“Right,” I said. “Thank you.”
I could have gone back to the hotel. I could have let it go. Instead, I found my feet already carrying me in the direction they’d pointed, toward the heart of Pine Hollow. The town hall sat slightly elevated above the square, a solid old stone building with broad steps and tall windows wreathed in evergreen garlands. Banners half-painted with festive lettering leanedagainst the walls. A pine wreath hung over the door, looped with tartan ribbon.
Inside, the air was warm and buzzing. Folding chairs had been set up in messy rows; fairy lights trailed along the walls; a giant paper banner that read‘PINE HOLLOW CHRISTMAS BALL’lay across a long table, surrounded by pots of paint and brushes. At least fifty people were gathered. Shop owners, families, teenagers, older couples.
And, near the front, next to Ivy, sat Brianna. She had her arms folded loosely, fingers tapping lightly against her sleeve. She looked tired, more than she had last night. No apron, no flour on her cheeks this time, just a simple jumper and jeans. Her hair was pulled back, a few strands falling loose around her face.
For a second, I just watched her. The way she listened without really listening. The way her eyes seemed somewhere else. Then she glanced back and then saw me. Her expression flickered. Surprise first. Then something unreadable. Her gaze held mine for a moment… and then slid away. The stitch in my chest tightened.
Before I could move closer, the mayor, a round man with a shock of white hair and a red woollen jumper with snowflakes knitted into it, clapped his hands at the front.
“All richt, aw richt, let’s get started, folks!” he called, voice booming through the hall. “Thank ye aw for comin’. We’re only a few days oot now, sae we’ll run through the details one more time, for thae who’ve just draggit themselves away from their shops an telly.”
Soft laughter rippled through the crowd. I found a spot along the side wall, leaning back against the cool plaster, trying not to feel like too much of an outsider. A murmur floated through the chairs nearby.
“Is that him?”
“The London one?”
“Aye, that’ll be the Grant lad. Hm.”
I didn’t need to look to know who was whispering.
The knitting club trio occupied the second row like royalty, needles tucked away in their bags for the moment, hands folded neatly over their laps. They all glanced back at me at once. Mrs Campbell gave me a little wave, and I inclined my head politely.
They turned back, but I could feel the words they weren’t saying tangling in the air.
The mayor went on, gesturing animatedly as he spoke and I hard time understanding what he was saying due to his accent. “Sae! As aye, the christmas ball will be held richt here in our beloved town hall. This Saturday, doors open at seven. We’ll have the band—thank ye, Calum, for ropin yer nephews into that, buffet tables lined along the walls, the tree in the centre will be lit at eight sharp.”
A rumble of agreement and excitement. He flipped a page on his clipboard. “Decoratin’ starts tomorrow afternoon. We’ll neit volunteers tae strin the lichts, hang the garlands, an somebody tae help irene wi the table layouts–”
Hands went up. People shouted offers. It was all wonderfully chaotic.
“An o course,” the mayor added, his grin widening, “We couldn’t dae this without our own Miss Hart, who has kindly agreed to bake the christmas cake for the buffet.”
A low murmur of appreciation swept the hall. A few people even clapped. Brianna lifted her chin slightly at the sound, lips twitching into a small smile she tried to keep contained. She didn’t bask in it, but I could tell, even from a distance, that it meant something to her.
“That cake’s the highlight every year,” someone said behind me.
“Aye, her mum’d be proud,” another voice added quietly.
That hit harder than I expected. The meeting went on–discussing music, themes, even a “Best Festive Outfit” competition that the knitting club seemed deeply invested in. I caught maybe half of it. The rest of my attention kept circling back to Brianna.
To the crease between her brows when she thought no one was looking, to how she kept rubbing her thumb over the seam of her jeans, like she was trying to ground herself. An hour later, the mayor wrapped things up with a flourish and a call for volunteers to help haul boxes out of the storage room later that day. People began to stand, chatter swelling as chairs scraped the floor.
I slipped along the side aisle toward the exit, timing it so I reached the doorway just as Brianna and Ivy did.
“Brianna,” I said.
She stopped, turning halfway, the strap of her bag slipping a little on her shoulder. Up close, the tiredness was more obvious–a faint smudge under her eyes, a paleness that had nothing to do with the cold.
“Oh,” she said. “Hi.”
“I went by the bakery this afternoon,” I said. “It was closed. I… was worried.”
Her expression flickered guilt, maybe, or something like it. Then she shook her head lightly. “Sorry. I forgot to mention it yesterday. Town business. They needed help with Ball planning.”
I nodded, though it didn’t explain the look I’d seen on her face during the meeting. “You all right?”