Chapter 6
Chapter Six
The snow had eased by morning, leaving the village washed in pale sunlight and silence.
Pine Hollow looked almost unreal in the light.
Rooftops glittering white, smoke curling lazily from chimneys, the faint scent of bread and frost in the air.
I loaded my briefcase and small luggage into the back seat of the rental car, brushing snow from the bonnet with my sleeve.
The cold bit through my gloves and caught at the back of my neck.
It should have felt like relief, I’d seen the last of the properties that morning, made notes, filled reports, ticked every box. My job here was finished. But I couldn’t quite shake the quiet unease that had followed me since last night.
The conversation outside the bakery lingered in my mind: the warmth in Brianna’s voice when she spoke about her mother, the fire when she warned me that the town would fight for her. I hadn’t been able to forget the way she’d said it, not with arrogance, but conviction.
Visiting the other holdings across Pine Hollow this morning was slightly bittersweet.
A small cottage on the hill with its elderly couple, a workshop of a carpenter, two shops along the high street and of course, Brianna’s bakery.
Each one carried the same story: family businesses, quiet lives, history written into the walls.
My grandfather had invested here because he’d loved this place, and I understood that now.
Selling them off like lines on a ledger felt wrong.
I’d already made a mental note to ask his estate why these places needed to be sold.
When I stopped by the bakery before leaving, Brianna was outside shovelling the path of snow. Her hair was loose, bright against the dull sky, and her cheeks were flushed from the cold. She looked up when she heard my footsteps crunch on the snow.
“Heard you’re done here,” she said, her tone careful but not unkind.
“Ah it's true what they say about small towns then, word spreads quickly.” I replied. “I’ve seen the other properties, spoken to the tenants. I’ll do my best to make a resolution that keeps everyone safe where they are. I don’t want anyone losing their homes or businesses if it can be helped.”
She studied me for a moment, her breath misting in the air. “You’ll do your best?”
“I will,” I said, meaning it.
“Good,” she replied softly. “Because I’ll hold you to that, Mr Grant.”
A faint smile tugged at my mouth. “I don’t doubt it.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, it was full, almost comfortable. A rare kind of quiet that didn’t need to be broken.
“Well,” I said finally, adjusting my coat. “I should get going if I want to make it back to Inverness before dark.”
She nodded, glancing past me toward the horizon where the clouds were already gathering again. “Safe travels, I heard the snow is going to come down heavily later tonight.”
“Thank you,” I said. “And Brianna—”
She blinked, surprised by the use of her name.
“I’ll be in touch soon,” I added. “Promise.”
She didn’t reply at once, but the smallest smile curved her lips. “I hope you keep your promises.”
As I turned to leave, I couldn’t help glancing back once, she’d already gone inside, the bell above the bakery door chiming softly. I told myself it was just good manners that made me look back. I wasn’t sure I believed it.
The drive out of Pine Hollow was quiet, the roads narrow and still half-buried under snow.
The radio couldn’t find a signal, and my phone had long since given up trying.
I’d been driving for about two hours, the mountains flattening into open countryside, when the first warning light blinked onto the dashboard.
“Don’t you dare,” I muttered under my breath.
The car juddered once, then again and again. The steering wheel vibrated under my hands. A bright orange Engine Management Light glowed to life, followed by an unhelpful ping that felt almost smug.
“Oh, for god's sake.” I muttered.
Pulling over onto the verge, the tyres crunching over ice. The wind had picked up, scattering fine powder across the bonnet. I turned the key several times and listened to the engine cough, then fell into a sullen silence. No longer able to start.
I leaned back in the seat, staring at the ceiling. “Brilliant, Oliver. Just brilliant you are going to freeze to death in a car, in the middle of the Scottish highlands!”
There was no signal on my phone. Of course, there wasn’t.
I dared to get out but as the snow fell harder, I knew I’d be buried alive in the car.
So, I got out, my shoes sinking into the snow, and surveyed the empty road.
White stretched in every direction. A few skeletal trees. No traffic. No sound but the wind.
After a few minutes walking, perhaps I’d find an old telephone box and when I didn’t, I accepted defeat. I’d have to wait for the next passing car or, more realistically, walk back toward the last turnoff and hope someone there had a phone line.
After what felt like a good hour, a pair of headlights appeared through the snow, cutting a hazy path down the road. Relief flooded me when I saw the bulky outline of an old truck crawling toward me. The driver slowed, leaned out the window, and grinned through the swirl of flakes.
“Ah saw yer motor up the road there! Died on ye, did it?”
His voice was thick with a Highland accent–warm, rolling, and about seventy percent decipherable.
“Something like that,” I called back, trying to match his volume over the wind. “Would you happen to be heading toward Pine Hollow?”
He laughed, a big, booming sound. “Aye, every road leads tae Pine Hollow when the snow hits. Hop in, pal. Ye look half frozen.”
I climbed in, brushing snow from my coat. The cab smelled faintly of oil and pine. The heater was blasting, thank God.
“Appreciate the rescue,” I said, fastening the seat belt.
“Nae bother... Ye're the third one the day. This weather’s murder on the wee cars. Should’ve got yersel’ a four-wheel drive, ken?”
“I’m beginning to realise that” I muttered.
He chuckled, turning the wheel with thick-gloved hands. “What ye want me tae do wi’ the car then? Can’t leave it sittin’ there, else she’ll vanish under the snow by mornin’.”
