Chapter 23
Grant
She was burning it.
Not in a slightly overdone way. In a the smoke alarm is about to enter the chat way.
I leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching as the smoke billowed toward the ceiling as she cursed the pan like it had personally wronged her family line. The spatula clanged, the bacon hissed, and the entire kitchen smelled like grease and the promise of smoke inhalation.
She’d tied her hair into a messy knot, but a strand kept falling in her face. She cursed that too, muttering about “culinary sabotage.”
I should’ve helped. Any decent person would’ve helped.
Instead, I stood there like a villain, completely and irreversibly gone.
Because the way her sweatshirt slipped off one shoulder, and the way she pursed her lips with that stubborn, messy determination, somehow made the whole room feel like home.
The wild, unguarded kind of home I’d been chasing my whole life.
She flipped a pancake, and it landed on the kitchen tile. She glanced at me, unbothered.
“No one likes the first pancake, anyway,” she declared, tossing it in the trash.
That basket she made—no net.
And I swear, in that moment, I knew I was in love with her.
How could I not be? Going after her during that rainstorm a year ago had been the best decision of my life. Stumbling into someone else’s beach wedding with a sprained finger and mud-stained clothes, had somehow made me the luckiest man alive.
I just needed her on the same page. Maybe she already was. She’d confided in me about her magic, trusting me with her secret. Then she’d given me the most humbling compliment I'd ever received. No one had ever seen anything in me worth believing in—until her.
There was no going back to the us from before. The idea of being anything less than her gold-star proof that soulmates exist made it hard to breathe.
Though that also might’ve been from the smoke.
That’s when the alarm went off.
The shrill beeping shattered my thoughts. Valerie yelped, dropping the spatula.
She waved a dish towel through the haze. “False alarm! Everything’s fine! It’s just electronic enthusiasm because the bacon is coming out so well!”
I crossed the kitchen in three strides and grabbed the smoking pan off the burner.
“No, don’t help! Everything is under control,” she shouted over the beeping, still flapping the towel.
“Uh-huh.” I reached up and hit the button on the alarm.
The silence that followed was almost louder. Valerie turned, blowing that damnable strand of hair out of her eye again, her face flushed.
“Cereal?” she asked. “I’ll let you have all the marshmallows.”
That did it.
I seized her by the waist and lifted her onto the counter. She gave a startled laugh, palms bracing on my shoulders. I reached up and tucked the errant strand of hair back into her messy knot, my knuckles grazing her cheek on the way back down.
“Grant,” she whispered.
“Spells,” I murmured back. “You’re terrible in the kitchen.”
“I can bake, I promise.” She blinked up at me, her beautiful mouth parting into an exaggerated pout. “Give me another chance with cookies. I won’t let you down.”
“You forget,” I said, flattening my palms against the counter on either side of her. “I saw the dessert you brought to the Thanksgiving potluck this year.”
Her eyes narrowed, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “Those gingerbread men had it coming.”
“Unruly gingerbread men? That’s your defense?”
“I swear, Your Honor. They attacked first.”
The words I love you rioted in my chest, loud and reckless, demanding to be set free.
I kissed her instead.
Her hands slid up, fingers sinking into my hair, and I tasted the faint sweetness of sugar on her lips. She made a soft sound that wrecked me completely.
Best. Christmas. Ever.
When we finally broke apart, I pressed a cup of coffee into her hands and brushed a quick kiss on her nose. She was officially banned from kitchen duties until she took lessons.
My mind filled in the rest: lessons, preferably with me, wearing one of those Kiss the Cook aprons… and little else.
But the universe clearly had other plans. Because just as I was thinking of ways to ruin her apron in the best possible way, our interloper apparition appeared.
Daniel Keene.
Formerly known as Mr. Snow. And I still had to tell Valerie what I’d found in the attic.
“We really need our own place,” I muttered as Valerie scrambled off the counter and waved to our ghostly friend like he was joining us for breakfast.
Spoiler alert. Don’t try the bacon.
“Looks like we’re spending the day in the attic again,” Valerie said, taking a sip from her mug. “We still have one more day. We can find the guest book.”
“I already did.”
Her head snapped up. “Seriously?”
“Last night.” I nodded toward the ghost. “Valerie, meet Daniel Keene—Natalie's guest for a few days while she was staying at the inn.”
Daniel inclined his head, the movement courteous despite the phantom wind whipping the edges of his coat.
Valerie snatched her phone off the counter and started typing.
“Found it,” she said after a beat. She scrolled through the webpage. “It says Daniel Keene lived a few towns over. He was a toymaker—specializing in hand-carved wooden toys. There isn't much info, except for this.”
She turned the screen toward me, her thumb pressed against the headline of an old article.
Tri-state Blizzard Claims Lives—Local Toymaker Missing
“The name wasn't all I found. There was also a photograph,” I said, “taken early December 1975—Daniel and Natalie standing in the banquet hall.” I hesitated, rubbing the signet ring around my finger. “And one more thing. I think he’s looking for a ring.”
