Soon, with the little kitchen in the back of the shop full of delicious, spicy smells, and Christmas carols blasting from the battered CD player in the corner, Olivia started to feel better. Her mum was probably just feeling a bit unsettled, being in a new place for Christmas.

And now that she had a little space to sort through her own thoughts, Olivia remembered that her mother protested them spending Christmas together just about every year, worried that Olivia was giving up more exciting plans to be with her mum. Maybe her protests this year hadn’t been quite as half-hearted as they had been in the past, but still. There was nothing to worry about, surely. Her mum was in a period of adjustment, just as she was. They’d both get over it soon, Olivia reassured herself. Of course they would.

She had just slid the first tray of mince pies out of the oven, admiring their perfectly baked tops, puffed and golden, when a determined tapping on the front door had her straightening in surprise. The shop was clearly closed, even though the lights were on. It was after five on a dark and wintry Sunday evening.

Still the tapping continued, and Olivia went to see who couldn’t read a closed sign.

She nearly stumbled in her step as she saw the tall, rangy figure by the door, his nose nearly pressed to the glass.

Fumbling with the lock, her heart doing its silly dance once more, Olivia opened the door.

“Sorry, am I too late? Are you closed?” Simon asked as he pushed an unruly lock of dark hair away from his forehead.

“I am closed,” Olivia admitted even though she half didn’t want to. “I was just baking mince pies for tomorrow.”

“Mince pies...” There was a note of longing in his voice that made her smile.

“Would you like to come in and have one?” Olivia asked, feeling bold, and the smile that bloomed across Simon’s face was answer enough.

“I’d love to,” he said, and stepped inside.

Chapter Four

Olivia busied herself with fetching two mince pies from the back, all the while giving herself a stern talking-to to calm down. She arranged the pies on plates decorated with lace doilies, and then scrapped the doilies as a step too far, even though she normally served them with everything.

“Here we are,” she called out cheerfully, bringing the plates to one of the tables at the front of the shop, only to stop uncertainly at the apologetic look on Simon’s face.

“I’m so sorry...but I can’t stay.”

“Oh.” Olivia willed herself not to blush as she glanced down at the two plates, her expectation so cringingly obvious. Thank heaven she hadn’t used the doilies.