Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
The snowfall had eased overnight, leaving Pine Hollow wrapped in a soft, bright stillness.
Inside the bakery, the air was warm and sweet, drifting with the scent of cinnamon swirls and fresh gingerbread.
The lunch rush had passed, leaving a handful of regulars lingering over their coffees and the soft murmur of festive music playing low on the radio.
I was wiping down the front counter when the bell over the door chimed again. I turned instinctively and froze for half a second before I forced my shoulders to stay relaxed.
Oliver stepped inside, stamping a bit of snow from his boots, he hadn’t noticed me. His coat was dusted white at the shoulders, and a brand-new woollen scarf wrapped snugly around his neck, deep navy crossed with white, unmistakably the Scottish flag’s colours.
Well, would you look at that?
“Hi,” he said, voice soft, almost careful as we caught each other's eyeline.
I nodded, keeping my expression neutral. “Hi.”
My gaze dropped–casual, absolutely casual–to his scarf again.
“That’s new,” I said, pretending to adjust a tray of shortbread. “Scottish colours suit you.”
His mouth twitched into the beginnings of a smile. “Do they?”
“Better than your suit jackets,” I teased lightly. “Makes you look less… lawyer from London.”
A quiet laugh escaped him, the warm kind that made my chest feel tight for reasons I wasn’t sure, I wanted to examine what it meant.
“I wanted to come by,” he said, stepping closer to the counter. “And to apologise. For not dropping in yesterday.”
“You don’t owe me an apology,” I said simply.
“No,” he agreed, “but I still wanted to explain.”
He hesitated, the kind of pause that said he was choosing his words carefully.
“I found out some things about my family,” he continued. “Things I didn’t know. I needed a little time to process it. And… shopping turned out to be the best distraction.”
I glanced at his scarf again. “Thats good to hear.”
He huffed a small laugh. “And I went back to the Winter Wonderland last night. For another one of those special hot chocolates. And also to clear my head.”
A flutter brushed faintly through my stomach, but I locked my expression down before it could show.
“Sounds like a good way to spend the day,” I said lightly.
Before he could respond, Ivy wandered out from the kitchen with a tray of mince pies, eyes immediately flicking between us.
She took one look at Oliver, then at me, and her eyebrows lifted so high I nearly tripped over my own patience.
I shot her a glare which she pretended not to see, humming as she set the pies out with the grace of someone who absolutely saw it.
“Come sit down,” I said to Oliver, gesturing to a table. “Lunch rush is over. I will make you a latte and grab you something to eat if you like.”
He nodded, grateful, and went to his usual spot by the window. A few minutes later, I brought over his coffee along with a bowl of the stew Ivy made that morning and fresh soda bread. Instead of heading back to the counter, I slid into the seat across from him.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
He rested his hands around the warm bowl, looking unusually thoughtful. “I didn’t expect to find anything about my family here. But I did. And it’s… strange. In a good way. But still strange.”
“I know the feeling,” I said quietly. “Moving back here… I’ve found out more about my mum than I ever knew growing up.”
His gaze lifted. “You have?”
I nodded, picking at a crumb on the table. “People tell me stories she never told me herself. Sometimes it feels like she’s still here in pieces. Little bits of her scattered around the town.”
He watched me for a long beat, something soft settling behind his eyes.
“What… happened to her?” he asked gently. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
I kept my voice steady, even as my heart pinched. “She got sick. And she died. There’s not much more to say.”
His brow furrowed with quiet sympathy–not pity, just understanding.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly.
“Thank you,” I replied, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “But it’s okay, it was a long time ago now. Being here helps. This town… it holds her. In its own way.”
Silence settled between us then, not heavy or awkward. Ivy passed by at the worst possible moment, moving slowly and dramatically between our table and the counter like she was watching a soap opera unfold. I flicked her another glare.
She smiled as if I didn’t know what she was doing. Oliver didn’t seem to notice any of it thankfully. He was watching me, thoughtful and strangely open, like he was trying to understand something he’d never allowed himself to consider before.
“I’m glad I came today,” he said after a moment. “It’s… good to talk. To someone who understands.”
My chest tightened in a way I wasn’t ready for, but I didn’t look away.
“Yeah,” I said softly. “I’m glad you came too.”
And somewhere between the warmth of the bakery, the soft hum of Christmas music, and the way he looked at me like he was really seeing me.
We shared a moment and I wasn’t too sure what that could mean in the long run.
I let the moment sit between us a second longer before pushing gently up from my chair.
“I should get back to work,” I said, offering a soft smile. “Enjoy your lunch.”
He nodded, eyes warm. “Thank you. And… Thanks for talking.”
I dipped my head, stepping away before Ivy could materialise like a smug spectre. Returning to the kitchen felt strangely grounding. Hands busy, mind less so. I pulled trays from the oven, sliced fresh loaves, and refilled the pastry case.
Every time I popped back out to the counter, Oliver was still sitting there, eating slowly, sipping his coffee while his phone lay on the table. He wasn’t working it seemed, he was just scrolling absently, lost in thought. The scarf still draped around his neck in soft folds.
He looked… settled. Not like the man who had walked into Pine Hollow a few days ago with tension in every line of his shoulders and looking a little lost. For some reason, that softened something inside me.
