“Careful,” she warned. “They’re still quite hot.”
I took a seat on the sofa as she set the mugs down. When she joined me, sitting just close enough that our knees nearly brushed, the cushion dipped toward her weight, and I felt the pull of her presence like gravity shifting.
She tucked a leg beneath herself, curled comfortably into her side of the couch, and for a moment all I could do was look at her, cheeks warm from the stove, hair a little tousled, eyes catching the glow of the fairy lights.
The room felt impossibly soft. Safe, even.
I reached for my mug. “You’re sure you're not still upset about earlier?”
She shook her head. “Upset? Course not, just embarrassed, maybe. They’re very good at what they do.”
“I wasn’t sure they’d leave you alone unless I stepped in.”
“Their interrogation skills are good,” she corrected. “Honestly, half the police force could learn a thing or two from the Pine Hollow knitting club.”
A laugh escaped me, low, real. “That’s exactly what it seemed like to me.”
“Oh, trust me,” she added, wrapping her hands around her mug. “They’re going to multiply their story before breakfast tomorrow.”
I feigned dread. “Should I prepare myself?”
“Probably.” A teasing smirk curved her lips. “By morning, we’ll be married with twins.”
I nearly choked on my first sip. And she laughed–really laughed–the sound so bright and warm it landed in my chest and stayed there.
I studied her from the corner of my eye, unable not to. “They all seem to adore you though.”
She shrugged, staring into her mug. “I grew up here. They watched me run around the bakery as a kid. Helped my mum when she got sick. They’re nosy, stubborn… but they care.” Her gaze flickered up, softer now. “And they’re protective. Very protective.”
“Of you?” I asked.
She nodded.
“Good,” I said before I could stop myself.
She blinked. “Good?”
“Someone should be,” I whispered.
Her breath caught–small, sharp, but unmistakably there. Her eyes briefly flicked to my mouth before she looked back into her cocoa, cheeks warming under the fairy lights.
The moment held, stretched, softened. Then she took another sip, hiding a shy smile behind the mug. And I realised something as the warmth spread through me, from the whisky, yes, but also from her: This wasn’t nothing, not anymore. Whatever this was, whatever this was becoming I wasn’t sure I could pretend I didn’t feel it.
Not tonight. Not here. Not sitting beside her in a room full of memories and gentle light.
Chapter Fifteen
For a moment, the room felt impossibly still. His words, soft, direct, unexpected, struck something deep in my chest. And when I looked up, his eyes weren’t teasing or casual. They were earnest.
My breath caught. I wasn’t used to someone saying things like that. Not about me.
I curled my fingers around my mug, as if it might steady the sudden tremor in my hands. The warmth didn’t help. Nothing could, when Oliver was looking at me like that. Before I could think of a response, he cleared his throat lightly and glanced down at his hands.
“I found out more about my grandparents yesterday,” he said, his voice gentler, as though sharing a piece of himself he rarely touched.
My heart slowed, then softened. “What did you find out?”
He hesitated, just long enough for me to sense the weight of whatever he was about to say.