If Simon Blacklock came back...

He had, rather ridiculously, been at the back of her mind for most of the day. She’d gone over their few minutes of banterous chit-chat and decided she needed to stop remembering every single thing he’d said. He was a stranger, for heaven’s sake, and he’d just been polite, in his own, charmingly eccentric way. The fact that he’d made her heart tumble right over was testament to the exceedingly single life she’d been living rather than any possible spark between them. She hadn’t had a date in... No, she really didn’t want to tot up the time. It had been years, at any rate. A lot of years.

With a sigh, Olivia headed back into the shop and its baking-scented warmth. This was her quietest part of the day, after her lunch rush (that was putting it rather optimistically) and before the brief pick-up in the late afternoon. Normally she used the time to crack on with a few jobs, but today that odd restlessness she’d felt last night came sneaking back.

Stupid to feel it. Stupid to let it matter. The shop was cosy and inviting, the cupcakes were pleasing to look at, and someone was warbling ‘I’m dreaming of a white Christmas’ on the radio. What was there to feel restless about?

Olivia turned up the volume on the radio and then reached for her laptop to start googling Christmas decoration ideas while keeping one eye on the front door.

At three o’clock Mallory breezed in with one of her best friends, Abby, who was Ellie’s daughter.

Olivia had heard from Ellie a bit of the drama of their relationship; Mallory had been the cool girl to Abby’s nerd but somehow between the small pond of primary school and the enormous ocean of the local comprehensive they’d found a little island of middle ground and were now practically inseparable, despite Mallory having a couple of friends (flicky-haired girls, she called them) that Abby couldn’t stand.

“You did it!” Mallory cried as she burst through the door with so much energy that the glass pane rattled and Olivia winced.

“Yes, I did. What do you think?”

“It’s fab. And those cupcakes look amazing. Can we have one each?”

“Of course,” Olivia said. “It’s the least I can do for the genius behind my inspiration.”

“We’ll pay for them,” Mallory declared as Olivia took two cakes from the window and put them on doily-lined plates. “There’s no point giving them away, is there?”

“You don’t—”

“No, we will,” Abby insisted.

“And then we’ll be eligible for the free cake at the end!” Mallory crowed.

“Ah, now I see the method to your madness.” The two girls sprawled at one of the tables while Olivia watched them affectionately. Twelve nearly thirteen—such a tricky age. She remembered it well herself; she’d been chubby, round-faced and freckly and fairly miserable, thanks to some mean girls in her year. Mallory had had a run-in with her own mean girls, and Olivia was glad she’d come out whole, if not completely unscathed.