Olivia had known when she’d taken on her mum’s tea shop that it would be a challenging endeavour. Wychwood-on-Lea was a lovely village, but it was small, and Olivia had always understood that foot traffic alone wouldn’t keep the place afloat, something her mum had never seemed to accept. She’d been trying a lot of other strategies, and some had taken off a bit, but things were still tight, and at this point, she thought they might always be.

But that was okay. She sank onto a stool behind the wooden counter, propping her chin in her hands as twilight began to settle softly over the village, the buildings of mellow golden stone becoming shadowy in the darkness.

It was fine. She loved running the tea shop; she loved her friends; she loved Wychwood-on-Lea, its quaint cottages, the river burbling alongside, a soothing balm after the hectic busyness of her London life. Everything was good. Absolutely everything.

The merry jingle of bells on the shop door had Olivia lifting her head, and then quickly standing up as a man came into the shop, ducking his head underneath the stone lintel. He glanced around the empty space, wrought-iron chairs tucked into tables, everything tidied away.

“I’m sorry...are you still open?”

“Yes, absolutely,” Olivia said, widening her welcome smile. “Just a bit slow today... It’s so cold, I think everyone wants to get home.”

“Completely understandable.” He loosened the colourful Dr Who-like scarf from around his neck, glancing at the now rather empty glass display cases with an endearingly boyish interest.

He was, Olivia decided, a most interesting-looking man. Tall and lithe, at least six three, she’d say, and a bit gangly and awkward too, in a charming way. When he swung around to look at the display case in front of the counter, his elbow nearly knocked the cake stand but fortunately Olivia whisked it a few inches backwards before he made contact.

He glanced at it, startled, and then gave her a sheepish smile. “Sorry. I’m horribly clumsy. My mother despaired of me. I managed to break six of her Royal Doulton teacups in one go. Plus saucers.”

Olivia gave a little laugh. “And how did you manage that?”

“They were all on a tray and I knocked it with my elbow. Naturally. It was a bridge party, all the ladies of the neighbourhood. She was not pleased.”

“Oh, dear.” Olivia found she couldn’t quite look away from his glinting, grey-green eyes and wide, infectious smile. He had a dimple in one lean cheek, she noticed, which made him look boyish, although the streaks of grey in his dark, unruly hair, as well as the deepening crow’s feet by his eyes suggested someone close to her age of nearly forty.

“Anyway.” He glanced up from the display case, eyebrows raised. “What do you recommend?”

“Umm...I’m afraid there’s not much left. All the scones are gone, as well as the triple chocolate cake. It’s only lemon drizzle or Victoria sponge on offer now...” Her gaze fell on the last cookies and cream cupcake. “Or a cupcake, if you’d rather. I have one left.”