“Good, I think.” Olivia tucked a wisp of decidedly frizzy hair behind her ear. “We officially open our doors in...” She checked her watch. “Five minutes.”

“Well, I think everything looks fab. So Christmassy. And someone said it might snow!” Someone was always saying it might snow, and occasionally it did. Olivia just smiled and then Ellie angled a little closer and dropped her voice to a rather theatrical whisper. “And what about Cupcake Man?”

Cupcake Man? Seriously? Olivia managed what she hoped was a careless shrug. “I have no idea.”

“Oh.” Ellie’s face fell. “Hasn’t he come in again?”

“Has who come in?” Mallory asked, always wanting to know the latest gossip.

Olivia busied herself with arranging a few more shortbread on an already full tray. “No one and no,” she said brightly. “But hopefully the shop will be full in a few minutes!”

Thankfully Ellie took the hint and didn’t press—not that there was any information for her to ferret out. Olivia hadn’t seen Simon since the concert on Sunday, something she was doing her best not to find crushing. So she’d got her hopes up a little, thinking there might be a spark between them. It happened.

Clearly something was going on with the arty, elegant woman who had given him the full-on embrace at the church. They looked good together, both tall and dark and artistic-looking. She wished them well. Really.

Of course, he still could have come in and bought a cupcake each day as he’d said he would, but oh, well. The promotion seemed to be working—she’d sold all twelve on Monday and eleven on Tuesday, and most of those had been repeats of people who’d bought before and were hoping for a free cupcake at the end. Really, it was all good...or at least mostly good.

She might be disappointed that things with Simon had fizzled out before they’d even started, but so what? She still had a lot to look forward to in her life.

Olivia was spared from dwelling on it by the first rush of customers—the little shop was packed out as soon as Mallory flung open the doors, and Olivia was kept busy filling cups with mulled wine, replenishing trays, and manning the till. She’d kept the prices down to encourage custom—a pound for a cup of mulled wine and fifty pence per baked item, and she was pleased her strategy seemed to be working, as people eagerly scoffed her offerings and took the invitations from the table by the door.

She’d told herself not to keep an eye out for Simon, and yet some contrary part of her still waited—and hoped. He was, predictably, a no-show, but it helped that Ava and Jace, Alice and Henry, and Harriet and Richard all showed up, pitching in as needed, and buying plenty of pies and cakes.

“Whatever’s left, I’ll buy from you,” Harriet promised. “I’ve got some of Richard’s school colleagues coming over for a drinks do and I can’t be bothered to bake. Besides yours are much better than anything I could manage.”