Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
The hotel shower sputtered twice before it finally gave me something resembling warm water. I stood under it longer than necessary, letting the steam loosen the cold from my bones. Pine Hollow had a way of seeping into everything — my clothes, my lungs, my mood.
It wasn’t unpleasant. Just… unfamiliar.
I stepped out and wiped the mirror clear with the heel of my hand, staring at my reflection with a frown.
My hair was a mess no matter how many times I ran my fingers through it, and the faint shadows beneath my eyes told me I had not been sleeping well.
Too many late-night work calls, too many emails, and entirely too much time thinking about a certain baker who smiled like she had no right to.
I tried to find something decent to wear. Tried was the important word.
Half my suitcase consisted of work shirts and neatly pressed trousers — brilliant for boardrooms, useless for trudging through snow or attempting to ice skate.
The other half held the panic-packing my assistant Claire had shoved in at the last minute while lecturing me about “being a human on holiday for once.”
Thank God she’d insisted on the black turtleneck. I pulled it on, followed by my warmest coat. Everything else was questionable. But thank goodness for my black timberlands, they actually kept the wet socks at bay.
I glanced toward the half-empty suitcase on the bed and sighed. At this rate, I would be out of clean socks and boxers by Tuesday. Fantastic. If I truly was stranded here for a week, I’d need to find the village shop and hope it sold basics for people who’d grossly underestimated Scottish winter.
I rubbed the back of my neck, trying not to think about how ridiculous it was that I cared at all about how I looked. It was just a walk around a festival. A tour. A harmless evening. Nothing more.
I checked the time. Too early to leave. But staying here any longer made the room feel too small, too quiet. I slipped on my boots, braced myself against the cold waiting outside, and stepped out into the night.
The air hit me like a wall. Sharp, bracing, fresh.
Pine Hollow glowed beneath layers of snow and warm lights strung between rooftops.
In the distance came the faint sounds of music and laughter from the Winter Wonderland.
I told myself I was simply being punctual.
Rational. Prepared. The truth, which I did not care to examine too deeply, was that I didn’t want her to be the one waiting.
I walked toward the bakery, breath misting in the air. Snow crunched underfoot, and tiny flakes caught in my coat. And then the side door opened. Brianna stepped out, pulling her scarf into place and the cold air left my lungs entirely.
Her long hair spilled from beneath a knitted cream hat with a pom-pom, catching stray snowflakes that made it shimmer in the light. She wore a cosy white turtleneck beneath a warm camel-coloured coat that fit her perfectly, paired with thick tights and winter boots.
She looked warm. She looked soft. She looked like she belonged here, like she was a part of this place in ways I could only observe from the outside.
She spotted me and paused, her breath blooming in the cold.
“Hi,” she said, a little shyly. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”
“Oh, eh you didn’t.” My voice came out lower than intended. I straightened slightly. “You look—” I caught myself. Too forward. Too obvious. “You look ready for the cold.”
Smooth, Grant. Very smooth.
Her lips tugged into a small smile. “I’d hope so, considering I’ve lived here all my life.”
I managed a half-smile back, something settling in my chest in a way I didn’t care to inspect.
“Shall we go?” she asked, stepping toward me.
“Yes,” I said, though I wasn’t at all certain I was ready. “Lead the way, Miss Hart.”
She paused mid-step, glancing back at me with a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You can call me Brianna, you know,” she said gently. “Or… just Bri. If you want.”
Something warm flickered in my chest. “Brianna,” I repeated, letting the name settle on my tongue. “All right.”
Her smile deepened, small, shy, real, before she turned and started toward the glowing path ahead. I followed after her, and for the first time since arriving in Pine Hollow, the cold didn’t feel quite so sharp at all.
The walk wasn’t far, five, maybe ten minutes at most, but the wind nipped at our cheeks, leaving them flushed and warm beneath the cold.
Brianna tucked her scarf higher as we walked side by side along the narrow, snow-packed path that wound toward the town green.
Despite the cold, she looked… excited. And to my surprise, I was too.
“Pine Hollow looks bigger when you’re actually walking through it,” I said, glancing around at the softly lit cottages and the quiet shops with wreaths hanging on every door.
She smiled. “Most people guess we have maybe six or seven thousand residents. But we’re closer to fifteen.”
“Fifteen thousand?” I repeated, surprised.
“Fifteen thousand, eight hundred last census,” she corrected, sounding faintly proud. “Still small enough that everyone knows everyone, but big enough that we’re not cut off from the world.”
I nodded, hands in my coat pockets. “What does everyone do here?”
“A bit of everything. We have a fishing harbour about twenty minutes south–still active. And a renewable energy site near the cliffs. A lot of tourism, too, except when the weather turns like this. Then it’s mostly locals and the occasional stranded lawyer.”
I laughed quietly. “I suppose I fall into the latter category.”
“You do,” she teased. “But you’re handling it better than most.”
We walked a few more steps before I asked, almost without thinking, “What about hospitals? Doctors? With a small’ish town setting, I’d imagine you don’t have anything massive.”
Her breath fogged the air as she nodded. “We have a small hospital here — good doctors, dedicated staff. Great for everyday things: broken bones, stitches, flu, the usual emergencies.”
“And for the not-so-usual?”
She hesitated only for a moment. “If it’s life-threatening, we get helicopter support from Inverness or Aberdeen. Sometimes even Edinburgh. It’s rare, though.”
“That doesn’t bother you?” I asked quietly. “Living somewhere where you might need to be flown out for help?”
She shook her head immediately. “Not really. There’s always risk in life, Oliver. But here… the good outweighs the scary.”
