“I should have said,” Simon continued. “I’m an absolute oaf—but you know that already, don’t you? From when I nearly knocked your Victoria sponge over—”

“And the lemon drizzle.” Olivia did her best to sound wry as she fetched a paper napkin and wrapped the mince pie up in it before thrusting it towards him “Here you are, then. Enjoy.”

“How much...?”

She waved him away, half wanting him gone. Actually, all wanting him gone. She felt so stupid, so obvious, hoping that he’d sit down with her and have a chat. Clearly he just wanted her baked goods. “It’s on the house.”

“No—”

“Really.” Her voice came out sounding the tiniest bit hard, and she tried to soften it with a smile.

He stared at her for a moment, his paper-wrapped pie in his hand, a look of regret on his face, etched deep into the lines running from his nose to his mouth. “The reason I have to run off,” he said at last, “is because I’m playing in an Advent carol concert at the parish church in half an hour. You...you don’t fancy coming, do you?”

“Coming...” Olivia repeated blankly, too shocked to process what he was saying, and now Simon was the one who was blushing.

“Sorry, I should have introduced myself first, shouldn’t I?” He stuck out a hand. “Simon Blacklock.”

“Olivia James.” She took his hand, his fingers tightening on hers, his palm warm and dry. She noticed he had calluses on the fingers of his left hand, and she wondered what instrument he played.

“So.” Simon withdrew his hand, smiling. “Concert. Starting at six, if you fancy it. Mince pies and mulled wine after, but I’m sure yours are better.” His smile was wry, a bit apologetic, almost as if he were bracing himself for a polite refusal.

And Olivia almost did refuse...although she wasn’t even sure why she would. After all, why shouldn’t she go to the concert? Staying home alone all evening was the only other option, and she’d had enough of that, really.

“All right, then,” she said, seeming to surprise them both. “I’d love to come. But I should probably change...”

“Oh, it’s casual, don’t worry,” Simon said hurriedly. “I’d better be off now—but I’ll see you there? And after?”

After. He almost made it sound like a quasi-date, even though Olivia knew he was just talking about the standard mulled-wine-and-mince-pies that accompanied just about every public gathering this time of year, including her own.

“Yes,” she said firmly. “And after.”

With one last fleeting smile of farewell, Simon headed out into the dark night and after locking the door and putting the mince pies away, Olivia scurried upstairs to get herself concert-ready.

Obviously she couldn’t look as if she were trying too hard since Simon had told her it was casual and it most certainly wasn’t a date, but Olivia knew she needed to do better than her old jeans, a jumper dusted with flour, and her hair in a complete frizz.