There was still time to change her mind.

She paced the iron railing of the bell tower's second story, forcing herself to take short, even breaths as her lungs ached in the wintry air. Her nose was numb and her fingers number, clenched tightly around the gift she carried, but she couldn't bring herself to walk back down the staircase no matter how many times she hesitated at its entrance.

Her heart pattered against her ribs, stomach churning and fingers wrinkling the once-immaculate festive wrapping paper. She could still stuff it into her coat, where the bulk of her clothing would hide the creased corners. No one had seen her carrying it into the bell tower, and no one would see her carrying it out, if she was careful. In fact, no one had seen her at all, which meant she could just go back downstairs and creep back to the Courthouse, as timid and quiet as the mice that ran beneath the old benches in the front foyer. But she just couldn't stand him up, either; if it were her, left waiting in an empty bell tower for someone who would never come…. She shivered, and it wasn't all from the icy wind whistling in the hollow bell's interior.

A creak on the staircase echoed up to the landing through the dimly lit chamber, a surefire sign that she was no longer alone. Her breath caught in her throat and she began to choke, squashing the thin box between her hands as her heart leapt into overdrive. I can't do it, I can't, I just can't. Panicked tears pricked her eyes and she blinked them away, already loosening the topmost button of her coat so that she could stuff the ruined gift down her shirtfront. This is ridiculous, he's going to laugh at me, or—I should have never come here.

"Miss Eve?" It was too late: she'd run out of time. Squinting against the sun, Sir Barnham climbed onto the landing; the wind hit him and he shuddered, shrugging his long coat closer to his chest, lapels flapping openly in the wind. "Brr!" he laughed, patting mittened hands to his reddened cheeks, "'Tis twenty degrees colder up here, I believe!"

"I-I-It's not warm," she managed to reply, slowly lowering the gift and readjusting the button. Her heart had stopped thundering, instead falling out of place and dropping to land somewhere in her midsection, leaving her with a hollow, nauseous feeling.

"Why did you want to meet up here?" He wrinkled his nose, looking around the bare landing. Even after a full year, there were still traces of flour to be found in the floorboards.

"The view," she lied, waving her hand towards the skyline of the city. "After we've rebuilt it… it would be a shame not to enjoy it." The truth of the matter was privacy; even with everything said and done, the Labyrinthians avoided the bell tower like the plague. They wouldn't be bothered up here, and no one would think to look for them in the bell tower. She needed the utmost privacy to give him his gift; even after his cowardly gift-giving antics on her birthday, he was still braver than she. She would have never been able to come up with a gift after being one-upped by all their friends.

"Oh." He leaned precariously on the railing and stared blankly over the rooftops to where the sea glittered beyond, as beautiful in its icy winter state as it ever was in summer. The waves were gray-blue, choppy with the wind and reflecting the sun with every blinding swell. "Aye, 'tis very nice, but…" He rubbed the mittens over his ears, which were quickly becoming as red as his nose and cheeks. "Perhaps 'tis a better view in springtime, don't you think?"

"Yes, well… I'll make this quick then." She held out the gift with both hands, wincing at how ugly it had become. She'd worked so hard on making sure the wrapping paper was at perfect right angles, the pattern not overlapping and the corners neatly creased. Only the best would do, and she wasted nearly a third of the paper on her botched attempts. Now, thanks to her nervous, bumbling hands, it was a ruined mess anyway. "Here. H-Happy Christmas." He looked from her face to the package and back, lips parting in a silent query. "W-well?!" she snapped when he didn't move. "Aren't you going to take it?"

"For me?" He seemed taken aback, as though she were handing over a live fuse compared to an innocuous gift.

"No, for the invisible witch behind you," she grumbled, thrusting the gift forward with a small step. "Don't you want it?"

