CHAPTER 2 — THE BURNT GINGERBREAD INCIDENT
1128 Words
Arielle North had officially decided that mornings were out to get her. After yesterday’s ice-block-to-head incident and the mysterious red envelope, she should have known nothing could go smoothly.
But she was determined. Today was Christmas baking day, the one thing she had stubbornly decided to do for herself, no matter what the universe threw at her.
She had even bought a gingerbread house kit. Frosting, candy canes, gumdrops—all neatly packed, promising a small slice of holiday joy.
Arielle glanced at the kitchen. Everything looked innocent enough: a countertop dusted in flour, the smell of vanilla in the air, and a single gingerbread house waiting to be assembled.
She was positive she could pull this off.
Maybe this year wasn’t going to be terrible.
Famous last words.
The first disaster struck within two minutes.
She reached for the frosting bag and—slipped. The bag burst. White frosting splattered across her sweater, her hair, the counter, and somehow, the cat’s tail.
“Oh, come on!” Arielle wailed, tugging her hair back.
The cat, offended, bolted under the couch. She squinted at the kitchen, realizing the scene looked more like a crime scene than a cozy holiday setup.
At least the gingerbread pieces survived… she hoped.
She stacked the walls carefully, concentrating with the intensity of a surgeon. One wrong move and the entire house could collapse. She measured frosting spacing like it was some high-stakes architecture project.
The first wall went up. Success.
The second wall… wobbled.
The third wall… collapsed spectacularly.
Arielle flung her hands up. “Why?! Why does everything I touch explode?!”
She tried again, gingerly stacking pieces while muttering apologies to the broken candy and baked dough strewn across the counter.
Hours passed—or maybe minutes; time had a way of stretching when misfortune visited—and Arielle finally completed something resembling a house.
She took a step back, eyes wide, holding her breath.
It was… lopsided.
The roof had a slight crack.
One candy cane leaned dangerously to the left.
The gumdrops had stuck to her sweater instead of the walls.
But, technically, it was standing.
She grinned. Small victories. Tiny triumphs.
Then she remembered the oven.
The gingerbread cookies.
The cookies.
A quick glance revealed a smoke cloud billowing from the oven like a villain in a Christmas movie.
“Oh no… no no no!”
She opened the oven, and a wave of charred sugar and scorched dough hit her. The cookies had transformed into blackened bricks. Smoke alarms screamed in betrayal.
Arielle coughed, waving her hand. “I didn’t mean it! I swear, it’s not my fault!”
She didn’t notice the light in the kitchen flicker. Tiny sparks danced along the counter edges, then fizzled out. A faint warmth spread across her fingertips as she reached for the smoke detector.
Weird.
Shaking her head, she ignored it. Magic? Ha. She was just imagining things.
The next disaster arrived in the form of her phone. It rang. Loud. Incessant. She fumbled it off the counter and—yes, slipped again. The phone hit the floor, bounced, and skidded under the table.
Arielle groaned, kneeling to retrieve it. “Great. Just great.”
The caller ID made her freeze: Noah Frost.
Her pulse leaped. Why was he calling?
She answered, voice cautious. “H-hello?”
“Hi,” he said softly. His voice made her forget how to breathe properly. “I was wondering… if you’re free, maybe I could buy you a coffee? You know… to help recover from holiday disasters?”
Arielle stared at the phone. Coffee? Him? Was this real life?
“Well…” she stammered. “I mean, I think my kitchen is on fire right now…”
“Sounds like you could use a hero,” he said. Calm. Warm. Unshakably patient.
She laughed, covering her mouth, trying not to sound like a total disaster magnet. “I may have just… burnt some cookies.”
“No worries. We’ll call it a… baking adventure.”
Baking adventure.
Her heart skipped. The word felt like magic. Somehow, she suspected he meant more than cookies.
She finally agreed. “Okay. One coffee. One hour. I promise I won’t destroy your shop.”
“You can try,” he teased, and she thought she could hear a chuckle—rich and warm—through the phone.
---
By the time she arrived at Frost & Fiction, snow was falling softly, gentle flakes landing on her coat and hair. No slips. No disasters.
Weird.
Noah was there, smiling as he held the door open. Somehow, he looked perfectly casual—hands in pockets, eyes warm, coat dusted with snow—but her heart thumped like a drum solo.
“Hi,” she said, stepping in, careful not to trip.
“Hey,” he said. “Glad you made it. And don’t worry, I warned the coffee beans—they’re trained to survive disasters.”
She blinked. “Coffee beans have survival training now?”
“Only for very special people,” he said, with a wink.
Her stomach flipped.
They sat at a small corner table, the café glowing with amber lights and the smell of cinnamon and baked goods. Outside, snowflakes danced. Inside, a soft Christmas playlist set a cozy rhythm.
“Why are you here?” she finally asked, after they’d ordered.
“Here?” he tilted his head. “Pinebrook? Or… me?”
“Both.”
Noah’s smile deepened. “Well, I like both. And you looked… interesting yesterday. Dramatic, but interesting.”
Arielle snorted. “Dramatic? You mean disaster-prone.”
“Call it… charismatic disaster-prone,” he said, teasing.
Her cheeks heated. Maybe he was joking. Or maybe… maybe he was seeing something else. Something other than disaster.
Their drinks arrived—spiced lattes, steaming and fragrant.
She lifted hers, inhaled, and felt a tiny bubble of peace for the first time all week.
Maybe… maybe today could go right.
Then a peppermint stick fell into her latte.
She looked down. It didn’t sink. It floated.
And the light over their table, which had flickered when she opened the door, now stayed perfectly steady.
Arielle froze.
Could… could it be?
No.
It had to be coincidence.
Her fingers brushed the red card in her coat pocket.
Your luck changes when your heart does.
Her heart—traitorous thing—fluttered uncontrollably.
She looked across the table at Noah Frost. His blue eyes caught hers, warm and calm, and for a brief, shimmering second, she felt something shift.
The world seemed a little brighter. A little softer.
And, against all reason, Arielle North—the girl whose holidays had always been cursed—smiled.
Maybe… just maybe… this year would be different.
- Writer
