“Sorry about that,” Olivia said as they walked back to Willoughby Close.

“Sorry about what?”

“Ava...she means well, but...” Olivia trailed off, uncertain how to put it.

“Ava’s fine,” Simon said easily. “Cute baby, too.”

“Yes.” Olivia decided to drop the subject. If Simon was fine with Ava’s good-natured nosiness, then she could be, as well.

They came into Willoughby Close, and Olivia waited while Simon unlocked the door to number four. It opened with a creak, and he stepped aside so Olivia could go in first.

“So I gather you’ve been in here before?” he said as they both walked around the cosy living area, the galley kitchen in one corner, and a pair of French windows overlooking the tiny rectangle of frost-covered garden.

“It’s an open-plan bedroom upstairs, with an en suite bathroom,” Olivia said, and then, for no apparent reason, blushed. “Of course you’ve already seen it, sorry...”

“No, it’s good. It’s all good.” Simon strolled towards the French windows and gazed out at the tiny garden. “It’ll be good to have my own place again,” he said, his tone reflective and a little bit sad.

“How long have you been living with your sister?”

“Four months.” He paused, as if he was going to say more, but then he stayed silent and Olivia wasn’t sure whether to prompt, press, or simply leave it be.

“This feels like a new beginning, doesn’t it?” she said as she joined him at the window. The sun was starting to sink below the trees, sending its slanting rays across the garden, and gilding everything with a nimbus of gold.

Simon turned to her, and Olivia realised with a jolt how close he was. Close enough to see the glint of silver in his grey-green eyes, the faint stubble on his chin. Close enough to kiss.

“It really does,” he said softly and Olivia held her breath, the moment spinning on, exquisite, endless, expectant.

His head dipped lower. She bit her lip, one hand clenching by her side as Simon’s gaze turned hooded.

“Olivia...” he began, but she didn’t have to answer because he was kissing her, his lips brushing softly against hers, the barest whisper, before settling more firmly. Olivia’s eyes fluttered closed as sparks spread out from the touch of his mouth right down to her fingers and toes. She stood on her tiptoes as she wrapped her arms around his neck and returned the kiss with everything she had.

Everything about the moment was perfect, and like she’d just said, this was a new beginning—for both of them.

Chapter Thirteen

It was Christmas Eve, and Olivia’s flat was full of cosy, festive cheer. Olivia gazed around the little sitting room with the tree perched at an admittedly rakish angle on top of a table, decorated within an inch of its life by both her and Simon the day they’d brought it home from the Christmas tree farm. They’d both come down with a serious fit of the giggles as they’d draped the tree with every possible ornament, bauble, and garland that Olivia possessed, plus a few more fashioned by Simon from spare bits of ribbon and foil. It was OTT and garish and frankly wonderful.