“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” he whispered.
Their eyes met and held. So many unspoken things hung between them that felt communicated in one single look. Gratitude. Recognition. Understanding. Longing.
Eliza blinked fast, trying to combat the tears. Lachlan noticed and smiled, trying, in his usual way, to lighten the mood.
“And if we’re being honest, I’ve been sneaking seconds like there’s no tomorrow. If you were mine, I’d be just fine with you ‘playing housewife’ any day of the week. May need to up my gym time, but I’ll manage.”
Those words made her heart beat stupidly in her chest. “If you were mine.”
As if on cue, the oven dinged. The scones were finally ready for tasting.
Eliza slid on her oven mitts quickly, eager to focus her attention on something else. She opened the door, and a wave of cinnamon-spiced air wafted out and filled the cottage with its redolent warmth. The scones were golden brown and looked like a picture in a magazine. She snapped a photo of them before Lachlan or Puffcake could grab one.
“Moment of truth,” she anxiously said, watching Lachlan’s every move as he took the first bite. He chewed slowly and closed his eyes as if he needed a second to process his thoughts.
“Snow ...” There was something reverent in his tone. “This isperfection. This is thirteen out of ten.”
“Really?” Her voice jumped an octave, pride blooming in her chest. “You really think so?”
She reached for half of the broken scone and took a bite. The crisp, golden dough crunched slightly before the orange and cranberry notes burst in her mouth. It was the kind of taste that curled around your belly like a scarf.
It wasn’t just perfect. It was delicious and magical and sweet. And it was entirely hers. For the first time in a long time, it was enough.
Outside, the snow pressed against the windowpane and muted the kitchen in a hush. Eliza leaned against the counter, covered in flour and satisfaction as Lachlan dried the last of the copper mixing bowls. It was the kind of quiet that Eliza loved when she was with company, and she wished it would stretch on forever.
“It’s getting late,” Lachlan broke the silence. “We should take a page out of Puffcake’s book and get to bed. You’re going to have a big day tomorrow.”
Eliza followed his gaze over to Puffcake, who was sound asleep on a stack of recipe cards. She laughed, pulling out her phone and snapping a picture of him. “I’m definitely going to make a sticker out of this. Something with little floating Z’s above his head.”
Lachlan’s laugh echoed through the kitchen, causing Puffcake to stir.
“Careful,” she warned. “You wake the little sugar sprite, you’ll have to deal with his wrath.”
“What does that entail, exactly? Lighting my blanket on fire while I sleep?” Lachlan asked.
“Oh, worse,” she said with a mock sort of seriousness, “He’ll hex your coffee so it’s always decaf.”
Lachlan winced. “That’s horrible. I take it all back. I’ll start whispering from now on.”
“You go ahead,” she said, grinning as she pretended to shoo him off. “I promise I’ll be right behind you, just want to do a couple more things before bed.”
He lingered in the threshold, watching her for a beat too long. “Don’t stay up too late,” he said, voice gentle. “You’ll need that little sugar sprite’s magic tomorrow.”
She pretended not to notice the warmth in his tone. “Go brush your teeth like a responsible adult,” she teased.
He chuckled, shaking his head as he turned toward the hallway. His footsteps faded down the corridor.
Long after he was gone, she realized she was still smiling.
There was only one more recipe left. Eliza anxiously followed each of the instructions, her heart beating with a strange sort of anticipation. The recipe was for gingerbread.Simple enough, she thought. And she was eager to use the rolling pin Lachlan bought for her from the little shoppe in the village square.
As she scanned the page, she noted the handwriting had shifted again. The once elegant script had grown uneven, less uniform, and more frantic. Blotches of ink stained the page in pools of onyx, like water or tears had spotted the words.
She worked in silence, careful not to disturb Puffcake or Lachlan in the other room, but it was the recipe’s twist that made Eliza stop stirring.
Add a tear.
She froze. She could’ve easily shed one for everything that had happened these past six months. But something about being here, spending the week away from it all, really gave her the distance she needed. It had given her perspective, and maybe even a newfound sense of hope.
