Epilogue
The Highlands looked different in spring.
Snowmelt trickled down the mountainsides, turning into ribbons of clear water that fed the pine forests.
The air was still crisp, but it carried the scent of damp earth, wildflowers, and the faintest whisper of summer on its way.
Everywhere you looked, something green was pushing through the soil, determined and bright.
I loved this season. But this year, I loved it more, because Oliver was beside me.
He stopped halfway up the trail, hands braced on his hips, breathing in the cool air. “I still don’t understand,” he said between breaths, “how you think this is a pleasant walk.”
I laughed, nudging his shoulder with mine. “Because it is pleasant. Look around.”
He did. And his expression softened instantly.
Below us, Pine Hollow stretched out in a stunning patchwork–quaint roofs catching the morning sun, the loch shimmering like glass, and the rolling hills folding into the distance like layers of painted green.
A few months ago, he had looked at the Highlands with wary confusion.
Now, he looked at them with something close to reverence.
“I suppose it’s not… terrible,” he said, but the smile tugging at his mouth betrayed him.
We continued climbing, boots crunching over soft earth and pine needles. Birds chattered in the branches overhead. Somewhere far off, a waterfall murmured over rocks.
“How’s work going?” I asked.
He glanced at me, amusement flickering in his eyes. “I believe I’m now officially the only solicitor within fifty miles who both knows corporate contract law and accepts payment in home-baked sourdough.”
“That’s because you keep giving people discounts.”
“They keep giving me baskets of food,” he countered. “I consider it a fair partnership.”
I shook my head, smiling. The people of Pine Hollow had embraced him faster than even I expected.
Mrs. Douglas had knitted him a scarf within weeks.
Mr. McAvoy had asked for legal advice about fishing rights.
The mayor had already tried twice to recruit him for council meetings.
And, slowly but surely, Oliver Grant, the man who once flinched at snow and muttered curses at country air had begun calling this place home.
He reached for my hand as we followed the trail toward the ridge.
“When you have a day off,” he said softly, “I want to take you somewhere.”
“Oh?” I raised a brow. “Planning a romantic surprise?”
“Perhaps.” His thumb brushed my knuckles. “There’s an old estate near the coast. My grandfather used to spend summers there as a child. The woman who manages the archives said there are letters… photographs… things he never spoke about.”
“Oliver, that sounds wonderful.”
He shrugged, a little shy now. “He loved this place, Bri. More than he let on. I want to know why. I want to understand the parts of him he kept here.”
Warmth spread through my chest. His grandfather’s legacy had brought him here. But finding his heart, that was something he’d done on his own.
We reached the ridge just as the sun crested over the mountains, washing the landscape in gold. A ruined Scottish castle stood in the distance, weathered stone walls, arches open to the sky, ivy crawling up ancient stones. Its silhouette was proud, steadfast, and beautiful.
“My mum brought me there once,” I said quietly. “One of her favourite places.”
Oliver slipped his arm around my waist, drawing me closer. “Then we’ll go there next.”
The wind carried the scent of spring across the ridge. Wild heather brushed against our ankles. The world was waking up again, full of hope and possibility. Just like us.
He kissed my temple. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
I smiled into his shoulder. “I’m thinking… I’m very happy.”
He let out a breath, a soft, relieved sound. “Good. So am I.”
We stood in silence for a while, breathing in the view, the mountains, the endless stretch of sky. His hand found mine again.
“You know,” he said, “if someone told me last year, I’d leave London for a village with more cows than people, I would’ve assumed they’d lost their mind.”
“And now?”
He paused, eyes drifting over the Highlands, his new home. “Now I think I'd have lost mine sooner if I hadn’t come.”
Emotion tightened my throat.
We headed back down the trail, fingers intertwined, steps in rhythm. When the town came into view again. The colourful rooftops, curling chimney smoke, the loch unfurling like a ribbon, I felt something settle peacefully inside my chest.
My life wasn’t waiting to fall apart anymore. My bakery and my home were safe and secure. And my heart was no longer carrying its weight alone.
He squeezed my hand. “Hmmm, so what’s for tea tonight then?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll bake something.”
“And I’ll try not to burn the vegetables,” he said, earning a laugh.
We walked the final stretch with ease, two paths merging, two worlds no longer separate. A future blooming like spring in the Highlands.
Together.