“It doesn’t change anything,” she said at last, because ultimately it didn’t. She still liked him. Still wanted to find out more about him, spend time with him. It just meant he had a history, just like she did. Like everyone did.

“Good.” Simon smiled and twirled a forkful of pasta. “Sorry to offload all that on you. I didn’t want to say it before because it feels like too much to process when you’re just starting to get to know someone. You don’t want to offload all your baggage at the first opportunity.”

“I understand.”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything tonight.”

“No, I’m glad you did. After all, I offloaded on you, didn’t I? About my mum.”

“I didn’t mind.”

“And I don’t either.” She smiled at him, and he smiled back, and it felt as if they’d reached an agreement of some kind. They’d taken a big step forward, even if they hadn’t said as much. This relationship was going somewhere.

The rest of the evening passed amicably; they chatted about inconsequential matters as they finished their dinner and then Simon lit a fire and Olivia poured them both brandies, which they savoured in front of the crackling flames.

“You haven’t got a Christmas tree,” Simon remarked. “With everything decorated so marvellously downstairs, I would have thought you might have had one up here.”

“I haven’t had time,” Olivia answered. She was curled up on one end of the sofa, her feet tucked under her, and Simon was sprawled on the other, his long legs stretched out so if she put her feet down they’d touch his. Not that she’d been obsessing about that, or anything.

“Are you going to decorate?”

“I suppose. Mum is still insisting that she’s going to have her Christmas dinner at the retirement community in Witney, and it seems pointless to do it if I’m on my own.”

“She might come round, still.”

“I hope so. We’ve spent every Christmas of my life together.” She blinked rapidly, embarrassed at how quickly she seemed to come to tears. “Sorry...”

“You don’t ever need to be sorry for feeling something, Olivia,” Simon said quietly, his tone so heartfelt that he nearly set her off again.

“So what are you going to do for Christmas, really?” she asked as she dabbed at her eyes. “Surely not just moving in, like you said?”

“I think so.”

“That’s no way to spend Christmas.” He shrugged, and Olivia took a deep breath. Should she...? And then—why not? “Why don’t you spend Christmas with me?” she blurted.

Simon’s eyebrows rose. “Do you mean that?”

“Yes...but only if you want to. If you’d rather be alone, I’ll understand.” Although she’d be a bit hurt.

“No, I wouldn’t, it’s just...” He hesitated, and Olivia bit her lip.

“What is it?”

Simon looked torn, his mouth turning down apologetically. “I’m not always good with the big holidays,” he said at last. “Since...since Andrew died.”

“Oh, Simon, of course.” She should have realised it might be a hard time for him. “I understand that. But...but that’s okay, isn’t it? I mean we could still...” She trailed off, unsure where she was going.