When they finally pulled apart, Eliza was breathless. She rested her forehead against his, unable to stop grinning like a madman.
Lachlan placed the gentlest of kisses on her forehead and whispered, “Merry Christmas, Snow.”
The cottage had bloomed with magic, color, and vibrant, twinkling lights. Best of all, piped icing floated down from the rafters, the green mistletoe responding to their reunion.
The curse was gone. Eliza had felt it.
Slam!
Isadora’s Memory-Baking Cookbookflung itself from the cabinet and onto the floor. The sound startled Puffcake into flight, his icing wings flitting at a hundred miles per hour. He rolled his eyes when he saw it was just the enchanted cookbook wreaking havoc again before settling himself back down on the windowsill. Puffcake shot Eliza a pointed glare to communicate, “Really? This bloody book, again?”
Eliza laughed and rustled Puffcake’s chin. “Lighten up. I’d be a grinch too if my husband left me during Christmas.” She bent down to retrieve the book, but noticed something peculiar. With furrowed brows, she thumbed through the pages. The recipes she’d baked from earlier in the week were still there, all of them Isadora’s … but this time, at the back of the book, there were new recipes. These were Eliza’s.
She blushed when she even readEliza’s Award-Winning Winter Hearth Sconeshad made the cut, but the last recipe brought tears to her eyes. “Marjorie’s Christmas Eve Snowflake Cake”
This was the recipe she’d made on Christmas Eve after Lachlan left. She’d bet anything that if she were to make them as the book instructed, she’d see herself standing with her arms crossed, worry painting her face as Lachlan tried to assure her that the text from his sister wasn’t what it looked like. She’d be willing to bet that the vision would be of her standing in the kitchen, alone—much like Isadora was all those years ago.
She was also willing to bet the vision would show Lachlan coming back.
Because her story didn’t have to end like Isadora’s. Lachlan was willing to stay, and not for some fun, Christmas fling. He came back. He never even wanted to leave in the first place, but it had been Eliza who pushed him away out of fear.
She’drewritten the history of this cottage. She and Lachlan had broken the curse, and this cookbook was evidence that the magic still existed. (Apart from the abnormally bright lights coming from the Christmas tree, the self-playing record, and the sentient gingerbread Snap Dragon on her shoulder.)
“What is it, Snow?” Lachlan yawned as he came up from behind her. He grabbed both of her hands in his and swayed them to the rhythm of the carol playing on the record player.
“It’s Isadora’s cookbook, the one you tried baking in. Look, it even wrote down your recipe.”
There it was:Lachlan and Puffcake Pancakes: Best made the morning of Christmas Eve.
Lachlan chuckled. “I’m flattered to have made the cut. Were they really that good?”
“No,” Eliza answered truthfully. “But apparently, Isadora thought so. Or maybe it was just the thought that counted.”
“Probably that,” he said, leaning in and kissing her softly on the cheek. “Permission to say that the kitchen is your domain from now on?”
Eliza smiled. “Permission granted. But I’ll leave the barbecuing up to you in the summertime. I’m a lousy griller.”
“I can handle that. As long as I get to wear the apron you think I look sexy in.”
“Get your own!” Eliza batted his hand away as if he were trying to steal it from her now. “Gretel gave me this one!”
“Fine.” He swung Eliza around, and pulled her tightly into his chest. He looked at her with so much longing in his eyes that it made her weak—and Puffcake annoyed. He flapped away to the living room to give the two of them privacy.
Roaring filled their ears, and something like the sound of biscuit crumbs breaking apart filled the entire cottage. Lachlan furrowed his brows, looking out the window to see if another blizzard had struck. Eliza followed his gaze to find the snow falling in a lazy mist.
The floor rumbled beneath them as the snapping sound still reverberated through the very structure of the cottage. Pictures on the wall shook, the glass bottles clinked together on the shelf, and the copper pots swayed overhead. Flour particles drifted through the air like settling dust.
What was going on?
Then, the rumbling stopped. The house settled. If it hadn’t been for the looks of bewilderment on both Lachlan and Puffcake's faces, Eliza would’ve wondered if she’d imagined it.
Then, Eliza saw it, down the hall. The cottage hadexpandedon its own. Another suite opened up that hadn’t been there before.
For a moment, the three of them just gaped, unable to speak.
Eliza could make out the golden bedframe, baked to perfection, with a patchwork quilt and several matching pillows. The sight made her blush.
“Did the house just create a master bedroom?” Eliza asked.