"I—I mean, of course!" He hastily took the box, holding it carefully as he continued to gawk at her. "I didn't bring yours, though; I thought—I mean, I did get you something—er, made you something—well, baked it, technically—it's better than the éclair, I swear it!" he fumbled, clearing his throat awkwardly when his stammered words trailed off into nothing.

"It's fine, I wasn't expecting anything…." She hugged herself, pretending that it was just to keep what little body heat she had left closer to her body. "I mean, I'll come by and get it on Christmas Day, I'm sure Espella will have one, and… that is… it's fine." They stood together in growing silence, avoiding the other's gaze until he turned the gift over in his hands, looking down at it with a reserved appreciation.

"May I open it?" For a split-second she thought of saying no, wait until you're home, or of course not, 'tis only a wrapped box, but found herself nodding shyly, steadily avoiding his eyes and watching him from the corner of hers. He yanked off his mittens with his teeth, stuffing them down into the pocket of his coat before running his nails under the edge of the paper and opening it in a half-messy way. He crumpled up the gift wrap, shoving it in his other pocket before opening the box with a practiced flick and pulling his gift out from the side.

"Oh, a scarf?" If one could even call it that. He put the box on the ground, holding up the garment and letting it unfurl to see it better. As he did so, she felt a hard blush, the heat barely warming her windburnt cheeks. It was a scarf—or supposed to be—but the craftsmanship was mediocre at best. She turned away from the sight, burying her face in one hand as she fought the urge to snatch it back from him.

"I know it's awful, but—I mean, I asked Jean to teach me to knit in her spare time, and she helped with the ends, but—" The knitting was too tight in places and too loose in others, creating an odd, bunched effect that wrinkled the edges and made them curl inwards. The color was nice, a dark navy that would go well with his hair, but the ends were too wide and the middle too narrow. The fringe was already starting to unravel in places, giving the ends a fuzzy appearance. It was a complete embarrassment.

"You made this?" He was still staring at it, and she didn't blame him. Now that he was holding it up to the light, she could see error after error. It was clear which stitches were Jean's neat, even handiwork and which were her own clumsy attempts to make the needles do what she wanted.

"Well, I mean—yes, I suppose I did," she admitted snappishly, mouth twisting. "Like I said, it's a—"

"'Tis soft." She glanced up to see him running the edges between his fingers in admiration. As she watched, he brought it up to rub experimentally at his cheek. "And warm, I think." Before she could answer, he wound it around his neck; there was an excess to cover half his face and both his ears, leaving his neck mostly unprotected.

"That's not how—!" She unwound it just as quickly, huffing under her breath as she looped it over his shoulders, knotting it before tucking the ends down into his lapels. "You're always running around with your coat open to the wind; you were going to catch cold and so I thought I'd just… make… you…." She stopped and swallowed hard, palms flat against his chest. "This."

"Thank you." His voice was soft; she looked up to see him watching her, cheeks pink and lips parted in a half smile, breath fogging the air between them. "For worrying about me."

"I wasn't worried," she protested quickly, blushing again and unsure as to why. "I just…" She made to move away and his hands covered hers quickly; he made a noise and picked them up, holding both of hers between his own.

"Your hands are cold," he murmured, more to himself than to her. "I made you wait up here, didn't I?"

"I wasn't waiting long." He didn't answer, chafing them between his until the heat began to seep back into her fingers. Was he technically holding her hand if he did it this way? She pulled them away after a moment, giving his scarf a few more tugs to ensure it lay as flat as possible against his sweater. At least this way, one couldn't tell that the ends were all frayed, hidden beneath his coat.

"I should at least make it up to you. You shouldn't have had to wait long enough to grow cold." He looked down at her hands, watching them smooth the lumpy scarf as best she could. "I mean… may I give you something?" She stopped her work, leaning back to look him in the face.

"I thought you said you didn't bring—" He looked away, still toying with his lip before meeting her confused stare, a nervous smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. "O-oh."

"May I?" A rush of heat ran from her feet to her head, scalp prickling and mouth falling open before she gathered her wits for an answer.

