“Oh, that sounds lovely. What are you doing on Sunday, then?”

“We’re going ice-skating at that pond on the other side of the Lea.” Olivia couldn’t stop herself from making a bit of a face. It had sounded fun and Christmassy last night, but now she was realising how little ice-skating experience she had, i.e. nil, and how likely she was to make a complete fool of herself.

“How romantic,” Alice gushed. “Skating around hand in hand...I love it.”

“Or falling flat on my face. I’ve never been ice-skating before.”

“Me neither,” Alice said. Growing up as a lost cause in the foster system, there was a lot Alice hadn’t done, Olivia knew—and too much that she’d had to. “But it does sound nice. And if Simon is so nice, he’s hardly going to laugh at you or something for falling over.”

“I know, but...it’s all very new.” And fragile. And that made her scared. Last night she’d lain in bed reliving the best parts of her evening with Simon, and then remembering the awkwardness of her confession—and Simon’s lack of one. She knew she was already starting to care about him—that was a freight train of feeling she had no control over, it seemed—but she also knew that when you cared you got hurt. Her lack of romantic relationships was a testament not just to her inability to find a Mr Right, but also a deliberate choice not to put herself out there. It simply wasn’t worth it.

But could it be now? Could Simon be worth it? Of course she didn’t have enough information to answer that question yet, but already her emotions were galloping ahead of her far more rational thoughts.

“Relationships are scary,” Alice commiserated with a sympathetic smile. “Not that I have loads of experience. Henry was my only boyfriend, the only man I ever kissed, even.”

“Do you wish there had been others?” Olivia asked. She’d had a few boyfriends over the years, and definitely kissed a few frogs, but she still felt inexperienced and uncertain now, in light of this. Of Simon.

“No, I don’t,” Alice answered. “Because I found Henry. I admit, sometimes I feel gauche compared to him or, well, anyone, but I’d rather be gauche than jaded. Naïve rather than cynical.”

“That’s the right attitude, Alice. Definitely better to live your life on the side of hope.” Which was sort of what she was doing, even if a part of her kept holding back as well as on to that ever-persistent fear. She didn’t want to be cynical about Simon, even her wary, rational side warned her that he was almost certainly too good to be true, whatever Harriet had or hadn’t said.

“Are you coming to the mulled wine and mince pies evening?” Olivia asked as she boxed up the cupcakes. “Although I think I should come up with a catchier name.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Alice answered. “And I’ve invited a few people that Henry knows.”