“She knows quite a bit,” Simon remarked. “What else did she say about me?” Olivia hesitated, feeling both guilty and trapped, and he shrugged. “It’s okay. I figure there’s something. At the start of the evening you were looking a little wary.”

“Sorry.” Olivia wished now more than ever that Harriet hadn’t said anything to her. “She didn’t say anything more, actually. Just that...” How to put it? “You’re not a serial killer.”

Simon let out a huff of laughter. “That must have been a great relief to you.”

“Well, I wish she hadn’t said anything. I’d rather learn about you from you.”

“So if I’m not a serial killer, what did she think I am?”

“She didn’t say,” Olivia said wretchedly. She could tell, despite Simon’s easy manner, that he was hurt, and she hated that. “Just that there had been rumours...of something.” As soon as she said the words, she regretted them. They sounded awful.

“Ah.” His gaze had turned distant, and Olivia waited, wondering if he was going to explain. If she wanted him to. “Well, like you said, you should learn about me from me.”

“Yes...”

“And hopefully you’ve liked what you’ve learned so far.”

“Yes, I have. I really have.” He nodded slowly, and she realised he wasn’t going to tell her anything more, and she didn’t know whether to feel disappointed or relieved. Whatever it was, it wasn’t first date material, and she decided she was okay with that. No one wanted to air all their dirty laundry and deep secrets right away. It wouldn’t be fair on either of them if he did. She felt better somehow, even though she knew she still didn’t know anything—or at least not much.

“So.” He smiled, his eyes crinkling, his tone and expression deliberately light. “What do we talk about now?”

“Sorry that was all a bit of a buzzkill, wasn’t it?” She grimaced. “How do you like Wychwood-on-Lea?”

“I like it. It’s quiet, peaceful. And as it happens, your friend doesn’t have up-to-date information. I’m about to move out of my sister’s right after Christmas.”

“Oh? Where to?”

“A converted stables cottage in the grounds of the local manor.”

“Willoughby Close?” Olivia answered in surprised delight. “You must be moving into number three or four.”

“Yes, that’s right, number four.” He cocked his head. “You know it?”

“Yes, my good friends live there. In numbers one and two, although they’re both moving on soon.”

“So the place will be empty save for me?”

“Yes, I suppose at first...but the other cottages are sure to be let soon.”

“Something to look forward to, then.”

“Yes, if you like neighbours.”

“My neighbours in London kept to themselves. It’s one thing I like about living in a village. People care.”

“And they gossip.”

“So I’ve noticed.” He kept his voice light and Olivia smiled, glad he could joke about it.

“Anyway, Willoughby Close is lovely. I’d live there myself if I didn’t have the flat.”

The pub, Olivia noticed, had started to empty out. It was getting late and she had an early start tomorrow, as usual...yet she felt reluctant for the evening to end. “I suppose I should get going,” she finally said. “Five a.m. wakeup to bake three cakes, scones and muffins, and of course, some cupcakes.”