I looked at her, genuinely curious. “Why? What makes you love it so much?”
She let out a small breath, almost a laugh, but her smile softened into something almost wistful.
“Everything.” She gestured around us. “Winters like this–snow-covered roofs, lights everywhere, children sledding down the old mill hill… The whole town feels like a postcard.”
We turned a corner, and she continued, her voice rich with warmth.
“In spring, the wildflowers bloom along the riverbanks. The air smells like flowers and rain. The farms bring out their baby lambs. You can hear them from my bakery window.” She laughed softly at the memory.
“In summer, everyone’s outside and we get a lot of people visiting. Hiking the cliffs, picnicking by the lighthouse, swimming if they can brave the cold water. And the Highland cows wander right up to the fence posts, waiting for tourists to take their picture.”
Her cheeks were pink from more than just the wind now.
“And autumn…” She sighed. “It’s my favourite. The forests turn gold, the air gets crisp, and the loch looks like something out of a painting. Everything slows down. People bake more. Talk more. The whole town feels warm.”
I found myself smiling as she spoke, absorbed in the way her voice softened with affection.
“I can see why your grandfather loved it here,” she added, glancing at me.
The comment hit me unexpectedly, a gentle, quiet truth. Surprising that she even remembered my mentioning of him. I swallowed the lump that formed. “I think I’m beginning to understand it myself.”
Her smile lingered, tiny and shy. We crested the small hill that led into the town green, and the Winter Wonderland opened before us like a scene pulled from a snow globe.
Golden lights draped across the sky in soft, glowing strands.
A vintage merry-go-round spun slowly in the centre, its horses painted in greens and golds, music chiming gently through the air.
Wooden stalls lined the paths, each glowing with lanterns and decorated with garlands.
And beyond it all, a large ice rink glittered beneath a canopy of lights and falling snow.
Brianna breathed in deeply, her eyes bright.
“Welcome to Pine Hollow’s Winter Wonderland,” she said.
And for the first time since arriving in this place, I was speechless at how beautiful everything looked. As I scanned the area, I noticed something, a maze made entirely of Christmas trees.
“Is that—?” I began.
Brianna grinned. “The Christmas Tree Maze. It’s tradition.”
I blinked. “A maze for children?”
“And nostalgic adults,” she corrected, her eyes dancing. “Families bring their kids through every year. Couples go in to try and get lost together. Teens use it for… drama.” She waved a hand. “It’s very serious business.”
I bit back a smile. “And we’re going through it, I assume.”
“Oh, absolutely. You don’t get to experience Pine Hollow properly unless you survive the maze.”
“Survive?”
She shrugged lightly, teasing. “Well, it is possible to go in and come out a completely different person.”
I arched a brow. “Should I be worried?”
“Probably,” she said cheerfully.
She started toward it, and I followed partly because I was curious, partly because something about the way she glowed in the fairy lights made it impossible not to.
The entrance to the maze was formed by two giant evergreens tied with a banner that read Find the Star!
and, indeed, at the very centre, a tall star-shaped lantern flickered above the treetops like a beacon.
Children darted in and out laughing, parents trailed behind them, teenagers shrieked somewhere deeper inside. Brianna’s breath misted the air as she looked back at me.
“Ready?”
“Not really,” I admitted. “But lead the way… Bri.”
Her smile softened before she stepped inside the narrow tree-lined corridor. The moment I followed her, the lights overhead dimmed slightly, giving the maze a quieter, more intimate feel. The scent of pine surrounded us. The branches brushed our shoulders as we walked.
“This is ridiculous,” I murmured but I found myself smiling. “Charming, but ridiculous.”
“That’s Pine Hollow,” she said. “Ridiculous and charming.”
We reached the first fork and she paused dramatically.
“Choose wisely.”
I glanced both ways, equally clueless. “Left.”
She smirked. “Bold.”
We turned left, only to find two toddlers building a snow fort in the dead end.
“Ah,” I said. “Expertly navigated.”
One of the toddlers giggled at us, snow on her mittens. Brianna waved at them before tugging my sleeve lightly.
“There’s no wrong way,” she said as we retraced our steps. “That’s the point.”
We headed back to the fork and instead went right. Then another. Occasionally, Brianna led confidently, other times she let me guess. Lanterns hung in branches overhead, casting a soft, amber glow that made the snow sparkle.
For a moment, it felt… peaceful. Like we were the only two people in the maze.
“This place looks magical,” I said quietly.
“It is,” she replied, slowing a little. “Even after all these years… I never get tired of it.”
I watched her as she said it, her breath curling in the air, her cheeks flushed pink, her brown eyes reflecting the lights.
She wasn’t just talking about the maze. We reached the centre a minute later, where the star lantern shone bright above us.
Children cheered when they saw it; a teenager took a victory selfie; someone’s dog barked excitedly.
But Brianna looked up at the star with a softness that tugged at something deep in my chest.
“Congratulations,” she said, brushing a stray snowflake from her coat. “You survived.”
“Barely,” I replied, though my voice came out warmer than intended. “How do we get out?”
She laughed, a soft, breathy sound that sent a faint warmth through the cold air.
“Come on,” she said, smiling and heading through a break in the trees. “We still have the carousel, the stalls… and the ice rink.”
I swallowed as I glanced toward the glittering lights draped above the ice. The rink. Where I was undoubtedly going to embarrass myself.
“Remind me again why I agreed to this?”
Her smile widened. “Because you’re stuck here… and you need cheering up.”
And before I could respond, she gently took my sleeve and tugged me toward the lights.