Mrs. McAvoy tapped my coat. “Ask her quickly though. She’ll say yes, we’re sure of it.”
“How can you–”
“We know everyone,” they said in unison.
Of course they did.
Mrs. Douglas squeezed my arm once more. “Don’t overthink it, dear. Just ask the lass.”
Then they swept off into the snow, leaving me standing on the hotel steps with their words echoing in my head.Ask her. It shouldn’t have been a complicated decision. It was just a town Christmas party. A town tradition. An evening of food and music and festive chaos.
But it felt like more. Like a line I wasn’t sure either of us should cross. Still… When I closed my eyes, I saw her last night, cheeks flushed from the cold, hands wrapped around a mug of hot chocolate, grief hidden behind the soft edges of her smile.
She deserved light. She deserved something joyful. Maybe I could give her that, even if just for one night.
The snow had stopped sometime before dawn, and I had not slept a wink. The only sound as I crossed the square toward the bakery was the soft crunch of my boots and the distant chime of church bells marking half past nine.
Warm light glowed behind the bakery windows, gentle, golden and familiar. The sight hit me harder than I expected. I’d seemingly missed it, maybe I missed her a little bit. Before I could second-guess myself, I lifted my hand and knocked.
For a moment, nothing. Then soft footsteps, The lock clicked and the door cracked open.
“We’re not open until– Oh Oliver,” she said, peeking out.
Her hair was pulled into a loose braid, a few strands escaping around her face. A dusting of flour smudged her cheek, and her jumper sleeves were pushed up her arms, revealing flour-dappled wrists. She looked warm and bright and… startled, but she didn’t seem unhappy to see me.
“Is it… too early?” I asked, suddenly aware I’d walked here without a single rational thought.
“No, no, it’s fine.” She opened the door wider. “I was just prepping pastries for the day.”
The bakery smelled like cinnamon, butter, and something citrusy. Music played softly from a little speaker near the counter, an old Christmas song, her humming quietly under it.
She wiped her hands on her apron, nerves flickering across her face. “What brings you by?”
I swallowed. “I wanted to ask you something.”
Her brows lifted, almost imperceptibly. “Funny… I was going to ask you something too.”
My heartbeat stumbled.
“Oh?”
She nodded, her fingers twisting slightly in her apron tie, a gesture I was beginning to recognise as a sign she was trying to steady herself.
“I was going to ask…” She exhaled, looking anywhere but directly at me for a moment. “If you’d maybe like to… go to the Christmas Ball with me.”
The words tumbled out soft and shy, but honest and something warm and sharp hit me square in the chest.
“You were going to ask me?” I repeated, unable to suppress the stunned smile pulling at my mouth.
She finally lifted her gaze, wide, vulnerable, hopeful. “Yeah. I mean… only if you want to. No pressure. It’s just a town thing, really. I figured you should experience the full Pine Hollow Christmas while you’re stuck here.”
Stuck here. Funny how that didn’t feel like a curse anymore. I stepped closer without meaning to, drawn by that quiet bravery in her expression.
“Well,” I said gently, “I came here to ask you the exact same thing.”
Her breath hitched and her cheeks slightly blushed.
“You did?” she whispered.
