, Eliza popped from behind the counter and reached for the entire mixing bowl to take it away from the middle. Lachlan lurched forward to stop her, his hands on either side of hers. “Foul!” he protested, “Puffcake, call it!”
In his excitement, Puffcake blew out a tiny gale of fire, scorching one of the cabinets. Eliza slipped, and the next thing she knew, she was falling backward, the mixing bowl coming with her. The back of her head hit the cabinet with a thud, and the rest of the flour mix spilled into her lap.
She reached for her head, half-laughing and half-wincing from the pain. Before she knew it, Lachlan was there beside her. “Are you okay?” His voice turned gentle. His hand reached for the top of her head, cupping it in his hands.
“I’m okay,” Eliza reassured him, breathless from the fight.
Both of them were covered in white, their hair and clothes dusted in flour. Puffcake settled himself on the counter and began doing snow angels in the aftermath.
She looked up and met his eyes. They were warm and full of concern. She realized how close they were together now on the flour-coated floor. She took in the scent of evergreen, coffee, and cinnamon.
“I’m sorry. I think it’s my fault,” he apologized.
“It’s no one’s fault,” she breathed. “I slipped.”
He tightened his lips into a flat line, as if relishing telling her the truth. “Well, I may have let go of the bowl …” He quickly continued, “but I didn’t think you’d fall back and hit your head. It was a stupid move. I shouldn’t have done it.”
Eliza only smiled. “It’s something I would’ve done, too.” She looked at the wreckage of the kitchen, the layer of white dust that coated everything. Puffcake had left little snow angels on the counter.
Even her golden trophy wasn’t spared from the debris. It sat over by the baker’s rack covered in white.
Suddenly, tears welled in her eyes.
“What is it, Snow?” Lachlan’s hand caressed the back of her head as he surveyed her eyes.
“It’s nothing. It’s just that I haven’t—” she sniffled, feeling pathetic for even finishing the thought.
“Haven’t …?” Lachlan pressed.
She rolled her eyes briefly, looking away from him. At last, she worked up the courage to speak her mind. “It’s just that I haven’t had this much fun in a really long time.”
But it was more than that. She loved Lachlan and Puffcake’s presence. She wasn’t ready to venture back into the mundane reality of her bleak and boring life. Sure, she now had the money to at least help start her new bakery, but it still wouldn’t feel right.
It wouldn’t feel right without them.
And it felt like each day the hour hand on the clock ticked by faster. Her remaining time was wearing thin.
“I don’t want to leave this place,” she whispered. I don’t want to leave you, she wanted to add.
“I don’t either,” Lachlan admitted at last. His hand drifted around to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing her jawline. The movement felt so natural that Eliza wasn’t even nervous now that he was this close. She just felt … Ready. Eager. Willing.
Lachlan’s brown eyes swept down to her lips. He gently brushed a hair away from her face. Puffcake covered his eyes from inside his designated mixing bowl as Lachlan leaned forward.
Eliza’s heart raced wildly in her chest, anticipation and yearning seeming to freeze every cell in her body.
Ever-so-slightly, his lips pressed into hers.
Their kiss felt like the joy of Christmas morning, the start of something magical and new.
Like running down the stairs to find heaps of gifts and the smell of fresh biscuits.
Lachlan moved his hand to the back of her neck, their breathing mixing and mingling.
He kissed her thoroughly, exploring every facet, taking his time.
She didn’t think about the future, but only the here and now.
She wouldn’t rush this moment. Wouldn’t let it slip by.
She needed it to last forever, even though she knew all things came to an end.
This time, she hoped—believed, even—that it might last.
The house even seemed to glow a brighter shade of amber, and the colorful lights on the trees twinkled a more vibrant hue. At last, they looked up to see the same emerald green piping with icing berries the color of crimson.
They both laughed, resting their heads together.
Then, there was an abrupt knock on the door that startled them both.
Eliza rose to answer it, but Lachlan motioned for her to stay put.
He swung the door open, and Eliza saw the dark blond cropped hair even in the dim porch light.
His green eyes looked between Lachlan and hers, fury written on his face.
“Davis?”