He gave a soft chuckle, the sound low and warm and for a moment, it felt like the tension between us softened. Until he spoke again.
“I should tell you,” he said carefully, “your bakery isn’t the only property I’m assessing while I’m here. There are a few more under review.”
The words hit harder than I expected. My smile vanished. “Other properties?”
He nodded. “A few shops, a cottage on the edge of the village. I’m simply reviewing the estate’s assets to determine?—”
“Determine who gets to lose their livelihood next?” I cut in, my voice sharper than I meant it to be.
He looked up, startled. “That’s not?—”
“Does your big corporation just want to take away people’s lives, then?” The words tumbled out before I could stop them,low and tight. “You London folk always come up here deciding to buy the land of our people and build whatever you want on it.”
The bakery had gone quieter around us, the hum of conversation dimmed. I could feel Ivy’s eyes flicking between us from behind the counter.
Oliver set down his fork, his composure cracking just slightly. “I don’t work for a corporation, Miss Hart. I’m not here to bulldoze anyone’s home. I’m a solicitor, not a developer.”
“Same difference, isn’t it?”
His jaw tightened, and for a second, I thought I’d gone too far. But then he exhaled, slow and steady, and leaned forward slightly.
“I know how this looks,” he said quietly. “And I don’t expect you to believe me yet, but I meant what I said, I’ll try to help you. I don’t want to take anything from anyone.”
I stared at him, trying to find the lie. There wasn’t one.
The worst part was, I believed him. And that scared me even more.
I straightened, forcing my voice to stay even. “Enjoy your lunch, Mr Grant.”
Before he could answer, I turned back to the counter, my heart thudding far too fast for a conversation that shouldn’t have mattered at all.
The last of the customers had gone, and the square outside was blanketed in white. Snow still drifting in soft spirals past the window, settling on rooftops and window boxes, quieting the world. I’d swept the floors twice, more to fillthe silence than anything else. Ivy had left half an hour ago, muttering about defrosting her toes by the fire.
Now it was just me, the hum of the ovens cooling, and the whisper of snow against the glass.
I turned off the lamps one by one, the bakery shrinking into pools of soft amber light. It was peaceful, almost beautiful, but the peace sat heavy in my chest. Today had taken more out of me than I wanted to admit. The argument with Oliver kept circling in my mind. His clipped tone, my temper flaring before I could stop it. I didn’t like how easily he got under my skin.
I locked the front door and stepped outside into the chill, pulling my scarf higher. The air was sharp and clean, the kind that made every breath sting a little. My boots left crisp prints in the snow as I headed toward the side door that led upstairs to my flat.
That’s when I saw him.
A tall figure standing by the bakery window, coat dusted with snow, head slightly bowed as though deep in thought. For a heartbeat, I thought I was imagining him. Then he turned. Oliver froze when he saw me, surprise flashing across his face before softening into something almost… sheepish.
“Miss Hart,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. “I wasn’t expecting you to still be here.”
“I live here,” I said simply. “Above the shop.”
“Ah.” His breath clouded in the cold. “That explains why the lights were on.”
He hesitated, shifting his weight as if unsure whether to speak or leave. “I–wanted to apologise. For earlier.”
I raised an eyebrow. “For making me think you were here to take my home away?”
That almost earned a smile. “For upsetting you, unintentionally. You were right–I didn’t think about how my words sounded.”
His tone wasn’t defensive, though. It was quiet. Honest.
I exhaled, my breath fogging the air between us. “You don’t have to apologise, Mr Grant. You’re doing your job. I just… wish it wasn’t at my expense.”
