“Good,” he murmured. “I… look forward to it.”
He opened the door and cold air rushed in.
“Goodnight, Brianna.”
“Goodnight, Oliver.”
When the door closed, I leaned back against it, the lock clicking under my thumb as though it might hold the chaos inside me in place. My heart pounded painfully against my ribs, my hands trembled, and my breath came in uneven waves I couldn’t steady. Because even though we’d both saidbefore something happened… something already had.
Something soft, perhaps even dangerous. Something warm enough to frighten me in a way storms and uncertainty never had. I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to quiet the flutter beneath my palm, but it only made the truth sharper. I would be foolish to let this continue.
Completely and utterly foolish.
The fate of my bakery–my home, my mother’s legacy–hung like a blade above my head. Every breath I took, every step I made, every thought of the future… it all depended on him. On Oliver Grant. On whatever decision he made in the coming days.
And no matter how kind he was… no matter how gently he looked at me…no matter how close we’d come on that sofa, with fairy lights glowing behind him and something unspoken filling the air…
He was still the man holding the paperwork that could take everything from me. He was still the one who could call this entire life temporary with a single signature.
He wasn’t supposed to be safe. Or comforting. Or warm. Or funny. Or heartbreakingly human under all that London polish. He wasn’t supposed to feel like something I wanted to reach for.
We were supposed to stay where we belonged,acquaintances, nothing more. But as I sat there in the quiet of my flat, my pulse racing, my lips tingling with the memory of how close he had been…I knew that line was already blurring. And I wasn’t sure I had the strength or the heart to draw it back again.
Chapter Sixteen
The next morning, the snow had settled into a steady curtain outside the hotel windows, soft enough to be pretty, heavy enough to make the streets quieter than usual. I closed my laptop after half an hour of pretending to read the same contract clause and finally gave up the charade. My brain wasn’t on work. It hadn’t been since last night.
By now, I knew roughly when Brianna would have the lunch rush starting. Warm bread, soup, her moving between tables, flour on her apron, just thinking about it made something in my chest loosen. It felt… safe there. Familiar, even.
I pulled on my coat and new scarf, nodded a vague goodbye to the receptionist, and stepped out into the cold.
The walk to the square had become second nature in less than a week. Past the bookshop with its crooked sign, the florist tucking evergreen branches into baskets, the post office with its perpetually fogged windows. Pine Hollow felt strangely lived-in already, like a pair of boots I hadn’t realised were my size.
The bakery came into view, warm light glowing behind frosted glass. And then my stomach dropped.
The front was dark. No customers. No movement inside. A small handwritten sign was taped to the door.
Closed today — Back tomorrow
- B
I stared at it longer than I should have.
Closed. She didn't mention anything last night, perhaps she had forgotten? A flicker of unease stirred. Was she ill? Had something happened after last night? Had I… mis-stepped somehow? I blew out a breath, watching it cloud in the cold air, and turned back toward the street, debating whether to be sensible and leave it alone.
On the way, I passed two members of the hotel staff walking with takeaway coffees and chattering in that relaxed-small-town way that always sounded like everyone knew everything.
“You headin’ up to the hall?” one asked the other.
“Aye, wouldn’t miss it. Last planning meet before the Christmas Ball. The whole town’ll be there.”
I slowed my step.
“Will Bri be there?” I asked, trying to sound casual.
They both looked over, recognising me from the hotel.
“The baker?” one clarified with a smile. “Aye, she’s helpin’ with the food for the Ball. Town hall’s just up the road if you’re lookin’ for her.”
