“My grandmother…” He exhaled. “She was from here. From Pine Hollow.”
“Oh.” My voice slipped out small, surprised. “Oliver, I… I didn’t know.”
“Neither did I.” His eyes lifted, tired and vulnerable. “The woman who cleans the hotel, she was my grandmother’s best friend. She said she recognised me the moment I walked in. Said I looked like him.”
“Your grandfather,” I murmured.
He nodded. “Apparently he spent every summer here, until he met her and convinced her to follow him to London.” There was pain in his smile. Nostalgia too. “No one ever told me that.”
My chest tightened for him, for the boy who’d grown up never knowing this part of his history, never knowing the place his grandmother called home.
“It must feel strange,” I whispered. “Finding all that out now.”
“It does,” he admitted. “But… It also makes sense why he wanted me to come here and why he insisted I handle everything personally.”
I swallowed, nodding. “He wanted you to see this place. To know where she came from and in a way, to know part of your Scottish history.”
He didn’t speak, but the look in his eyes said I was right. I wanted to reach out to him then, to comfort him. But he beat me to it. His hand brushed mine first. Accidental, maybe? It was warm, careful even. My breath hitched again and I didn’t pull away.
“Small towns hold onto pieces of people,” I said softly, unable to look anywhere but at him. “Even when life pulls them somewhere else.”
He studied me with a softness I wasn’t prepared for. “Is that how it was for you?”
I nodded. “If I hadn’t gone to London when I did… I might have never left. But going made me realise how big the world is. How much I wanted to learn and see.”
His thumb brushed my knuckles, the smallest touch, but it sent heat spiraling up my arm.
“And your mum?” he asked quietly.
The ache returned, but lighter this time, easier to hold. “She always told me to see the world. To try. To taste everything. To live. But when she got sick, I came home. And after she passed…” My voice thinned. “I found myself unable to leave.”
He didn’t say anything at first. Just lifted our joined hands slightly, as if anchoring me.
“You’re allowed more than one dream,” he murmured. “More than one home.”
My heartbeat stuttered, because no one had ever said that to me. Not in a way that felt true. I’d settled on the idea I would be here for the rest of my life, even if I still craved adventures.
The silence between us grew then, warm and electric. His gaze dipped to my mouth and my pulse answered instantly. I leaned the tiniest bit forward, just enough to feel the pull, the question, the possibility hanging between us.
And then it hit me, sharp and sudden: If I kissed him now, everything would change.
I drew in a tiny breath and pulled back barely, but enough for the moment to break. Oliver blinked, as though waking from the same spell. He cleared his throat, letting go of my hand slowly, reluctantly.
“I should go,” he said quietly, voice low and rough. “Before… something happens.”
My cheeks burned. “Right. Yes. Probably… smart.”
We both stood, awkward and breathless and pretending we weren’t. He stepped toward the door and I followed, still feeling the imprint of his hand on mine.
“Thank you,” he said softly. “For tonight.”
“Anytime,” I whispered.
He gave me a small, crooked smile, the kind that made my stomach flip.
“So… I’ll see you tomorrow. At lunch?”
I nodded. “You will.”