The truth was simple: I wasn’t selling anything. Not the bakery. Not the cottages. Not the shop fronts. Pine Hollow wasn’t a ‘profitable asset.’ It was a community. A living one.
And Brianna… Brianna was its heartbeat.
The only challenge left was figuring out how to make this decision,mydecision, stick. How to protect her bakery. How to give people security for decades to come. How to honour my grandfather properly. And somewhere under all of that… How to keep whatever fragile, beautiful thing Brianna and I had begun from slipping through my fingers.
I wasn’t ready to leave. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not until this was done right.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Finally, I finished wiping down the last table and flipping the sign toClosed, the sky had turned that into the soft, winter blue, the shade that arrives just before night. Snow drifted lazily through the quiet square, settling on rooftops and lampposts in a hush that always made Pine Hollow feel like a village caught inside a snow globe.
I stepped outside, pulling my scarf tighter against the cold, Oliver stood there waiting for me.
Hands in his coat pockets, snow dusting the dark waves of his hair, breath misting in the air. He looked nervous. Not even when he first stumbled into my bakery complaining about the cold and looking like London’s most disgruntled solicitor.
“Hey,” he said softly.
“Hi.”
He hesitated. “Would you… walk with me?”
Something in his voice tugged at me. Gentle. Hopeful. Weighted.
I nodded. “Sure.”
We set off down the main street, our footsteps muffled by the fresh snow. The Christmas lights twinkled overhead, strings ofwarm gold draped across shopfronts and rooftops, casting a soft glow on the quiet evening. Children’s laughter echoed faintly from the distant skating rink; a dog barked somewhere far off. Neither of us spoke for a while. Our arms brushed once, then again. His gloved hand hovered close enough to feel, but he didn’t reach for me, as if waiting for permission I wasn’t sure how to give.
Finally, he exhaled and said,
“I’ve been thinking all day. About you. About the bakery. About Pine Hollow. About… everything.”
My heart tightened. “And?”
He slowed. I slowed with him.
“I have a plan,” he said quietly. “A real one. One that could settle the estate, protect the properties, and ensure you don’t lose the bakery. Not just for now, for good.”
My breath caught, white in the air between us. “Oliver–”
“But…” He swallowed, eyes searching mine. “To make it work, I need to go home.”
The words hit harder than I expected.
“Oh.”
He ran a hand through his hair, scattering snowflakes to the ground. “Not because I want to leave. The opposite. I want to stay. More than I should.” He let out a shaky laugh. “More than makes sense.”
Warmth fluttered painfully inside my chest.
“Then why?—”
“Because if I stay here,” he said, stepping closer, “nothing changes. My family will push through their plans. The properties will sit in limbo. And you’ll keep living under a threat that shouldn’t be there at all.”
I looked down, snow gathering on the tips of my boots.
“And if you go…?”
“I can get the signatures I need. I can challenge the direction they’re taking with the estate. I can fix this, Brianna.” He paused. “But only if I’m in London.”
