“Does he buy a cupcake?” Ellie asked with a kindly smile, clearly trying to help her out. Olivia smiled back, a bit tightly. Her friends were lovely, and they were trying so hard, but when everyone else was talking about husbands and houses and babies, a stranger buying a cupcake in her shop just felt...sad. It wasn’t exciting. It wasn’t news.

“Yes, he does,” she finally said on a sigh.

“The important question is, is he fit?” Ava asked, her eyes narrowing in assessment. “He must be, or you wouldn’t have mentioned him.”

Fit? Olivia doubted Ava would think Simon Blacklock was fit. She was married to Jace, who oozed sex appeal and magnetic charisma from every pore. As for Simon...Olivia pictured his rangy figure, his slightly too-long hair, his colourful scarf, his glinting grey-green eyes.

“He’s...interesting,” she said at last. This was met with a chorus of enthusiastic oohs.

“And he must be interested in you,” Ellie said excitedly, “to buy a cupcake every single day.”

“It’s just because I’m running this promotion—”

“What man buys a cupcake three days running?” Harriet demanded.

“I don’t think he eats them himself,” Olivia interjected. “He said as much, really.”

“Then who does he give them to?”

“Maybe his poor, widowed mother?” Ellie suggested helpfully.

“Or a homeless person?” Alice added.

“There aren’t any homeless people in Wychwood-on-Lea,” Harriet protested, and then fell silent, looking slightly abashed. Alice had been homeless before she’d landed a job taking care of Lady Stokeley, her husband’s great-aunt, until she’d died a year ago.

“Maybe he buys them for his girlfriend or his wife,” Olivia broke into their happily-ever-after musings. “Or his adorable little child. Honestly, everyone. It isn’t like that.”

“But it must be a little like that,” Ellie persisted, “for you to have mentioned it at all.”

“I shouldn’t have—”

“There must have been a little bit of flirting,” Ava added shrewdly. “A little banter over the buttercream? Cosying up with the cupcakes?”

“Oh, honestly.” Laughing, Olivia tossed a throw pillow at her, and Ava caught it, smiling. “Maybe a tiny bit,” she allowed, and was subjected to another chorus of excited squeals. “But nothing much.”

“Do you know his name?”

For some reason Olivia didn’t want to reveal Simon’s name. He hadn’t actually introduced himself, after all. It felt a little stalkerish, to say his name when she’d got it from his debit card. “No.”

“Well, that’s your goal for tomorrow,” Harriet announced. “Learn Mystery Man’s name.”

“I’ll try.” Saturdays were a bit hit or miss; sometimes she got a boatload of walkers and day-trippers, other times the shop stayed empty all day. As for Simon Blacklock? Would he show up on a Saturday? Did he even live in Wychwood? She realised how little she knew about him; in fact she knew nothing about him except perhaps that he was a bit clumsy.

“What’s everyone doing for Christmas?” Olivia asked in a blatant bid to shift the attention from herself. “Will you all be in Willoughby Close?”