About half an hour passed, most of the fridges were stocked up and I was almost done for the day. Ivy seemingly slipped out back to grab more takeaway bags and the moment she disappeared, the bell above the door chimed again.
Three elderly women stepped inside. Coats dusted with snow, knitted hats pulled low, handbags swinging at their elbows. The Pine Hollow Knitting Club. They moved in a tight formation, always whispering, always watching everything.
Mrs. Lennox, Mrs. McAvoy, and Mrs. Douglas.
I swallowed. Oh no. They were the town gossip’s and easily the biggest ones to spread news.
As they approached the counter, their gazes drifted–not subtly–to Oliver sitting at his table by the window. He was leaning back in his chair, thumb moving idly across his phone screen, steam curling from his mug, unknowing to him he was being stared at.
Mrs. Lennox nudged Mrs. McAvoy, Mrs. McAvoy looked at Mrs. Douglas. All three turned their heads in perfect synchronisation to stare at him.
Then slowly at me. Oh no no no. I just knew they were getting ready to let off a bomb.
Mrs. Douglas leaned in, voice lowered but absolutely loud enough to carry across the bakery. “Brianna dear, is that your gentleman over there?”
My spine snapped straighter. “He is not my, he’s just a customer.”
“Mmh.” Mrs. McAvoy pursed her lips. “Funny. That’s not what Moira MacLeary said. She told us she saw you two at Winter Wonderland the other night. Said you looked awful cosy.”
Cosy? COSY?
“Mrs MacLeary likes to exaggerate things, we were ice skating,” I said firmly. Too firmly. “And I almost fell.”
Mrs. Lennox arched a snowy-white brow. “It looked more like you almost fell into his arms.”
I opened my mouth, closed it, fought the urge to sink behind the counter.
“Ladies,” I said politely, “would you like your usual order?”
“Oh yes,” Mrs. Douglas said, waving a gloved hand. “But we can chat and order at the same time, dear.”
Excellent, exactly what I wanted. A multitasking interrogation.
I pulled out three empty plates, lining them up. “He’s just here to work on property paperwork for his grandfather. That’s all.”
Mrs. McAvoy leaned closer, eyes sparkling with trouble. “Aye, but he’s been in here every day, hasn’t he?”
“He likes soup,” I said weakly. “Everyone likes soup.”
Mrs. Lennox sniffed delicately. “Honestly, Brianna, you should just tell us you’ve taken a liking to the lad. No shame in it. He’s very handsome.”
I nearly dropped a scone.
“He’s… fine.”
Mrs. Douglas let out a delighted laugh. “Fine? FINE? Oh, I know that tone. That’s the ‘I don’t want to talk about it, but I absolutely have feelings’ tone.”
“I don’t– he’s not–” I pressed my lips together. “He’s just a customer. That’s it.”
“Mmhm,” Mrs. McAvoy murmured. “And I’m the Queen of Sheba.”
They moved along the counter with smug little smiles while I packaged their pastries, each of them continuing to glance over their shoulders at Oliver.
Mrs. McAvoy gave one last pointed look at Oliver as she reached for her purse. “A bonnie lad like that, Brianna… I’m just saying.”
I opened my mouth to protest again, but before I could utter a single syllable, a voice came from behind them, steady, polite, and unmistakably amused.
“Excuse me,” Oliver said gently. “I don’t mean to interrupt…”
All three women turned at once, as I stared. He was suddenly right there at the counter, his expression was perfectly courteous, but his eyes–oh, they were warm. Almost playful.
“…but I wanted to check if Brianna and I were still on for later this evening?”
My brain emptied itself in a single heartbeat. Later this evening? What? I stared at him, heat blooming up my neck. He held my gaze with a small, teasing curve of his mouth–just enough for me to understand what he was doing. Rescuing me from the gossip and maybe enjoying it a little too much.
“Oh—umm…” I managed, cheeks burning. “Yes. Of course. We’re still on. Can’t wait.”
His smile deepened, slow and infuriatingly charming. “Excellent, I will see you tonight then.”
The ladies’ mouths dropped open in delighted unison. Mrs. Douglas pressed a hand to her chest, Mrs. Lennox made a sound like she’d just won the lottery and Mrs. McAvoy nudged the others so hard they nearly toppled like dominoes.
Oliver slid his card across the counter to pay for his meal, his expression the picture of polite innocence.
“Thank you, Brianna,” he said softly.
Then, with a courteous nod toward the trio, he added, “Ladies,” warm, smooth, and impossibly graceful and turned toward the door.
The bell chimed as he stepped outside into the snowfall, silence. Then,
“Oh, Brianna…” Mrs. Douglas whispered dramatically, fanning herself with her receipt. “You didn’t tell us it was like that.”
I made a strangled sound. “It’s not– He’s–We’re not–!”
“It’s all right, dear,” Mrs. Lennox said, gathering her pastries with a triumphant smile. “Your secret’s safe with us.”
“It absolutely is not!” I called after them.
The bell chimed again as they shuffled out, whispering excitedly the entire way down the street. I pressed both hands to the counter, trying to breathe and a moment later, Ivy barged through the kitchen door, holding a stack of boxes.
“All right,” she said. “What did I miss?”
I stared at her, utterly helpless. She blinked, then her eyes widened like she’d walked into a scent trail of pure gossip.
“Oh no, what happened?”
And that was exactly when everything felt as if it were falling apart.