I blinked, parsing his words. “What will happen to it?”
“Ah’ll send ma mate Tam oot wi’ the tow. He’ll bring her back tae the garage in the square. Might take a bit, though, roads’re gettin’ rough.”
“Tam,” I repeated, nodding as though I knew who that was. “Right. That would be… wonderful. Thank you.”
He gave a broad grin. “No’ a problem, pal. Welcome tae Highland hospitality. Though, if ye’re wantin’ tae get anywhere quick this week, ye’ve picked the wrong part o’ Scotland.”
I laughed under my breath, staring out at the white blur of road ahead. “So, I’ve gathered.”
As we rumbled back toward Pine Hollow, the absurdity of it hit me like a slow, ridiculous revelation.
Less than two hours ago, I’d been shaking snow from my coat and promising Brianna I’d be in touch — dignified, composed, entirely in control.
Now I was slumped in the passenger seat of my rescuer, being chauffeured back into her village like a lost tourist who’d annoyed the weather gods.
Through the blur of snow on the windscreen, the square slowly came into view. Golden lights twinkling through the haze, smoke curling from chimneys, the faint familiar glow of town cutting through the white.
The driver gave a low whistle. “Blizzard warnin’s just come through on the radio,” he said, his accent thick as the snow outside. “Flights oot o’ Inverness’re grounded, maybe a week or mair. Ye picked a fine time tae visit, pal.”
I stared out at the lights, the warmth of the bakery glimmering like a memory. A quiet breath left me, not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh.
“I sure did,” I murmured, half to myself. “Wouldn’t want to make a clean getaway.”
He chuckled, elbowing the wheel lightly. “Aye, Highland weather’s got a wicked sense o’ humour. But ye’ll be looked after. Folk here don’t let strangers freeze.”
“I’m beginning to see that,” I said softly, my breath fogging the window.
The driver grinned, eyes still on the road. “Besides, ye don’t look like ye’re in a rush tae leave. There's worse places taw get stuck, ye ken?”
I didn’t answer. Because he was right. Against all logic, against every instinct telling me to run back to the safety of London and structure and control, I wasn’t really sure I wanted to leave, not yet at least.
As we rolled back into Pine Hollow, the snow had turned thick and lazy, blanketing the square in white. The truck’s headlights caught the shimmer of frost on every window, and I could already see the faint golden glow of The Honeycomb Hearth ahead.
Brianna was outside, helping an older man load boxes into the boot of his car.
She glanced up at the sound of the approaching truck, her scarf pulled snug against the cold.
When our eyes met, she froze mid-motion, a flicker of disbelief crossing her face.
Even through the haze of falling snow, I could see the faint, incredulous smile tugging at her mouth.
“Well, you did say you’d be in touch,” she called, voice carrying easily across the square.
I climbed down from the truck, brushing snow off my coat. “What can I say? I already missed your Christmas pie.”
Her laughter came light and real this time, threading through the crisp air. “Looks like Pine Hollow isn’t letting you go just yet.”
The driver–Dougie, if I’d caught his name right–tipped his cap and grinned. “Garage’ll take yer wee car in the mornin’, lad. Roads’re shakin’ somethin’ fierce, an’ the blizzard’s comin’ down fast. Ye’re better stayin’ put.”
I nodded, grateful and freezing. “Thank you for the rescue.”
He barked out a laugh. “Aye, I’ll send ma mate Tam for yer motor dinna fash. Keep warm now!”
As the truck rumbled off, the square fell quiet again, just the faint whistle of wind between the buildings.
Brianna shifted her weight, still smiling faintly. “Well, I did say the snow was going to get worse.”
“Yes, you did,” I said, exhaling a breath that hung in the air between us. “Apparently all flights from Inverness are grounded for at least a week. So, it seems I’m stranded.”
“Welcome to winter in the Highlands,” she said, her tone dry but not unkind.
“I should’ve known the weather would hold me accountable for my promises,” I muttered.
Her eyes sparkled. “You might be the first Londoner I’ve met who can admit that.”
She turned toward the bakery door, hesitated, then looked back at me. “You should come in for a warm drink while you ring your hotel. They might still have a room spare–though if the roads close, you might be better off sleeping in the bakery.”
I raised a brow. “That an invitation?”
“Hardly,” she said, though her smile gave her away. “But I’m not letting you freeze out here.”
The bell above the bakery door chimed softly as she pushed it open, a rush of warm air and sugar-sweet scent spilling out into the cold. I followed her inside, brushing snow from my shoulders, the warmth seeping instantly into my skin.
The shop was half-darkened, the lights low, and the air still smelled faintly of spice and orange peel. She moved behind the counter with easy familiarity, filling two mugs from a pot that steamed gently.
“I’d offer something stronger, but all I’ve got is cocoa,” she said, sliding one toward me.
“Hot chocolate is perfect,” I said, wrapping my hands around the mug. My fingers were still numb, but the heat bled into them, slow and steady.
For a while, we didn’t speak. The snow tapped softly against the window. The only sound was the faint hiss of the dishwasher and the hum of the radio.
Finally, I said, “This is… not quite how I imagined leaving.”
She glanced up at me, her expression softer now. “Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”
I smiled faintly. “You think the universe decided I needed humbling?”
“I think Pine Hollow decided you needed hot chocolate.”
That startled a laugh out of me. And for a moment, sitting there with her in the warm glow of the bakery while the storm gathered outside, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a very long time.