Sleigh Bells and Dragon Spells (Whispering Pines #8)

Chapter 20

TWENTY

A deep chuckle rumbled through the kitchen. Briar’s head shot up. Falkor—stern, serious Falkor—was laughing. Actually laughing. The sound transformed his entire face, softening the hard lines and making him look younger, more carefree. Her heart did a funny little flip in her chest.

“Well,” he said, golden eyes dancing, “at least you’ve proven you can surprise me.”

“Ha-ha.” But she grinned back, unable to help herself. “Fine, new plan. S’mores. Even I can’t mess those up.”

They gathered supplies and settled by the fireplace, Briar demonstrating proper marshmallow-roasting technique. The fire painted everything in warm light, making the decorated cabin feel cozy and intimate. “The key is patience,” she explained, rotating her marshmallow slowly over the flames. “You want it golden brown, not charred.”

Falkor watched intently, then tried to help by adjusting the fire. Unfortunately, his dragon magic flared, instantly incinerating Briar’s marshmallow into a black crisp.

She burst out laughing at his chagrined expression. “Well, that’s one way to do it!”

“Precision isn’t easy for a dragon,” he muttered, but she caught his half-smile.

From her stash of items she brought, a music box began to play on its own—one of Luna’s magical touches. A sweet, festive melody filled the cabin, an old winter song that spoke of starlit nights and promises whispered in the snow. Before she could second-guess herself, Briar turned to Falkor and held out her hand.

“Care to dance?”

He stared at her outstretched fingers for a long moment, and she thought he’d refuse. Then, slowly, he took her hand. His palm was warm against hers, and she could feel the barely contained power in his gentle grip.

“I should warn you,” she said lightly, trying to mask her nervousness, “I’ve been known to step on toes.”

“Fortunately,” he replied, pulling her gently into position, “dragons are rather durable.”

They moved together, finding their rhythm. Falkor led with surprising grace, his movements fluid and assured. One hand rested on her waist, warm through the fabric of her sweater while the other held hers as if it were something precious.

“Where did you learn to dance?” she asked, curious about this hidden talent.

A shadow crossed his face. “It was expected, in my family. Part of our... education.”

“You make it sound like a punishment.”

“It usually was.” But then his expression softened as he looked down at her. “Though perhaps I’m finding reasons to appreciate the skill.”

The music shifted to something slower, more intimate. Without discussion, they drew closer. Briar could feel the steady beat of his heart and smelled the hint of smoke and spice that clung to his skin. His thumb traced absent patterns on her waist, probably unconsciously, each touch sending sparks of awareness through her.

“This is nice,” she murmured, not wanting to break the spell of the moment.

“Hmm.” The sound rumbled through his chest. “You’re changing things, you know.”

“The cabin?”

“Everything.”

The moment stretched between them, full of unspoken possibilities. Then a tremendous crash shattered the silence. They whirled to find one of Briar’s garlands had come loose, taking down an entire section of decorations in its wake. A cascade of ornaments, ribbons, and magical lights created a spectacular light show as they fell.

Briar burst into helpless laughter. “I guess my decorating skills need work.”

To her amazement, Falkor joined in, his deep laugh harmonizing with hers. “Perhaps this time, we’ll secure everything properly.”

“ This time?” she asked, eyes twinkling.

He smiled—a real, warm smile that transformed his entire face. “Well, we can’t leave the cabin half-decorated, can we?”

As they began cleaning up the fallen decorations together, their hands brushed occasionally, each touch sending little shivers of awareness through Briar. She noticed something had changed in the cabin’s atmosphere. It felt warmer, more alive. And it wasn’t just the decorations or the fire—it was something else entirely, something growing between them with every shared laugh and gentle touch.

Outside, the dark storm still raged, but inside Falkor’s cabin, a different kind of magic was blooming—one that smelled like cookies (both burnt and edible), sparkled like enchanted frost, and felt remarkably like hope. More than that, it felt like the beginning of something special, something that could warm even the coldest of hearts.