Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
We stepped out of the maze and straight into a wall of warm, delicious smells, melting chocolate, spiced whisky, butter sizzling on hot plates, grilled bockwurst wrapped in soft buns. The Christmas market buzzed with life, lights glowing in the drifting snow like tiny golden stars.
Oliver paused beside me, taking it all in at once and for a second, I forgot to breathe.
His cheeks were a little pink from the cold, his hair damp with snowflakes, and that black turtleneck and warm coat made him look both completely out of place and strangely…
right here. His expression wasn’t tight or guarded like when he first arrived.
His features had softened, eyes wide with curiosity, mouth parting just slightly as he absorbed the sounds and scents.
Something inside me shifted, gently, unexpectedly.
“Oh wow,” he murmured. “This is… incredible.”
I’d seen this market a thousand times but hearing him say it and hearing something like wonder in his voice made my chest warm in a way I wasn’t prepared for. We walked toward the row of stalls, and as we passed, a few townsfolk called out:
“Evenin’, Brianna!”
“Bri! Save me a mince pie for tomorrow!”
“Your mum would’ve loved this year’s lights, sweetheart.”
Each greeting tugged at me in that tender, bittersweet way Pine Hollow always did.
But then something else happened. People noticed him.
Some slowed down subtly. Elderly neighbours gave that unmistakable look of ohhhh, so this is the London man.
A few teens whispered as we passed. Mrs. MacLeary, who’d known me since I was in nappies, lifted her eyebrows in a way that practically shouted “Well, well.”
I felt heat creep up my neck. Oliver didn’t seem to realise the attention was directed at him.
Or at us. He was too busy staring, eyes bright, at a stall selling crêpes dusted with powdered sugar.
The soft glow of lanterns lit his face, and suddenly I saw him not as the man giving me bad news in my bakery…
but someone who was trying, truly trying, to understand this place.
Someone open. Someone kind. Someone I hadn’t expected.
“Hungry?” he asked gently, his voice drawing me back.
I blinked, realising I’d been looking at him far too long. “Indeed!”
His laughter warmed the cold air, and I felt that little shift again, a soft flutter low in my stomach.
As we moved through the crowd, I caught a few more knowing glances, especially from the older folk.
They were subtle but sharp, the kind of looks people give when they’re already writing their own version of events.
I ignored them as best I could, but even I felt the hum of awareness around us.
Oliver nudged my arm slightly, nodding toward a chocolate stall. “Should we?”
“Sounds great,” I said, trying to steady my voice.
We stepped up to the counter, and while he ordered two hot chocolates, with whisky, of course, I couldn’t stop myself from watching him. The way he carefully read the chalkboard menu, brow furrowing.
The way he softened when the vendor joked with him and the way he handed me the steaming mug, fingers brushing mine, warm, intentional enough to send a tiny spark racing across my skin.
Not enough to mean anything. But enough to notice.
We stepped aside, sipping our drinks while the carousel chimed softly nearby, painted horses rising and falling in golden circles.
“This is… surprisingly good,” he said.
I bumped his shoulder playfully. “That’s the dram talking.”
He looked down at me then, really looked, blue eyes soft and warm beneath the lights.
And the flutter in my chest turned into something I didn’t have a name for yet.
I tore my gaze away, pretending to focus on a stall selling knitted hats and tartan scarves.
But I was suddenly, acutely aware of him beside me.
His height, his warmth and the way the turtleneck framed his jaw and made him look–
No. Absolutely not. I was not going down that road.
He was leaving as soon as the weather allowed.
This was harmless. Just a walk, a simple showing him my town.
But as the snow drifted softly around us and the lights reflected in his eyes, I knew–deep down–something had shifted, whether I wanted it to or not. And the night wasn’t even over yet.
We walked a little further, weaving between bundled-up families and couples holding steaming drinks, until the carousel came into full view.
Glowing gold beneath the falling snow, each painted horse rising and dipping in time with the soft chiming music.
Oliver slowed beside me, his gaze fixing on it with an expression somewhere between surprise and something gentler.
“I haven’t been on one of these since I was a kid,” he said, almost under his breath.
The way he said it, quietly, like it was a memory he hadn’t touched in a long time made something in my chest tighten.
“They’re different when you’re older,” I teased lightly. “Less magical, more dizzying.”
He huffed a small laugh. “Somehow that sounds accurate.”
We stepped closer. A few children rushed past us, scarves flying, parents calling after them as they scrambled toward the horses. The snow made everything soft and hazy, and the lights of the ride reflected in Oliver’s eyes like fragments of gold.
I glanced at him. “Surely you went to London’s Winter Wonderland? That one’s massive. Like… too massive. And loud. And expensive.”
He gave me a look. “Do I strike you as someone who willingly walks into crowds of thousands?”
“Fair point.”
“Besides,” he added, his voice dipping lower, “I was always working. December was court filings, meetings, end-of-year deadlines. Winter Wonderland was something I passed on the Tube ads, then forgot existed.”
I studied him for a moment, the firm, confident posture he carried, the way he seemed surprised by his own admission. Oliver Grant, corporate lawyer, avoiding holidays because work had swallowed his life. Something about that made my heart ache a little.
