“I love you, too.” He smiled back at her, brightly. “Earnestly.”
The young man bent low to kiss her just as the grandfather clock gonged twelve times. Then the lovely scene in front of her was gone.
She was standing in the same spot she’d been in before she was transported away through the vision. Only, she hadn’t seen a vision.
It had been amemory.
Isadora’sMemoryBaking Cookbook. Of course. Isadora Black was the owner, and, through the recipes, she was showing memories of her life, ones that had taken place here in this very cottage.
But what Eliza still couldn’t quite make out was this: Who was this Isadora Black, and why was she showing Eliza memories of her past?
For breakfast, Eliza prepared coffee and honey butter buns with eggs on the side. The eggs were the exception on her very short list of items she could actually cook—and most of them were breakfast-related dishes.
She stood in the kitchen, dressed in Lachlan’s sweatpants and a t-shirt sporting a gingerbread man with a crumbled leg, the caption “Oh Snap,” written on it. She’d changed into itshortly before she retired to bed late in the morning. Puffcake hadn’t liked the concept of the new t-shirt one bit. He took one look at it when she came down the stairs and had been throwing looks of disapproval in Eliza’s direction ever since.
“Hey, don’t judge me.” She threw her hands up when she entered the room. “This is Lachlan’s t-shirt, not mine.”
That seemed to appease Puffcake for the time being, because he fluttered over to Eliza’s side and perched militantly on her shoulder, like a lion surveying his pride.
His flight was significantly slower than it had been yesterday, and with red crumbs that dotted his face, it was the only tell that she’d made red velvet biscuits last night. The rest of the biscuits were “mysteriously” gone from the cloche she’d placed them under.
The biscuits had been the second recipe of Isadora’s cookbook, and with it came another vision, just as it had the first time. As soon as Eliza took a bite of the freshly baked dessert, she was dropped into the witch’s romantic world once more.
It had been only moments after the first memory took place. Isadora had said something to tease her beau, Ernest, before swiping her finger in the crimson batter and bopping him on the nose.
He kissed her all over, smearing the batter on her neck, chest, and rosy cheeks before scooping her up and stomping them both up the stairs. Eliza didn’t follow, but heard their shouts of playful giggles all the way up until the door slammed shut behind them.
Lachlan came around the corner, and Puffcake snubbed up his nose. Lachlan wrinkled his brows, confused by Puffcake’s coldness until he glanced Eliza’s way. After noting the shirt, he just laughed. “Looks like I’ll be getting the cold shoulder the rest of the day.”
“In his defense, you did pack a graphically offensive T-shirt,” Eliza pointed out. She smiled as she rubbed the dragon’s underbelly, and he kicked his foot repeatedly in satisfaction.
“We’re going to have to start giving you rations, Puffcake. I’m not even sure where you store all of that cake you ate,” added Eliza. Or how it was possible for him to eat in the first place, or how he was sentient … There was a lot about Puffcake that she didn’t quite understand. Or about this cottage, apparently.
But a thought crossed her mind.
“Puffcake,” she paused her scratching to ask him a serious question. “Did anything strange happen to you after you ate the red velvet biscuits last night?”
Puffcake yawned, innocently shaking his head. He wasn’t even suspicious of her questioning in the slightest.
Interesting. If the magic didn’t work on him, how wassheable to see it?
Lachlan wandered sleepily into the kitchen. “Good morning, by the way,” he yawned, coming over to the coffee pot to fill his cup. He parted the curtain above the kitchen sink as he took a swig.
The snow was still falling, but not as aggressively as it had the night before. The gingerbread cottage was so covered in it that it looked like a child had gone a little too crazy with extra icing.
She placed two plates down on the round table and a significantly smaller plate down on the windowsill for Puffcake.
Eliza couldn’t help but be grateful for the silence as they ate. Lachlan had thanked her for making breakfast and even complimented her on the eggs. Though she didn’t know how to take it.
She knew they were a far cry from her baking, but she made them enough at the diner back home to know how to prepare them right.
Maybe he was just being nice. Or maybe he meant it?
She suddenly felt a prick of guilt for how cold she’d treated him yesterday. “I’m sorry. For yesterday.” She bit out the words. “I know all this isn’t exactly ideal for either of us, but I should’ve been a little nicer about it.” She stuck her hand out for him to shake, calling for a truce.
His large hand wrapped around hers, and she couldn’t help but notice how warm and how much larger it was than her own. “Don’t worry about it,” he smiled. “I’ll be honest, I was a little bummed, too. But I’ll keep you around for the time being if you promise to continue baking.”
Once he finished his plate, he scooted away from the table, finished off the last of his coffee, and headed for the door. He pulled on his boots and shrugged on his thick winter coat.
