Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Finally, I finished wiping down the last table and flipping the sign to Closed, the sky had turned that into the soft, winter blue, the shade that arrives just before night.
Snow drifted lazily through the quiet square, settling on rooftops and lampposts in a hush that always made Pine Hollow feel like a village caught inside a snow globe.
I stepped outside, pulling my scarf tighter against the cold, Oliver stood there waiting for me.
Hands in his coat pockets, snow dusting the dark waves of his hair, breath misting in the air. He looked nervous. Not even when he first stumbled into my bakery complaining about the cold and looking like London’s most disgruntled solicitor.
“Hey,” he said softly.
“Hi.”
He hesitated. “Would you… walk with me?”
Something in his voice tugged at me. Gentle. Hopeful. Weighted.
I nodded. “Sure.”
We set off down the main street, our footsteps muffled by the fresh snow.
The Christmas lights twinkled overhead, strings of warm gold draped across shopfronts and rooftops, casting a soft glow on the quiet evening.
Children’s laughter echoed faintly from the distant skating rink; a dog barked somewhere far off.
Neither of us spoke for a while. Our arms brushed once, then again.
His gloved hand hovered close enough to feel, but he didn’t reach for me, as if waiting for permission I wasn’t sure how to give.
Finally, he exhaled and said,
“I’ve been thinking all day. About you. About the bakery. About Pine Hollow. About… everything.”
My heart tightened. “And?”
He slowed. I slowed with him.
“I have a plan,” he said quietly. “A real one. One that could settle the estate, protect the properties, and ensure you don’t lose the bakery. Not just for now, for good.”
My breath caught, white in the air between us. “Oliver–”
“But…” He swallowed, eyes searching mine. “To make it work, I need to go home.”
The words hit harder than I expected.
“Oh.”
He ran a hand through his hair, scattering snowflakes to the ground. “Not because I want to leave. The opposite. I want to stay. More than I should.” He let out a shaky laugh. “More than makes sense.”
Warmth fluttered painfully inside my chest.
“Then why—”
“Because if I stay here,” he said, stepping closer, “nothing changes. My family will push through their plans. The properties will sit in limbo. And you’ll keep living under a threat that shouldn’t be there at all.”
I looked down, snow gathering on the tips of my boots.
“And if you go…?”
“I can get the signatures I need. I can challenge the direction they’re taking with the estate. I can fix this, Brianna.” He paused. “But only if I’m in London.”
I swallowed hard. “When?”
“In two days.”
Two days. Four days before Christmas. My throat tightened painfully. He saw it. I knew he did.
“Bri,” he said, voice low with something raw, “I wish I could stay for Christmas. I wish I could spend it with you. But if I don’t leave now, I won’t be able to make things right.”
“Right for who?” My voice cracked. “For the town? Or for me?”
“For all of it,” he said without hesitation. Then softer, “For you most of all.”
The words melted something inside me I hadn’t realised was frozen.
“Brianna…” He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek, fingertips gentle in the falling snow. “I’m not walking away from what we started. I’m walking toward the thing that might protect it.”
Tears stung unexpectedly at the corners of my eyes.
“It’s just… I only just got used to you being here,” I whispered.
“And I’m coming back.” His hand cupped my cheek. “I swear to you, I’m coming back.”
A tremble ran through me, fear, longing, hope all tangled together.
“Don’t make a promise you can’t keep.”
“I won’t,” he said softly. “Not with you.”
We stood there in the snowfall, the world quiet around us, our breaths mingling in the cold. And for the first time since the letter arrived, since he arrived. I felt something fragile but real unfurl in my chest. A little bit like trust, like belief, and a mix of falling.
We kept walking, neither of us ready to go our separate ways yet.
The snow fell a little heavier now, swirling in soft, dancing flakes that melted on Oliver’s coat and caught in my hair.
The quiet stretched between us. Not uncomfortable, not unresolved, just full.
As if every step we took together held something that words weren’t quite ready to touch.
The familiar glow ahead pulled me back to the present.
Pine Hollow’s Winter Wonderland.