"I… I suppose." He shuffled closer, hunching down as she raised her head. Even then he hesitated, eyes darting to her mouth and away again before leaning down towards her. She swallowed nervously and saw him do the same, following the movement of his throat before closing her eyes, trying to brace herself and feeling him tense as well.

His lips brushed hers and she let out an embarrassing little meep, fingers tightening around the scarf before she forced them to lay flat again. He tried again, more insistent; his lips were cold but his mouth warm, a contrast that left her reeling. She found her body seized up, frozen as his hand cupped her jaw and eased her into a better position, easier to reach without having to break his neck leaning down.

Oh, she thought after a moment, we're kissing now. She wasn't sure what she'd expected, why she'd thought that something would be different, crazy, out-of-this-world unexpected. His kisses were like him, steady and warm and a little fierce, coaxing her out of hiding. Her fingers snuck between the scarf and his coat, fingering the raised edges of the sweater he'd worn underneath as a moan fluttered in her chest. At the sound he backed away, panting and guilty-eyed.

"Sorry," he mumbled, "Are you sure you—" She didn't bother letting him finish, rising on her tiptoes to find his lips again. His words sputtered away into a soft groan, hands grabbing first her shoulders, innocent and chaste, then her hips, before winding around to the small of her back and pulling her in. She ran her fingers up his neck, allowing herself to melt into him and losing all sense of thought as she found his hair, tangling the strands and tickling his nape.

Her pulse beat deafeningly in her ears when she pulled away, heated thoroughly from the inside out and all sense of embarrassment over her gift forgotten. He looked down at her, half-dazed and just as red hot as she felt; their eyes locked and they stared, neither one of them sure about what exactly came next. Finally she licked her lips, taking her arms from around his neck and drawing them to her chest. He was a beat slower, releasing her as if she'd burned him and backing away a step, one hand fumbling down for the box.

"Er, um… d-do you want to come with me back to the bakery?" he asked, running a hand through his disheveled hair. I did that, she noted mutely, feeling an odd pride in seeing him so messy. It was only then, one second after it became awkward, that she realized he'd asked a question.

"Oh, I can't." She cleared her throat, tugging her coat up around her ears. "I have some things I have to do—a few more jobs to finish before the holiday." She couldn't go to the bakery now; she doubted she could look at him for more than a few seconds without being as red as a tomato, and Espella would surely see something amiss. The blonde had a very strange propensity for guessing exactly what was going on between her and the former Inquisitor, whether good or bad.

"Oh, right, of course." He shoved his hands in his pockets, came up with a handful of trash and a handful of mittens; he pocketed one, slid the other on without a word. "I, uh—thank you," he stammered. "For the gift, I mean!" He glanced at her, let out a soft, frustrated breath. "Again."

"You're welcome." They both continued to stand quietly longer than necessary, he surveying the north of the city and she the south.

"I'll— I'll see you tomorrow?" She nodded twice in quick succession, offering a tight-lipped smile. He nodded as well, backing towards the stairs and offering her a wave. She waved back and he took two steps down. "Goodbye then… um… see you."

"See you." Another nod. "I hope it keeps you warm. The scarf, I mean."

"It's very warm." Another two steps, another wave. "Uh."

"Goodbye."

"Bye." He paused long enough to be strange before turning, running down the stairs without another word. She could barely feel her feet, but managed to find herself running along the landing, leaning over the iron railing to see him hop over the snow-covered grass until his feet met the wet, slushy cobblestone. He turned back, as if sensing her eyes on him, and she waved once more. He raised his hand over his head before turning, walking briskly with a jaunty little skip in his step.

She couldn't help but smile.

Afterword: This was the closest thing to Hallmark channel sap I could pull off. I died an emotional death writing this. Bury me not on the lone prairie.

A Hallmark Channel Original Movie: Barnlaw at the Bell Tower, starring Andrew Walker and Meghan Ory