I climbed in, brushing snow from my coat. The cab smelled faintly of oil and pine. The heater was blasting, thank God.
“Appreciate the rescue,” I said, fastening the seat belt.
“Nae bother... Ye're the third one the day. This weather’s murder on the wee cars. Should’ve got yersel’ a four-wheel drive, ken?”
“I’m beginning to realise that” I muttered.
He chuckled, turning the wheel with thick-gloved hands. “What ye want me tae do wi’ the car then? Can’t leave it sittin’ there, else she’ll vanish under the snow by mornin’.”
I blinked, parsing his words. “What will happen to it?”
“Ah’ll send ma mate Tam oot wi’ the tow. He’ll bring her back tae the garage in the square. Might take a bit, though, roads’re gettin’ rough.”
“Tam,” I repeated, nodding as though I knew who that was. “Right. That would be… wonderful. Thank you.”
He gave a broad grin. “No’ a problem, pal. Welcome tae Highland hospitality. Though, if ye’re wantin’ tae get anywhere quick this week, ye’ve picked the wrong part o’ Scotland.”
I laughed under my breath, staring out at the white blur of road ahead. “So, I’ve gathered.”
As we rumbled back toward Pine Hollow, the absurdity of it hit me like a slow, ridiculous revelation. Less than two hours ago, I’d been shaking snow from my coat and promising Brianna I’d be in touch — dignified, composed, entirely in control. Now I was slumped in the passenger seat of my rescuer, being chauffeured back into her village like a lost tourist who’d annoyed the weather gods.
Through the blur of snow on the windscreen, the square slowly came into view. Golden lights twinkling through the haze, smoke curling from chimneys, the faint familiar glow of town cutting through the white.
The driver gave a low whistle. “Blizzard warnin’s just come through on the radio,” he said, his accent thick as the snow outside. “Flights oot o’ Inverness’re grounded, maybe a week or mair. Ye picked a fine time tae visit, pal.”
I stared out at the lights, the warmth of the bakery glimmering like a memory. A quiet breath left me, not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh.
“I sure did,” I murmured, half to myself. “Wouldn’t want to make a clean getaway.”
He chuckled, elbowing the wheel lightly. “Aye, Highland weather’s got a wicked sense o’ humour. But ye’ll be looked after. Folk here don’t let strangers freeze.”
“I’m beginning to see that,” I said softly, my breath fogging the window.
The driver grinned, eyes still on the road. “Besides, ye don’t look like ye’re in a rush tae leave. There's worse places taw get stuck, ye ken?”
I didn’t answer. Because he was right. Against all logic, against every instinct telling me to run back to the safety of London and structure and control, I wasn’t really sure I wanted to leave, not yet at least.
As we rolled back into Pine Hollow, the snow had turned thick and lazy, blanketing the square in white. The truck’s headlights caught the shimmer of frost on every window, and I could already see the faint golden glow ofThe Honeycomb Hearthahead.
Brianna was outside, helping an older man load boxes into the boot of his car. She glanced up at the sound of the approaching truck, her scarf pulled snug against the cold. When our eyes met, she froze mid-motion, a flicker of disbelief crossing her face. Even through the haze of falling snow, I could see the faint, incredulous smile tugging at her mouth.
“Well, you did say you’d be in touch,” she called, voice carrying easily across the square.
I climbed down from the truck, brushing snow off my coat. “What can I say? I already missed your Christmas pie.”
Her laughter came light and real this time, threading through the crisp air. “Looks like Pine Hollow isn’t letting you go just yet.”
The driver–Dougie, if I’d caught his name right–tipped his cap and grinned. “Garage’ll take yer wee car in the mornin’, lad. Roads’re shakin’ somethin’ fierce, an’ the blizzard’s comin’ down fast. Ye’re better stayin’ put.”
I nodded, grateful and freezing. “Thank you for the rescue.”
He barked out a laugh. “Aye, I’ll send ma mate Tam for yer motor dinna fash. Keep warm now!”
As the truck rumbled off, the square fell quiet again, just the faint whistle of wind between the buildings.
Brianna shifted her weight, still smiling faintly. “Well, I did say the snow was going to get worse.”
“Yes, you did,” I said, exhaling a breath that hung in the air between us. “Apparently all flights from Inverness are grounded for at least a week. So, it seems I’m stranded.”