Hard. Breathless. Like I’d been holding those weeks of longing in my chest and they’d finally burst. His arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer as the room erupted into quiet cheers and soft gasps. When we finally pulled apart, both of us breathing unevenly, he pressed his forehead to mine.
“You got my letter?” he whispered.
I let out a shaky laugh. “I got… everything.”
His thumb brushed my cheek. “It’s yours, Brianna. The bakery. The flat. All of it. Yours always.”
My vision blurred again. “How did you–?”
“Long story,” he murmured, brushing a kiss to my temple. “But I’ll tell you every detail. I’m not leaving again.”
Not leaving. The words wrapped around my heart like warmth.
“Really? – I missed you,” I whispered.
He smiled, the soft, gentle smile that ruined me the first time I saw it. “I missed you more.”
Outside, snow floated past the window. Inside, the bakery smelled of cinnamon and home. And somehow, despite everything, the world felt whole again. Oliver held me a little tighter. I didn’t let go.
Epilogue
The Highlands looked different in spring. Snowmelt trickled down the mountainsides, turning into ribbons of clear water that fed the pine forests. The air was still crisp, but it carried the scent of damp earth, wildflowers, and the faintest whisper of summer on its way. Everywhere you looked, something green was pushing through the soil, determined and bright.
I loved this season. But this year, I loved it more, because Oliver was beside me.
He stopped halfway up the trail, hands braced on his hips, breathing in the cool air. “I still don’t understand,” he said between breaths, “how you think this is apleasantwalk.”
I laughed, nudging his shoulder with mine. “Because itispleasant. Look around.”
He did. And his expression softened instantly.
Below us, Pine Hollow stretched out in a stunning patchwork–quaint roofs catching the morning sun, the loch shimmering like glass, and the rolling hills folding into the distance like layers of painted green. A few months ago, he hadlooked at the Highlands with wary confusion. Now, he looked at them with something close to reverence.
“I suppose it’s not… terrible,” he said, but the smile tugging at his mouth betrayed him.
We continued climbing, boots crunching over soft earth and pine needles. Birds chattered in the branches overhead. Somewhere far off, a waterfall murmured over rocks.
“How’s work going?” I asked.
He glanced at me, amusement flickering in his eyes. “I believe I’m now officially the only solicitor within fifty miles who both knows corporate contract lawandaccepts payment in home-baked sourdough.”
“That’s because you keep giving people discounts.”
“They keep giving me baskets of food,” he countered. “I consider it a fair partnership.”
I shook my head, smiling. The people of Pine Hollow had embraced him faster than even I expected. Mrs. Douglas had knitted him a scarf within weeks. Mr. McAvoy had asked for legal advice about fishing rights. The mayor had already tried twice to recruit him for council meetings. And, slowly but surely, Oliver Grant, the man who once flinched at snow and muttered curses at country air had begun calling this placehome.
He reached for my hand as we followed the trail toward the ridge.
“When you have a day off,” he said softly, “I want to take you somewhere.”
“Oh?” I raised a brow. “Planning a romantic surprise?”
“Perhaps.” His thumb brushed my knuckles. “There’s an old estate near the coast. My grandfather used to spend summers there as a child. The woman who manages the archives said there are letters… photographs… things he never spoke about.”
“Oliver, that sounds wonderful.”
He shrugged, a little shy now. “He loved this place, Bri. More than he let on. I want to know why. I want to understand the parts of him he kept here.”
