“Like … at all?” Gretel asked, incredulous.
Eliza shook her head.
Gretel gave it some thought, scraping the last of the pudding off her plate. Puffcake nudged her hand with his frosted nose, clearly annoyed that she had stopped rubbing him. She scratched behind his ear absentmindedly.
“I’m not really an expert on how the house operates, but from what I’ve gathered, it seems like it usually happens to those with unresolved tension. Or, at the very least, attraction.”
Eliza’s stomach felt heavy, and she immediately blamed the pudding.
“I mean,” Gretel went on, “maybe the house can sense when some things are being avoided. The magic’s not exactly subtle.”
Eliza blew out a breath. “You can say that again. All I wanted this Christmas holiday was to come here, bake, and spend all week avoiding my responsibilities. Then, I showed up to find that this place had been double-booked. The house even forces us together, so we have to be around each other.”
Gretel flicked a dollop of pudding off her snowsuit, not seeming surprised in the slightest. “That’s the frustrating thing about magic. It doesn’t always make sense, but it makes you squirm like crazy until you find out the hard way.”
“I’ll agree to that, but I’m not …” Eliza lowered her voice. “I’m not …attractedto him.” Even to Eliza, her voice didn’t sound convincing.
Gretel, seeming unconvinced as well, simply crossed her arms. “Remember to tell that to the mistletoe when it hangs over your head.”
“Mistletoe?” Eliza blinked, searching the rafters. “What mistletoe?”
Gretel just smiled. “You’ll see.” Without explanation, she checked her mobile. “Oh, jolly! Hansel’s almost here. You got any proper winter boots?”
Eliza nodded. “In my car with the rest of my bags. I’ll need help shoveling the snow off my car to get them out.”
“No worries. I’ll text Hansel to tell him to get them out now for you, along with your luggage.”
“T-thank you,” Eliza stuttered out. Why was Gretel being so nice to her? She wasn’t used to this kind of treatment.
Gretel waved her off, saying, “Don’t worry about it,” but Eliza couldn’t help but still feel like a burden.
“Um. Gretel?” Eliza called after her. “Do you happen to know the cottage’s Wi-Fi code? My phone signal here is rubbish.”
A knock came at the door. Only a head of navy hair was visible from where Eliza sat at the island. Gretel rose from her seat in a peppermint-scented wind and headed for the door.
“WirelessWonderland225,” she said before turning the doorknob to let her brother inside.
Eliza really wasn’t sure if she was okay with this many people in her cottage. And yes, technically, it wasn’t justhers, 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 shehadto 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?”
