Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
If anyone had told me a week ago that I would be standing on an ice rink in the Scottish Highlands, holding onto my balance and my sanity purely because a small-town baker smiled at me, I would have asked what they were drinking.
Yet here I was. Skates biting into the ice, cold wind stinging my nose, and my heart doing a strange, unsteady flutter in my chest every time Brianna glanced back at me.
She pushed off the ice gracefully, gliding forward with an ease that made her scarf trail behind her like a ribbon. Snowflakes glittered in her hair, catching the light in a way that made her look almost unreal, like something carved out of winter itself.
God. She looked beautiful.
I swallowed hard, trying not to let the thought linger too long. I hadn’t used that word for anyone in years. My life had never left room for romance. Not after university, not after the long nights at the firm, not after every December disappeared under paperwork and end-of-year filings.
Relationships had felt… irrelevant. Unnecessary. A distraction. Even Grandfather used to tease me for it.
“Oliver, my boy, if you bury yourself in work forever, you’ll wake up at sixty and only recognise your secretary.”
At the time, I’d laughed. Now… I wasn’t so sure. Especially now as I watched Brianna glide across the ice, her cheeks flushed pink, her breath fogging softly in the air. Everything about her seemed to tug at something inside me, something I’d kept dormant for years without even realising it.
She looked back over her shoulder, smiling at me. And there it was again. That flutter. Low, warm, unwelcome… and impossible to ignore. I stepped forward. Terrible idea and my legs wobbled immediately.
“Careful!” she called out with a laugh.
“I am being careful,” I muttered under my breath, trying desperately to keep my dignity intact.
She slowed her glide until she was beside me, skating backwards with a confidence that would have been irritating if it weren’t so captivating.
“Relax,” she said softly. “You’re too tense.”
Probably because every cell in my body was acutely aware of her proximity. I tried to do as she said, bending my knees slightly and promptly slid an inch too far, her laughter bubbled out again, warm and bright.
“See?” she teased. “Not so bad.”
“I am moments away from disaster,” I said. “You’re just being polite.”
“You’re doing better than Mr. Mackenzie last year,” she said. “He took out a whole row of children.”
Confidence wasn’t the right word for her, comfortable, maybe. Open in ways I’d forgotten people could be. I steadied myself, watching the way she skated, the way she enjoyed this place down to her bones. And a sudden thought hit me, unexpected and sharp:
No wonder Grandfather loved her town so much.
No wonder he left this place specifically to me.
Only me.
I’d brushed it off before, assuming sentimentality or stubbornness. But now…Watching Brianna laugh under glowing lights, feeling something ache deep in my chest. I wondered if he’d known exactly what he was doing.
She skated backwards again, teasing me almost.
“You’re better than you thought.”
I opened my mouth to answer and that was when her skate clipped a shallow rut in the ice. It was tiny. Barely noticeable, but it was enough and her foot slid sideways. Her arms flew out as her eyes widened in a flash of panic.
“Brianna—”
Without thinking, without a single conscious thought, I lunged forward, hands shooting out in front of me and I caught her around the waist. Her body collided with mine as her skates slid helplessly forward and instinct kicked in.
I pulled her upright, turning slightly so her fall redirected into my chest instead of the hard ice and for a moment, her whole weight was in my arms.
We skidded to a stop and her fingers locked onto my arms. My hands locked around her waist. Her breath mingled with mine in the cold air.
And everything else, the lights, the music, the laughter blended away into something quiet and electric.
Her eyes lifted to mine, wide and startled, flecked with warm green gold under the lights.
“Got you,” I breathed.
Her lips parted, just slightly. Not in fear, in surprise, Maybe something else, something that twisted low in my stomach. I felt her heartbeat, quick, fluttery, through the layers of her coat and for a moment, the world held still.
“I—” she whispered, voice barely a sound.
My grip tightened a fraction. Not enough to frighten her, just enough to steady her, enough to steady myself. God, what was happening to me? I pulled in a breath, trying to break the spell before I did something foolish.
“You okay?” I asked softly, keeping my arms firmly around her until I felt her steady.
She nodded, too quickly.
“Y-yes. Just… wasn’t looking where I was going.”
