Juliette glanced at her. “I know you don’t want to intrude on my family,” she said softly. “But Isla, you’re no burden. You never could be. If you changed your mind, you would be most welcome.”
Isla lowered her eyes to the carrots, feeling her chest tighten at the kindness. “Thank you, Juliette. Truly. But this is enough ... more than enough.”
As the carrot cake baked and filled the apartment with its warm, spiced scent, Juliette rummaged in a cupboard and pulled out a neatly wrapped parcel.
“Juliette,” Isla protested softly, “you’ve already done enough with the food.”
“Hush now—the Ivy Queen can never have too many gifts,” Juliette replied in her most regal voice.
Laughing, Isla reached for her bag and produced a smaller package, holding it out in return. Juliette squealed with delight and tugged her friend down onto the rug in front of the fire. They both tucked their skirts beneath them, the flames crackling cheerfully at their backs.
“Right,” Juliette said, eyes gleaming with mischief. “On the count of three ...”
As with every year before, the two of them tore into the packages as though they were children of three, not women in their twenties. Paper crinkled, ribbons came loose, and laughter filled the little room.
“Oooh!” Juliette exclaimed, holding up a paper bag brimming with her favorite boiled sweets. “These aremuchbetter than another plant. I killed the last one.”
“Hey!” Isla laughed, swatting her arm. “Plants make the best gifts.”
“Foryou, maybe. Especially now you can keep them alive with a wave of your hand. Honestly, what need have you now for any more plants as gifts when you can summon them?”
Isla rolled her eyes but then fell silent as she looked down at her own gifts—beautifully knitted gloves in soft wool and abook with a delicately embossed cover. She turned the book over, cheeks coloring when she read the title. “A romance novel?” She looked up, one brow raised.
Juliette grinned smugly. “Well, the gloves are practical. Cold hands and warm heart, as they say, and since I’d wager your heart is warmer than ever at the present, I thought the gloves might come in handy. Plus, they will help with the rest of the problem.”
“The rest of the problem?” Isla repeated, narrowing her eyes.
“Mm-hmm.” Juliette wriggled her eyebrows. “Falling for an Aqua Summoner could be quite problematic as their hands may be extremely cold after summoning ice; you’ll be the first woman in York to suffer frostbite for romance without these gloves.”
“Juliette!” Isla cried, utterly mortified.
“And the book,” Juliette continued innocently, holding back a smirk, “is because you’re clearly open to romance now. It’s one of my favorites—a gallant knight, a swooning damsel in distress ...”
“I amnota swooning damsel.”
Juliette leaned closer, whispering in mock scandal. “You are too a damsel. He has rescued you more than once, and there’s nothing wrong with that! It’s okay to be a damsel sometimes. As women, we don’t always have to be strong. I am well aware something special is happening between the two of you, though—I know you’ve been trying to hide it, and I think as your best friend I should have been told. The way you two look at each other now is a dead giveaway. Have you kissed him yet? Are his lips cold?”
“Juliette!” Isla buried her face in her hands, half laughing, half dying of embarrassment. “There will be no talk of lips—and no, they are not cold!”
“Aha!” Juliette clapped her hands triumphantly. “So youhavekissed him. I knew it!”
Isla groaned, throwing one of the knitted gloves at her friend, who only cackled and ducked.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
December 24th
Christmas Eve morning crept in softly, the pale light of winter seeping through the thin curtains. Isla stirred, the quiet of her room settling heavily around her. Juliette had left earlier that morning, her cheerful farewell still echoing faintly in Isla’s mind. Isla had returned to her bed, hoping to fall back to sleep, but her apartment felt achingly quiet.
She drew the covers tighter for a moment, listening to the muted whistle of the wind against the windowpanes. Outside, she imagined the people of York beginning to stir awake beneath a veil of frost, all excited about the season. Somewhere a church bell tolled the hour, its sound both comforting and lonesome.
Rising, she padded across the chilly floor. Christmas Eve, she thought. For others, a day of gathering, of laughter. For her, a season of solitude.
She set the kettle on to heat. “Good morning, Darwin,” she said softly, glancing at the fishbowl. “Looks like it’s just you and me.”
A sudden knock sounded at the door. Crossing the room, she assumed it must be Edmund, coming to organize her guard duties. But when she opened it, her heart leapt with pleasure.
Andrew stood there, cheeks pink from the cold, his long dark coat sprinkled with stray snowflakes. He was smiling, andat his feet rested a tiny Christmas tree. In his hands he carried a large paper bag.
