Chapter Thirteen
The snowfall had eased overnight, leaving Pine Hollow wrapped in a soft, bright stillness. Inside the bakery, the air was warm and sweet, drifting with the scent of cinnamon swirls and fresh gingerbread. The lunch rush had passed, leaving a handful of regulars lingering over their coffees and the soft murmur of festive music playing low on the radio.
I was wiping down the front counter when the bell over the door chimed again. I turned instinctively and froze for half a second before I forced my shoulders to stay relaxed.
Oliver stepped inside, stamping a bit of snow from his boots, he hadn’t noticed me. His coat was dusted white at the shoulders, and a brand-new woollen scarf wrapped snugly around his neck, deep navy crossed with white, unmistakably the Scottish flag’s colours.
Well, would you look at that?
“Hi,” he said, voice soft, almost careful as we caught each other's eyeline.
I nodded, keeping my expression neutral. “Hi.”
My gaze dropped–casual, absolutely casual–to his scarf again.
“That’s new,” I said, pretending to adjust a tray of shortbread. “Scottish colours suit you.”
His mouth twitched into the beginnings of a smile. “Do they?”
“Better than your suit jackets,” I teased lightly. “Makes you look less… lawyer from London.”
A quiet laugh escaped him, the warm kind that made my chest feel tight for reasons I wasn’t sure, I wanted to examine what it meant.
“I wanted to come by,” he said, stepping closer to the counter. “And to apologise. For not dropping in yesterday.”
“You don’t owe me an apology,” I said simply.
“No,” he agreed, “but I still wanted to explain.”
He hesitated, the kind of pause that said he was choosing his words carefully.
“I found out some things about my family,” he continued. “Things I didn’t know. I needed a little time to process it. And… shopping turned out to be the best distraction.”
I glanced at his scarf again. “Thats good to hear.”
He huffed a small laugh. “And I went back to the Winter Wonderland last night. For another one of those special hot chocolates. And also to clear my head.”
A flutter brushed faintly through my stomach, but I locked my expression down before it could show.
“Sounds like a good way to spend the day,” I said lightly.
Before he could respond, Ivy wandered out from the kitchen with a tray of mince pies, eyes immediately flicking between us. She took one look at Oliver, then at me, and her eyebrows lifted so high I nearly tripped over my own patience. I shot her a glare which she pretended not to see, humming as she set the pies out with the grace of someone who absolutely saw it.
“Come sit down,” I said to Oliver, gesturing to a table. “Lunch rush is over. I will make you a latte and grab you something to eat if you like.”
He nodded, grateful, and went to his usual spot by the window. A few minutes later, I brought over his coffee along with a bowl of the stew Ivy made that morning and fresh soda bread. Instead of heading back to the counter, I slid into the seat across from him.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
He rested his hands around the warm bowl, looking unusually thoughtful. “I didn’t expect to find anything about my family here. But I did. And it’s… strange. In a good way. But still strange.”
“I know the feeling,” I said quietly. “Moving back here… I’ve found out more about my mum than I ever knew growing up.”
His gaze lifted. “You have?”
I nodded, picking at a crumb on the table. “People tell me stories she never told me herself. Sometimes it feels like she’s still here in pieces. Little bits of her scattered around the town.”
He watched me for a long beat, something soft settling behind his eyes.