Lanterns flickered along the path, the gentle hum of festive music floating through the air. Even from a distance, you could hear the soft grind of the carousel turning, the giggles of children, the distant clatter of someone inevitably dropping their waffle cone.
Oliver glanced at me, one brow raised. “Back here again?”
I shrugged, the corner of my mouth lifting. “Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it the first time.”
“Debatable.”
“I will take that as a ‘you loved it’.”
He gave me that reluctant smile, the one that warmed his whole face even when he tried to hide it. “I enjoyed some of it.”
As we stepped through the entrance, the lights reflected off the snowflakes like tiny falling stars. Children darted between stalls, people wandered with steaming mugs of mulled cider, and the air carried the comforting mix of cinnamon, sugar, and winter air. My heart tugged.
“I know what we should do,” I said quietly.
He looked genuinely curious. “Lead the way.”
I took his glove-covered hand, hesitant, almost shy, and pulled him toward the carousel. He stopped dead in his tracks.
“No,” he said firmly. “Absolutely not.”
I grinned. “Afraid?”
“I’m not afraid. I’m… cautious. Those things go faster than they look.”
“It’s a merry-go-round, Oliver. Not a catapult.”
He looked at the painted wooden horses as if they were part of some deranged test of courage. “It’s spinning.”
“It’s gentle.”
“It’s… whimsical.”
“That’s the point,” I said, nudging his arm. “Come on. Live a little.”
He exhaled a long-suffering sigh, but his eyes warmed. “If I die on this thing, I’m haunting you.”
“Fine by me,” I said cheerfully. “But I know you’ll enjoy it.”
Against his better judgment, or perhaps because of it, he followed me onto the carousel platform. Before he could negotiate for a dignified carriage or bench, I pointed to a horse that was a little ridiculous: bright blue, gold saddle, carved mane flying as if galloping through snow.
“That one,” I said.
He stared. “Brianna, please.”
I climbed onto it with a grin. “If I can, you can.”
He muttered something that sounded vaguely like “unbelievable” but swung his leg over the horse beside mine. Watching a full-grown London solicitor attempt to look composed on a wooden carousel steed was… almost unfairly adorable.
When the carousel chimed and began to turn, his eyes widened. Just slightly.
“See?” I said, “Not so terrifying.”
He shook his head, the beginnings of laughter tugging at his mouth. “This is ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously fun.”
And it was. The world blurred into gold lights and winter air, the music lilting around us.
His laugh, warm, real, unguarded, slipped between us, and my chest tightened at the sound.
Just for a moment, the weight of him leaving, the uncertainty, the ache…
all of it faded. There was only this, this silly ride.
This man beside me and the fleeting feeling of happiness.
When the carousel slowed to a stop, I hopped down first, boots crunching against the snow. Oliver followed, slightly dishevelled but smiling in that way that made something inside me flutter.
Before he could step away, I pulled out my phone.
“Wait.”
He blinked. “What?”
“Come here.” I motioned him closer. “I want a photo.”
His brows rose. “Of… us?”
“Yes.” A beat. “Unless you don’t want—”
“I do.” He stepped closer. “I do.”
Our shoulders pressed together. I lifted the phone. Just as I hit the button, he angled his head the tiniest bit closer, and warmth bloomed along my cheek. The screen captured it: Snow caught in his hair, my flushed face and our smiles, soft and unfamiliar and real.
A memory. A moment. Mine to keep.
“Another,” he said quietly.
My breath hitched.
We took three more, one smiling, one laughing because he made a ridiculous face at the last second, and one where I wasn’t prepared at all, and my eyes were half-closed from laughing, but Oliver looked at me like he was memorising the shape of my joy. I saved all of them.
“I’ll print them,” I said softly. “Put them on my wall.”
He swallowed, eyes lingering on mine. “I’d like that.”
We stood there a moment longer, the snow falling gently around us, the carousel lights flickering behind us like a halo.
For a moment, it felt like the whole world paused.
Just long enough to let me hope. Just long enough to make the thought of him leaving feel unbearably close. But not yet. Not tonight.