She blinked, relieved but still confused. Then she smiled to herself, thinking of her friend Piper. This would be what her friend called the “romantic plot twist.”
Maybe he had gone into the forest to get more firewood, or was on a call to negotiate with one of his clients about a house. Maybe it wasn’t that deep, after all. But she didn’t check.
If Lachlan wanted to tell her where he was, he would’ve told her. He would’ve left a note, sent a text. There were at least five different ways he could have communicated to her, “Hey, I’m stepping out,” but he didn’t.
It dawned on her then that he didn’t have her phone number. But still, a note would have sufficed. She told herself not to be upset about it, but the sting lingered. Like a paper cut that you didn’t know was there until it stung when you washed your hands.
Fine. Let him be mysterious. She had scones to bake and a competition to win.
Though with Lachlan gone, she thought better of it. Curiosity tugged at her. She thought of Isadora and the odd dream she’d had last night. Had it all been a coincidence, especially now that Lachlan was nowhere to be found?
She practically sprinted over to Isadora’s cookbook, eager to find what the next recipe might reveal about this enigmatic woman. She’d been unable to bake these recipes until late in the evening once Lachlan was asleep, but now she was free to do it in broad daylight.
Once Lachlan returned—if he planned on doing so—Eliza would throw the recipe out and claim that it wasn’t any good. She still wasn’t ready to tell him the truth about her findings. It still felt oddly too personal to share with anyone just yet, and now that she’d come this far, she was invested. She needed answers.
There was something about Isadora’s story that felt connected to this house and the strange events that happened here. Maybe this book of memories was even the key to why the cottage only trapped couples here and no one else.
Her phone buzzed in the band of her leggings. With sticky fingers, she pulled it free. Piper.
How’s Mr. Perfectly Fine?
Eliza couldn’t help but chuckle.
Gone.
Was all she sent back.
She locked her phone and set it face down on the counter. Her phone instantly buzzed, but she ignored it all and set off to work.
She flipped to the next page, and her heart sank at the name of the dish.Barren Cradle Bake. Next to the title, there wasa date, six months before the date that Eliza had read in the newspaper, Ernest had been reading the cottage.
Eliza preheated the oven to 190 degrees, and quickly pulled the ingredients: Strawberry jam, sugar, eggs, and vanilla. Eliza didn’t allow any time for the cake to cool before plunging in a spoon and tasting, the clouds of the memory parting for her like a veil.
There stood Isadora, clutching her belly as she entered the room. It wasn’t the warm, lively kitchen Eliza knew so well, but another she hadn’t seen before. It was quieter, sweeter, and unfamiliar. A crib sat in the corner, spun from delicate isomalt and embellished with candied rose petals.
Then Isadora fell to her knees, broken and sobbing. And in that instant, Eliza understood. The name of the recipe, and why she was here. This was a memory within a memory, a step further back in time to fill the spaces between the story. This wasn’t a happy memory. It was six months before the others.
Isadora wasn’t pregnant anymore.
It was just as Eliza had cleaned up the kitchen and tossed the rest of the Barren Cradle Cake out, when she heard the bells in the front door jingle. Her heart leapt as cold air came rushing in. She turned to see Lachlan standing there, stomping the snow off his boots by the door.
In his arms, there was a bundle of brown wrapping paper, a sprig of rosemary tied around it with velvet ribbon. All of Eliza’s questions about how he managed to leave died on her tongue. Instead, she crossed her arms, brow raised. “What isthat?”
His eyes sparkled as he handed it to her. “Open it.”
She eyed him wearily, untying the string and ripping apart the paper. In it was a rolling pin, carved from real wood and looking several years old. Despite its age, it was in mint condition.
Eliza seemed to be at a loss for words. She just stared down at it.
When she said nothing, he said, “You probably have a million of these already.” He gave an apologetic smile. “But I saw it yesterday as we passed by that old charity shop. I pleaded with the house for an hour this morning to go without you to surprise you with it. At first, it didn't believe me, so it kept pelting snow at me along the road just to make sure I remembered the path.”
“That’s really thoughtful of you.” She wasn’t sure how to take his generosity. It definitely didn’t have to be some sort of romantic gesture. Maybe he was just being friendly. It was the season of giving, after all.
A smile grew on his lips, satisfied. “Don’t assume my intentions were one hundred percent pure, Snow. I’ll be expecting something hot and sweet in return.”
Eliza’s cheeks flared crimson.
“Obviously, I meant in baked goods,” Lachlan added.
