Page 3 of Brewing Up Christmas

No phone number. No proper goodbye. Just that. Eli walked her to the door, unlocked it, and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, his smile barely there, fading as quickly as it appeared.

The Christmas Cookie Trap

Angelina stood outside the brewery, the cold wind biting at her skin, but she didn’t care. Her chest heaved, breath fogging in the frigid air as she tried to shake the image of Eli from her mind.

The memory of his lips on hers still burned, though she wished it didn’t. That kiss… it had been dangerous, the kind that made her heart stutter, her pulse race. She’d felt alive, too alive, and that terrified her. It always did. Eli had a way of breaking through the walls she spent years building, chipping away at the layers of distance she kept between herself and anyone who got too close. His easy smile, chatting all night at the bar with her.

She clenched her fists, trying to focus on the cold, anything to numb the heat still coursing through her veins. But it wasn’t enough. His kiss lingered, as if his lips were still on hers, pulling her in, making her forget herself. And she hated that.

She hated how easily he could unravel her. That instant pull between them was undeniable, magnetic even, but she wouldn’t—couldn’t—let herself fall. Not again.

As Santa’s Chief Spirit Officer, she had seen it all—people with too much holiday spirit, people with none at all—but Eli was something else. There was potential in him, buried beneath all that cocky charm and lack of holiday cheer. And it frustrated her to no end that he didn’t even seem to care.

“Fine,” she muttered to herself, her fingers curling into fists inside her gloves. She smirked to herself as an idea formed, one that would put Eli exactly where she needed him—at the mercy of Christmas magic. And what better way to get back into his mind than with something sweet? A little magic never hurt anyone, after all.

The next evening, Angelina returned to Harbor Craft Brewing, a box of festive Italian Christmas cookies tucked under her arm. These cookies weren’t just any cookies. They were special—imbued with just the right amount of holiday magic to spark a transformation. But the best part? Eli would never see it coming.

As she stepped inside, the warm air hit her, along with the familiar buzz of the brewery’s evening crowd. Eli was behind the bar, leaning against the counter with his usual relaxed charm. His eyes flicked to her as soon as sheentered, and for a brief moment, she saw a flash of something—recognition, maybe—but it quickly disappeared beneath his casual grin.

“Well, if it isn’t the mysterious traveler,” he said, his voice laced with that same flirtatious tone he always used. “Back for round two?”

Angelina raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Something like that,” she replied, making her way to the bar. She set the box of cookies down with a flourish, drawing Eli’s attention.

“Brought you a little something,” she added, sliding the box toward him. “Thought you could use a treat.”

Eli glanced at the box, then back at her, clearly intrigued. “What’s this?”

“Italian Christmas cookies,” Angelina said, her voice smooth. “A family recipe. Creamy sweet icing, melt-in-your-mouth softness... they’re perfect after a long day.”

Eli’s grin widened. “You made these?”

She nodded, leaning in just slightly, her eyes never leaving his. “Try one.”

Eli didn’t need much convincing. He opened the box, eyes widening at the sight of the perfectly frosted cookies. They looked almost too good to be real—the icingsmooth and glossy, the cookies themselves soft, practically inviting him to take a bite. He reached for one and brought it to his lips, taking a bite.

The flavor hit him immediately—a perfect blend of sweetness and cream, with a rich, buttery texture that practically dissolved on his tongue. The icing was smooth and cool, contrasting beautifully with the warmth of the cookie itself. It was, in a word, perfect.

“Wow,” Eli said, his voice a little muffled as he chewed. “These are incredible.”

Angelina watched him closely, her eyes gleaming. “Have another,” she suggested, her tone just a little too smooth.

Eli didn’t hesitate. He grabbed another cookie, and then another, the sugary sweetness too good to resist. With each bite, he felt a strange warmth spreading through him, though he chalked it up to the sugar high. But after the third cookie, something shifted.

A Very Pointy Problem

The room felt... off.

Eli blinked, his vision tilting as a strange wave of dizziness swept over him. At first, it was subtle, just a small shift like he’d lost his footing for a moment. But then the room tilted again, harder this time, and a fog crept into his thoughts, clouding them. The familiar warmth of the brewery—the comfort of it—now seemed distant, slipping away. He frowned, shaking his head as if he could clear it, but the sensation only worsened.

He glanced around, desperate to ground himself. The soft amber light from the Edison bulbs overhead usually cast a cozy glow, wrapping the space in warmth, but tonight, they flickered, casting odd shadows across the exposed brick walls. The heavy wooden beams above creaked, a low groan that felt ominous, and the low murmur of voices from the front of the room grew faint, as if the sound were coming from underwater.

His fingers curled around the edge of the bar, gripping it so hard his knuckles turned white. The spinning sensation in his head grew stronger, the world around him slipping out of focus, and his heart began to race, the thud of it loud in his ears, an erratic rhythm that added to the confusion swirling inside him.

“Something... doesn’t feel right,” he muttered, his voice slurring just enough to make him frown. He tried again to shake off the growing haze, blinking hard, but the world still felt off, slipping further from his control.

Across from him, Angelina stood, calm and collected, her lips curving into a knowing smile. Her eyes gleamed, watching him with an unsettling calm, as if she knew exactly what was happening while he grasped at straws. There was something almost serene about her, a quiet confidence that made the confusion inside him twist into something darker—fear.

She was always an enigma to him, but tonight, with the flicker of candlelight catching in her dark eyes, she seemed more unreadable than ever. She wore a fitted burgundy coat, the deep color highlighting the soft curves of her figure. The tailored lines flared slightly at her waist, the fabric brushing just above her knees. Beneath it, her black heeled boots clicked softly against the wooden floor whenever she shifted her weight. Even now, aschaos swirled around him, she looked perfectly in control, composed in a way that only made his confusion worse.

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