Her eyes flicked to the ghost, then to me. “How do you know?”
“My ring glowed when I found the photo.”
“Your ring glowed,” Valerie repeated slowly, setting her mug down to pace the tiles. Her gaze went distant, that focused look she got when her brain started connecting threads. “So Daniel was here earlier in December… but the storm hit Christmas Eve. Maybe he came back.”
I glanced at Daniel. The air seemed to hum, faint but electric. My ring pulsed once. Then the draft stirred the table where the first challenge card fluttered. A knowing look passed between us—heavy and wordless.
“A proposal,” I said, the realization settling like a stone in my chest. “He probably came back to surprise her on Christmas Eve, and something happened. He never got the chance.”
Valerie stopped pacing. "Natalie’s obituary said she was never married. She spent every Christmas here until the skating show moved in 1980. That’s the year the hauntings escalated.”
She looked up, her voice softening. “He missed her.”
We both turned to the ghost. The solemn look in his eyes confirmed Valerie’s suspicion, and his silent nod made it official.
“But if he's still here because of a ring, where is it now?” I asked. “It’s been fifty years. This place has been cleaned thousands of times. Someone could’ve taken it.”
“It must still be here,” Valerie said, her brow furrowing as she thought. “That medium from the case files, remember? She said the ghost was bound to something inside the walls.” Valerie huffed a breath. “I figured she meant like… his femur or something. But it’s the ring. I just know it.”
“All right, then we start looking. Maybe it fell into a crevice or behind a vent somewhere.” I scrubbed a hand over my face, mentally cataloging all the places it could be. One day to search every crack and hidden nook in this place. It was daunting.
A selfish thought surfaced. If I stalled and ran out the clock, there’d be no key. The case would stay unsolved, and Valerie would never have the chance to erase us.
I hated myself for thinking it. We were miracle agents. The case had to come first. Daniel deserved a fair shake, and Valerie deserved to know she could finish this without her magic. But that didn't mean I wasn't tempted.
Valerie poured herself a fresh coffee, then eyed the cooling pan on the stove. “There’s just one problem… we’re still starving.”
“The morning’s half gone.” I reached for my coat. “The sun’s out. Roads are probably clear. You start upstairs, and I’ll run out and grab us a pizza.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Pizza? On Christmas Eve Eve?”
“It’ll be a new tradition.” I shot her a look. “I’ll have them add bacon.”
Valerie curled her lip into a little snarl, addressing the ghost instead of me. “You burn one meal and suddenly you get a reputation.”
The ghost peered into the pan, surveying the pile of blackened meat swimming in grease. Then he drifted away, shaking his head in silent disapproval.
“You too?” she cried at his back. “The ash is just seasoning. Condemned by a man without taste buds,” she muttered under her breath.
I shoved my feet into my boots and called over my shoulder as I headed for the door. “Face it. You can’t even win over the dead with your cooking, Spells.”
She just grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like a curse and stomped up the stairs.
By the time I got back, the wind had picked up again, blowing sheets of snow against the windows. Valerie met me in the lobby, dust clinging to her sweatshirt, hair escaping its knot in soft curls.
She gestured to the pizza box in my hands. “I’m in desperate need of carbs.”
We dropped it on the long banquet table and tore into a few slices while she filled me in. She’d searched our rooms, under the beds, in the drawers, even the vents. No ring.
The ghost trailed us while we searched the banquet hall, hovering near Valerie like a loyal bulldog who couldn’t quite smell the bone. Valerie crouched near the wall panels while I checked under the buffet table, running my flashlight along the baseboards.
“Anything?” I asked.
“Unless he planned to propose behind a radiator, no.” She straightened, stretching her arms her over head, her belly button peeking beneath the sweatshirt. “You?”
“Just a family of dust bunnies you might be interested in adopting.”
She wrinkled her nose. “No thanks. Let me know if you find any cats.”
Daniel floated behind me, his expression drawn with the kind of hope that made my chest ache. “We’ll find it,” I told him quietly.
A few hours later, we ended up back in the lobby. Valerie leaned against the reception counter, rubbing her temples.
“Okay,” she said finally. “We’ve checked everywhere.
I even removed the furniture cushions. Found some spare change, but that’s it.
” Her shoulders slumped as she tapped a finger on the reception desk bell.
A hollow ding filled the air. “Maybe you’re right—maybe someone picked it up. If someone found the ring back then…”
Her voice trailed off.
“What?” I asked.
She straightened, her eyes squinting toward the far wall behind the desk. A small brass plaque gleamed, half-tarnished, nearly invisible against the dark paneling. It read: EMPLOYEES ONLY.
“They would have turned it in, Grant. Lost and found.”
Valerie opened the door, revealing a cramped storage room. Shelves sagged beneath decades of forgotten supplies. A single bulb flickered overhead.
Against the back wall, nearly hidden by a mop and bucket, sat a squat steel safe.
“You've got to be kidding me,” I said.
Valerie dropped next to the safe and smacked her palm against the metal surface. Her excitement was palpable. “Let's call Edith. We need to crack this thing open.”