We walked a few more steps before I asked, almost without thinking, “What about hospitals? Doctors? With a small’ish town setting, I’d imagine you don’t have anything massive.”
Her breath fogged the air as she nodded. “We have a small hospital here — good doctors, dedicated staff. Great for everyday things: broken bones, stitches, flu, the usual emergencies.”
“And for the not-so-usual?”
She hesitated only for a moment. “If it’s life-threatening, we get helicopter support from Inverness or Aberdeen. Sometimes even Edinburgh. It’s rare, though.”
“That doesn’t bother you?” I asked quietly. “Living somewhere where you might need to be flown out for help?”
She shook her head immediately. “Not really. There’s always risk in life, Oliver. But here… the good outweighs the scary.”
I looked at her, genuinely curious. “Why? What makes you love it so much?”
She let out a small breath, almost a laugh, but her smile softened into something almost wistful.
“Everything.” She gestured around us. “Winters like this–snow-covered roofs, lights everywhere, children sledding down the old mill hill… The whole town feels like a postcard.”
We turned a corner, and she continued, her voice rich with warmth.
“In spring, the wildflowers bloom along the riverbanks. The air smells like flowers and rain. The farms bring out their baby lambs. You can hear them from my bakery window.” She laughed softly at the memory.
“In summer, everyone’s outside and we get a lot of people visiting. Hiking the cliffs, picnicking by the lighthouse, swimming if they can brave the cold water. And the Highland cows wander right up to the fence posts, waiting for tourists to take their picture.”
Her cheeks were pink from more than just the wind now.
“And autumn…” She sighed. “It’s my favourite. The forests turn gold, the air gets crisp, and the loch looks like something out of a painting. Everything slows down. People bake more. Talk more. The whole town feels warm.”
I found myself smiling as she spoke, absorbed in the way her voice softened with affection.
“I can see why your grandfather loved it here,” she added, glancing at me.
The comment hit me unexpectedly, a gentle, quiet truth. Surprising that she even remembered my mentioning of him. I swallowed the lump that formed. “I think I’m beginning to understand it myself.”
Her smile lingered, tiny and shy. We crested the small hill that led into the town green, and the Winter Wonderland opened before us like a scene pulled from a snow globe.
Golden lights draped across the sky in soft, glowing strands. A vintage merry-go-round spun slowly in the centre, its horses painted in greens and golds, music chiming gently through the air. Wooden stalls lined the paths, each glowing with lanterns and decorated with garlands. And beyond it all, a large ice rink glittered beneath a canopy of lights and falling snow.
Brianna breathed in deeply, her eyes bright.
“Welcome to Pine Hollow’s Winter Wonderland,” she said.
And for the first time since arriving in this place, I was speechless at how beautiful everything looked. As I scanned the area, I noticed something, a maze made entirely of Christmas trees.
“Is that—?” I began.
Brianna grinned. “The Christmas Tree Maze. It’s tradition.”
I blinked. “A maze for children?”
“And nostalgic adults,” she corrected, her eyes dancing. “Families bring their kids through every year. Couples go in to try and get lost together. Teens use it for… drama.” She waved a hand. “It’s very serious business.”
I bit back a smile. “And we’re going through it, I assume.”
“Oh, absolutely. You don’t get to experience Pine Hollow properly unless you survive the maze.”
“Survive?”
She shrugged lightly, teasing. “Well, itispossible to go in and come out a completely different person.”
