“I think so,” Lachlan said. “I guess so we both have a place to stay when we come back here.” Then he smiled.
Eliza looked up at him, hopeful. “You really would like to come back here?”
Lachlan nodded. “Of course. Every Christmas. I’m not lying when I told you this has been my favorite Christmas yet. It even tops the year I got an Xbox 360. And that was a good year. Didn’t come out of my room until Easter.”
Eliza laughed, then turned her attention to Puffcake. “Has the house ever done this before?”
Puffcake shook his head violently.
Interesting. So the cottage not only no longer held a curse that broke up entire marriages and relationships, but it now answered to Eliza and Lachlan’s love.
Love. Who was she kidding?
She’d known Lachlan for six days. But she knew his past, knew how he took his coffee in the mornings, how he strictly took long showers. She knew that his favorite color was orange, and that his favorite dessert was cheesecake (which she thought was dreadfully boring). Although he had said that her fondant fancies might’ve changed his mind.
She’d come to know so much about Lachlan in such a short amount of time. Sure, there was still so much more to learn, but wasn’t that the wonder of loving? To keep knowing? To keep growing?
It wasn’t the house that broke up marriages—it was the couples themselves. The cottage only ignited the problems that were already there, and when times became too hard, they’d give up. It was thepeople—not the circumstance. Because Lachlan and Eliza had been together far less time, and they still found a reason to fight for what they had.
Lachlan turned to her. “I don’t know why it made us a separate bedroom. I liked the couch just fine. And I don’t think Puffcake was running out of space on his side of the bed upstairs.”
Puffcake gave a look that said, “Speak for yourself.”
Eliza laughed. “I certainly was. Who knew a kitten-sized pastry would take up so much space?”
“Beats me.” Lachlan smiled. “Wanna go check out the master suite?”
Lachlan, Eliza, and Puffcake followed the breadcrumb trail back up to the Gingerbread Hollow Square. And, as before, Puffcake would stop every few paces or so to eat the timeless treats.
Lachlan laughed at the sight. “You know, I wondered this last time. Is this considered cannibalism for Puffcake to eat bread?”
“Only when there’s cinnamon involved,” Eliza answered.
“Which is like, fifty percent of all baking dishes,” Lachlan pointed out.
“So? You drink black coffee,” Eliza shot back. “You wouldn’t know sweetness if it hit you in the face with a whisk.”
Puffcake gave a dignified huff in agreement. Once they were at the market, Eliza insisted that they separate in order for her to find him a present.
Lachlan decided to take Puffcake, the two of them smiling together like they were in on some sort of elaborate plan, but Eliza didn’t push for details. She only agreed to meet them both back at the cottage in an hour.
In the market, she found a new mug and a pair of Christmas socks for Lachlan. For Puffcake, she bought a tiny, doll-sized scarf and a pair of matching mittens for his paws. (She had to ask the clerk for an extra pair of mittens, since he has four paws.) She even found something for Hansel, Gretel, and Piper while she was there.
While she was heading home, the nostalgic smell of chocolate wafted her way, and she realized it was Frank’s chocolate shoppe, Mendel’s Confections. She hurried into the shoppe, the bell above giving a jingle. Frank looked up from behind the counter, his grin warm and friendly. The display case before her sparkled with colorful éclairs, fondant fancies dusted in gold, and—Eliza’s heart leaped.
There were gingerbread snap dragons. She recognized the swirl of pink and blue icing wings, the sprinkle of coarse sugar of the dainty nose, complete with lavender gumdrop eyes. Sheknewthese creations. These wereIsadora’s.
Of course. Frank was practically ancient. Perhaps he knew Isadora personally.
“Mr. Mendel?” Eliza called his name a little louder than necessary. She felt silly, but Frank inclined his good ear to her, furrowing his bushy, white brows.
“Is there something I can help you with, young lady?”
“Yes,” she said. She wasn’t sure how to ask. “Do you know where these recipes came from?”
Frank’s eyes lit up, the blue sparkling with excitement. He didn’t say anything else, but pointed out of the window and to the lamppost directly outside the chocolate shop. She headed outside of the gingerbread-trimmed door and found a plaque on the lamppost.
In Loving Memory of Isadora and Henri Mendel