“That much was obvious,” I murmured before I could stop myself.
Her blush deepened. Her blush bloomed instantly, warm and bright.
“I didn’t ask you to catch me.” She muttered, her eyes lowering from my gaze.
“And let you fall?” The words came out soft.
She blinked up at me and something unspoken hung in the cold air between us.
A spark. A shift.
“Thank you,” she whispered. Barely audible.
“Anytime.” And I meant it. Far more than I should.
For a moment, she didn’t move. Neither did I.
The lights glowed golden above us. Snow drifted softly around us, and the world felt impossibly, terrifyingly small, reduced to the space between her breath and mine.
I forced myself to ease my hands from her waist, slow, steady, careful as if letting go too quickly might break something delicate. Then she exhaled shakily and stepped back, putting a safe distance between us.
“Okay,” she said, clearing her throat. “Let… let’s try that again.”
“Yes,” I said. My voice didn’t sound like my own. “Let’s.”
But even as we began to skate again, carefully, awkwardly, side by side I couldn’t shake the feeling that suddenly came over me as I watched her closely. All I knew was this:
I didn’t want the night to end.
We skated for a few more minutes, carefully, quietly, but something had changed. Not in a bad way. Just… in a way I didn’t know how to name.
Brianna kept a small, polite smile on her face, but every so often her eyes flicked toward me and darted away just as quickly. Her movements were slower now, more deliberate, as if she was trying to keep her balance in more ways than one.
And me? I couldn’t stop replaying the moment her body hit mine. The way she’d clung to my coat. The soft, startled sound she’d made when I caught her. The feel of her, her warmth in my arms. God, I was in trouble.
She finally drifted toward the edge of the rink.
“We should probably… call it a night,” she said, breath puffing in soft white clouds. “The snow’s picking up.”
It wasn’t heavy. Not dangerous. But I understood what she meant.
The night had reached that point where staying any longer meant acknowledging what almost happened between us. And neither of us was ready for that.
I nodded. “Yeah. Good idea.”
We made our way to the benches, unlaced our skates in a silence that felt more charged than awkward. Every time her sleeve brushed mine, a small spark skittered through my chest.
When we slipped our boots back on, she stood and smoothed her coat.
She cleared her throat, offering a small, polite smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Well… that was eventful.”
“Yeah,” I said, trying to keep my tone light even though my pulse hadn’t fully settled. “It sure was.”
Her cheeks flushed a soft pink. “I can walk you back—”
“I’ll walk you back,” I cut in gently, before she could finish. “It’s late. And freezing. And… it just makes sense.”
Her eyes flicked up to mine at that, brief, soft, shy before she looked away again, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as if the movement might hide the colour rising in her cheeks.
“All right,” she murmured. Quiet, almost relieved.
And for reasons I didn’t want to examine too closely, the simple moment warmed something in me more than the whisky hot chocolate ever could.
We walked together through the softly falling snow, leaving the glow of the festival behind us.
The crowd thinned, the music faded, and the night grew quieter but not uncomfortably so.
Every few steps, our arms brushed. Every time they did, something warm fluttered through me.
Brianna didn’t talk much, and neither did I. But the silence wasn’t empty, it felt… steady. Full of everything we weren’t saying.
The closer we came to the square, the more the lights softened into a warm haze, reflecting off the snow-dusted rooftops.
Pine Hollow looked peaceful at night, almost impossibly so and for a strange moment, I understood why my grandfather loved this place.
We reached the bakery, and she turned toward me, brushing a few snowflakes from her hair.
“Well,” she said quietly, that gentle, uncertain smile returning, “thanks for walking me back.”
“Of course,” I replied. There was no universe where I would’ve let her walk alone tonight.
She hesitated, just a breath then added, “Goodnight, Oliver.”
“Goodnight, Brianna.” Too soft, too much. But I couldn’t help it.
She gave a small nod and slipped toward her door, boots crunching softly on the path. Snow fell around her like scattered starlight, catching in her hair, her scarf, the wool of her coat.
I stood there longer than I should have, watching until she disappeared inside and the light behind her door dimmed. Only then did I exhale, a slow breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding, watching as the light upstairs flicked on and only then turning to head back to my hotel.