The bell chimed again as they shuffled out, whispering excitedly the entire way down the street. I pressed both hands to the counter, trying to breathe and a moment later, Ivy barged through the kitchen door, holding a stack of boxes.
“All right,” she said. “What did I miss?”
I stared at her, utterly helpless. She blinked, then her eyes widened like she’d walked into a scent trail of pure gossip.
“Oh no, what happened?”
And that was exactly when everything felt as if it were falling apart.
Chapter Fourteen
When I eventually reached the bakery’s side door, night had settled over Pine Hollow in a soft blue hush. Snow drifted lazily under the lamplight, catching in my hair and coat as I pressed the buzzer beside the door that led up to Brianna’s flat. For a moment, all I heard was the faint crackle of the lamp behind me and the muffled hum of the wind.
Then her voice crackled through the speaker–warm, slightly breathless.
“Hello?”
“Hi,” I said. “It’s Oliver. I just… wasn’t sure if our plans for this evening were still… a thing.”
There was a pause long enough for my stomach to tighten. Then she said something I was not expecting.
“Come up,” she said. “You might as well. I’m already the talk of the town, so I might as well give them something to gossip about.”
I laughed quietly, not expecting the way relief washed through me. “Right. Be right up.”
The door clicked, and I climbed the narrow stairs, shaking loose some of the snow. By the time I reached the landing, my pulse had settled into something steady. Warm. Anticipatory.
She opened the door before I knocked.
And suddenly everything softened.
Her flat glowed. That was the first thing I noticed. The scent that hit me the second I stepped in, the same quiet sweetness of vanilla, cinnamon, and pine. Like the bakery, but deeper, more personal.
“Sorry for the mess,” she said, though nothing about the space resembled a mess.
“It’s…” I shook my head, taking it all in. “This is really cosy.”
She closed the door behind me, and the moment she did, the flat felt smaller. Not in a bad way, just… closer.
“It’s home,” she said softly.
My gaze drifted along the wall by the entrance, and stopped completely.
Photographs. Dozens of them. Clipped to strings of fairy lights, framed neatly in clusters, little memories captured forever.
Brianna as a teenager on a windswept cliffside, hair in a messy braid.
Brianna in a chef’s jacket, covered in flour and laughing.
Brianna with her mother–tired smile, bright eyes, warmth in every inch of the woman’s face.
Her at graduation, cheeks flushed with pride.
Travel photos–Ireland, Edinburgh, Paris, Bali and more exotic places.
Candid moments in her kitchen.
The bakery’s re-opening day.
