I swallowed hard. “When?”
“In two days.”
Two days. Four days before Christmas. My throat tightened painfully. He saw it. I knew he did.
“Bri,” he said, voice low with something raw, “I wish I could stay for Christmas. I wish I could spend it with you. But if I don’t leave now, I won’t be able to make things right.”
“Right for who?” My voice cracked. “For the town? Or for me?”
“For all of it,” he said without hesitation. Then softer, “For you most of all.”
The words melted something inside me I hadn’t realised was frozen.
“Brianna…” He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek, fingertips gentle in the falling snow. “I’m not walking away from what we started. I’m walking toward the thing that might protect it.”
Tears stung unexpectedly at the corners of my eyes.
“It’s just… I only just got used to you being here,” I whispered.
“And I’m coming back.” His hand cupped my cheek. “I swear to you, I’m coming back.”
A tremble ran through me, fear, longing, hope all tangled together.
“Don’t make a promise you can’t keep.”
“I won’t,” he said softly. “Not with you.”
We stood there in the snowfall, the world quiet around us, our breaths mingling in the cold. And for the first time since the letter arrived, since he arrived. I felt something fragile but realunfurl in my chest. A little bit like trust, like belief, and a mix of falling.
We kept walking, neither of us ready to go our separate ways yet. The snow fell a little heavier now, swirling in soft, dancing flakes that melted on Oliver’s coat and caught in my hair. The quiet stretched between us. Not uncomfortable, not unresolved, just full. As if every step we took together held something that words weren’t quite ready to touch.
The familiar glow ahead pulled me back to the present.
Pine Hollow’s Winter Wonderland.
Lanterns flickered along the path, the gentle hum of festive music floating through the air. Even from a distance, you could hear the soft grind of the carousel turning, the giggles of children, the distant clatter of someone inevitably dropping their waffle cone.
Oliver glanced at me, one brow raised. “Back here again?”
I shrugged, the corner of my mouth lifting. “Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it the first time.”
“Debatable.”
“I will take that as a ‘you loved it’.”
He gave me that reluctant smile, the one that warmed his whole face even when he tried to hide it. “I enjoyed some of it.”
As we stepped through the entrance, the lights reflected off the snowflakes like tiny falling stars. Children darted between stalls, people wandered with steaming mugs of mulled cider, and the air carried the comforting mix of cinnamon, sugar, and winter air. My heart tugged.
“I know what we should do,” I said quietly.
He looked genuinely curious. “Lead the way.”
I took his glove-covered hand, hesitant, almost shy, and pulled him toward the carousel. He stopped dead in his tracks.
“No,” he said firmly. “Absolutely not.”
I grinned. “Afraid?”
