“Oh, I am, undoubtedly, too much so. I need people to bring me out of myself.”

“Hmm.” She took a sip of wine, mulling that over. “I wouldn’t have thought you were an introvert. You seem so...sociable, I suppose. Friendly and interested in everything.”

“I try to be. Life is short. I want to enjoy as much of it as I can.” A bleak note had entered his voice, making Olivia wonder.

“That’s true enough,” she said after a moment. “And a good motto to live by.”

“I try. I don’t always succeed.”

“I don’t suppose anyone does.” This had all become rather deep, but she didn’t mind. She was enjoying simply sitting in her own kitchen, watching Simon cook. His long, lean fingers flew dextrously as he chopped vegetables and then sautéed them in a pan, the mouth-watering aromas of garlic and mushrooms soon wafting through the air and filling the space.

Outside night had fallen like a velvet curtain, pierced only by the twinkle of the fairy lights that spangled the high street. Even Dr Jekyll was contributing to the feel-good factor, twining about Olivia’s legs before leaping into her lap and settling there with a loud, rattling purr. She stroked his fur and sipped her wine, nearly completely content. Like Simon had just said, she wanted to enjoy this moment for what it was, without looking back or wishing for more. Olivia leaned her head back and closed her eyes, revelling in the easy pleasure of simply being.

“Here. Try this.”

She opened her eyes, startled, to see Simon placing a small plate of bruschetta in front of her, heaped with chopped tomatoes and flecked with basil.

“When did you make this!” Olivia exclaimed. “I didn’t even notice...”

“You had some leftover baguette that was going stale. It was easy.”

“And delicious.” She took a bite, enjoying the explosion of flavour. This man was a keeper. He could cook, he was kind and funny and thoughtful, and she was, Olivia could not deny, rather desperately attracted to him. She hoped he felt the same, but sometimes Simon could be so hard to read.

As she took another bite of bruschetta she watched him stir the pasta, his tall, lanky form somehow seeming right in her tiny kitchen. His jumper, she noticed, had holes in the elbows and was coming unravelled at the hem. His jeans were faded, his hair still a little long, and he’d taken off his boots and was wearing mismatched socks. He looked a little bit like a hobo—a handsome, lovable hobo, because Simon’s quirkiness was all part of his undeniable appeal.

But what was her appeal? What did he see in her? Olivia knew she could stand to lose ten pounds or even a stone, her hair went frizzy at the least provocation, and while she could bake a host of goodies, so far Simon didn’t seem to particularly like cupcakes. She was kind enough, she supposed, and she had a decent sense of humour, but really...what might Simon see in her?