“Well,” I said softly, “you’re here now.”
He seemed to consider that. Really consider it. His eyes drifted to the spinning carousel once more.
“I suppose I am,” he murmured.
The wind curled around us, carrying the scent of powdered sugar and warm pastry. A horse passed close to our side of the fence, its gold-leaf saddle shimmering under the lights.
“You should try it,” I said, nudging him with my shoulder.
“Me?”
“Yes, you,” I insisted with a grin. “You said you haven’t been since childhood. Maybe it’s time.”
He looked at the carousel again, jaw tightening in a way that meant he was trying not to smile. “I hardly think I blend in with the eight-year-olds.”
“You blend better than you think,” I said before I could stop myself.
His head snapped slightly toward me. And oh. The way he looked at me, warm and surprised and slightly teasing, made every nerve in my body flare awake.
I quickly cleared my throat. “I mean–it’s nostalgic. That’s all.”
“Mmm,” he said, eyes lingering a second too long. “Nostalgic.”
I took a sip of my hot chocolate to distract myself, nearly burning my tongue. Then a group of teens pushed past us, laughing as they scrambled onto the carousel, and one of them shouted,
“Oi, Bri! You bringin’ the London lad on for a ride or what?”
My eyes went wide. “Ignore them–”
But Oliver was already laughing. Properly laughing head tipped slightly down, shoulders shaking.
“I think that counts as a public invitation,” he said.
I groaned. “They’re pests. Don’t listen to anything they say.”
“I’m tempted,” he admitted, eyes bright. “Though maybe not tonight.”
I blinked. “Why?”
His expression softened. “Because I have a feeling the rink is going to be the highlight. And I’d prefer not to be dizzy before I embarrass myself on the ice.”
Heat bloomed under my cheeks. He seemed lighter, and in the golden light of the carousel, surrounded by laughter and snow, I saw him differently again, not as the man who brought me bad news…but the man who was smiling at me like tonight was something more than just harmless.
“Come on,” I said, tugging his sleeve. “The rink’s this way.”
He followed, close enough that I felt the warmth of him even in the freezing air and the snowflakes kept falling, soft and steady, like the night was holding its breath.
We left the carousel behind, stepping back into the flow of the market.
The music faded into a warm hum beneath the chatter of families and the clinking of mugs.
Lights twinkled overhead like low stars, and snow drifted around us in soft spirals.
Oliver walked beside me, close enough that our arms brushed now and then. Each accidental touch sent a tiny spark through my stomach, the kind I tried very hard to ignore.
We followed the crowd toward the far end of the green, where a canopy of warm white lights stretched over the ice rink like a glowing net.
The music shifted into something soft and orchestral as skaters circled around, some graceful, some clinging to the sides for dear life or holding hands with their partners trying to stand up straight.
Oliver stopped just at the edge of the clearing.
“Oh,” he murmured.
His breath curled in the cold air as he looked out at the rink, eyes widening slightly.
Under the lights, his expression softened again, not the polite, professional version of him…
but something unguarded. I watched him without meaning to.
And for a moment, I saw him the way the town must see us, two people standing close, snow in our hair, lights reflecting in our eyes.
The thought made my heart stutter.
“It’s beautiful,” he said finally.
“It is,” I replied, though I wasn’t entirely sure I was talking about the rink anymore.
He turned to me then, and the lights above us caught in his eyes, making them glimmer silvery blue. Warmth spread through my cheeks. I hoped he blamed it on the cold.
“Shall we?” I asked, gesturing toward the icy chaos ahead.
He looked at the skaters clinging to the railings and let out a low, resigned laugh. “If I fall, you’re responsible.”
“I’m used to catching falling pastries,” I teased. “Humans can’t be that different.”
He gave me a look, a soft, half-smile that tugged at something deep in my chest. Something new and slightly dangerous. I brushed it off as just the atmosphere that was making me feel this way.
“This’ll be entertaining,” I added quickly, trying to break the moment before it grew too heavy. “Come on. Before you lose your nerve.”
We stepped closer to the entrance of the rink, where a teenager handed out dull rental skates and offered a boring warning about slippery spots.
Oliver hesitated only a second before giving in, tugging off his boots.
I slipped into mine with practiced ease, years of winter festivals had trained me well, but when I stood up, my knees wobbled just slightly.
Nerves. Unwanted and unexpected. He stood too, balancing less elegantly than I had expected for someone so composed. I bit my lip to hide a smile.
“You ready?” I asked.
He looked at me and something warm flickered behind his eyes, soft enough to make my breath catch.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he said, voice low with a hint of nervous humour.
My heart fluttered at the sound, a gentle, traitorous flip I wasn’t expecting.
Heat crept into my cheeks, and I prayed the cold would hide it.
I stepped out onto the ice first, trying to look confident even though my pulse was tapping a frantic rhythm.
Behind me, Oliver followed slowly, cautiously, and I felt every inch of the space between us hum with something I didn’t want to name yet.
I swallowed, forcing myself to breathe, to focus on the ice, not the way my nerves danced just knowing he was right behind me.