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.”
“Itcouldbe 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.
