Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
The town hall always smelled the same this time of year.
Pine garlands, old wood, dust from boxes dragged out of storage, sugary spice from whatever the baking club brought to keep everyone fuelled.
For most of my life, that scent meant excitement.
It meant Christmas was close, that the world was soft and bright and wrapped in tradition.
Today, it just made my throat tight.
As soon as the meeting wrapped, the mayor practically dragged me toward the stage with a stack of diagrams for the buffet table layout.
Ivy was already talking to the volunteers, arranging groups like she’d been born to coordinate chaos.
People filtered out in their usual post-meeting flurry: coats pulled on, gossip swirling, plans unfolding.
I stood there nodding, smiling when expected, offering input when needed.
Inside, I felt… hollow.
By the time the mayor finished chatting with me, my head ached. I slipped out the side door of the town hall, the cold air hitting me like a reminder that the world was still turning even if I felt stuck in the same December shadow I’d been fighting for years.
The snow had picked up again, dusting the stone steps and clinging to the wool of my coat. I pulled my scarf higher around my chin and started down the path.
Ivy caught up to me a minute later, her boots crunching over the snow.
“Are you okay?” she asked softly.
I kept walking. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Bri.”
Her tone made me stop.
“Come on, talk to me.”
I exhaled, long and shaky. “It’s just… this time of year.”
She nodded gently. “I know.”
My grandmother’s face flickered across my mind–her warm hands, her soft grey hair always pulled into a loose bun, her laugh that sounded like wind chimes. She used to bring me to the town hall every December, clutching my tiny hand in hers as we decorated for the Ball.
She’d hum while she hung garlands. She’d let me stand on a chair to place the star on the little practice tree.
She’d sneak me shortbread from her coat pocket like we were conspiring against the world.
Christmas was her favourite time of year, and she absolutely loved Pine Hollow.
But sadly, time caught up with her and one moment she was in the kitchen baking cookies and then the next, she was saying her goodbyes as she passed away in her sleep.
And every December since has felt… off-balance.
Like a chair with one leg shorter than the others.
I looked at Ivy. “I just feel like I’m holding my breath. Every year. Like if I move too fast, the grief will catch me and swallow me whole.”
Her expression softened. “You miss them both, I understand.”
“I miss having someone who knew me before everything changed,” I whispered. “Before Mum got sick. Before the bakery became the only thing keeping me here. Before every December felt like… a reminder.”
Ivy slid her arm through mine. “You don’t have to do this alone, you know.”
“I’m not alone,” I said, though the words felt fragile. “I have you.”
“And you have the entire town behind you,” she said firmly. “And… maybe someone else too.”
My chest tightened. “Don’t start.”
She raised her brows. “I’m not saying anything. But someone did show up at the meeting today.”
I looked away, heart stumbling. “We’re barely even friends.”
“That didn’t stop him from looking like he wanted to wrap you in a blanket and carry you out of that hall,” she muttered.
“Ivy.”
“Oh, come on,” she sighed. “You saw him. And he saw you, even if you couldn’t look at him.”
I pulled my hand away, rubbing my fingers together nervously. “Last night was… I don’t know what it was. And today–he caught me on a bad day, that’s all.”
“You’re allowed to have them.”
“Not when everything is riding on him,” I whispered before I could stop myself.
Ivy stilled. “Bri—”
“If he decides to sell the bakery…” My throat tightened painfully. “I will lose everything. My home. My livelihood. The place my family-built memories in with me. I can’t let myself get… distracted.”
“You're not,” Ivy said quietly. “You’re just enjoying yourself.”
“I can’t afford to,” I murmured.
Silence stretched between us, heavy as snowfall.
After a long moment, she squeezed my arm again. “Let’s get you home.”
We walked the rest of the way through the softly falling snow, the town glowing with fairy lights and warm windows. Pine Hollow looked beautiful, magical even, but grief has a way of softening even the brightest edges.
When we reached the door leading up to my flat. The bakery sign hung dark for the day, a reminder of all the reasons I couldn’t afford to fall apart. Memories to protect, bills to pay, a business to fight for.
A future to somehow salvage.
Ivy squeezed my arm as we reached the door. “You know, you don’t have to pretend with me.”
“I’m not pretending.” She gave me a look that unravelled that lie immediately. “Okay, maybe a bit,” I admitted.
We stepped inside my dim little entryway, the smell of cinnamon and sugar from yesterday’s baking still clinging to the walls. Ivy closed the door behind us, shutting out the chill. It felt safe here, now that my heart was swinging between panic and something softer, I didn’t want to name.
I shrugged off my coat and hung it on the hook. Ivy watched me closely.
“You know…” she said thoughtfully, leaning against the wall, “you could invite him.”
I froze mid–scarf removal. “Invite who?”
She raised her eyebrows. “You’re going to make me say it?”
“No,” I groaned. “No no no—”
“Oliver,” she declared anyway. “To the Christmas Ball.”
I dropped my scarf on the floor. “Absolutely not.”
“Why?” Her voice was light, but her eyes were anything but.
“Because!” I threw my hands in the air. “He’s here doing business. Real business. London business. And the whole town would immediately assume–”
“They already do assume,” she said bluntly.
“Ivy, don’t be so silly.”
She snorted. “Please, they were practically writing your wedding invitations in the second row today.”
I covered my face with my hands. “I cannot deal with those three running around town telling everyone some made-up story.”
“You won’t have to,” Ivy said breezily, “if you’re distracted by a handsome man in a suit.”
My heart thudded traitorously. “It’s not like that. He’s here for business, not pleasure.”
“It could be for pleasure though.” She winked at me, far too delighted with herself.
“Oh, quiet you!” I groaned, swatting her arm as she laughed.
“I’m just saying, business and pleasure are two different things,” Ivy said quietly.
I let my hands fall from my face, staring down at the floorboards as if they might magically give me an answer.
She softened her voice. “Look… I know he’s holding everything over your head right now. I know the bakery is on the line. I know this is possibly the worst time in the world to be catching feelings for anyone, let alone him.”
I winced. “I’m not catching—”
“Bri.” Just my name. Firm, knowing.
I bit my lip and looked away.
She stepped closer, bumping her shoulder lightly against mine. “He cares. You saw the way he looked at you today. And last night?” She gave me a look that was far too perceptive. “That wasn’t nothing.”
I swallowed. “I can’t risk it. Not when everything feels so… breakable.”
“You don’t have to fall head over heels,” she said gently. “Just invite him to the dance. That’s all.”
The words hovered between us, something soft, hopeful and maybe a little dangerous. Something twisted inside me, a tug of longing tangled with fear.
“I’ll… think about it,” I whispered.
Ivy’s smile turned warm and triumphant. “Good. Thinking is a start.”
The room fell quiet, wrapped in the soft glow of the kitchen lights and the steady hush of snow falling outside. We sat quietly for a few more minutes while I popped the kettle on, a nice warm cup of tea before Ivy headed on home for the night.
And as she said her goodbyes, a voice echoed from last night.
Before something happened
I closed my eyes, breath unsteady. Maybe inviting wouldn’t be as bad as I thought, it would give him a chance to get to know the locals and to understand how important my small little bakery was to everyone.