I was several metres away, but even from this distance his gaze was piercing, sending electricity crackling through my nervous system.

He was the most beautiful person I’d ever seen. Like an angel. Yet, something in his stance, the glint in his eyes, the crooked smile, gave the warning that he was far from holy.

‘Are you going to come over and say hello, then?’ he asked, his voice carrying a hint of gravel that made my breath stutter.

‘Um…’

He arched one eyebrow, almost daring me to approach, and as if sucked in by a tractor beam I couldn’t resist walking back until close enough to see the life-sized tattoo of a beetle crawling out of the top of his T-shirt.

‘I’ve not seen you before. Are you even newer than me?’ he asked, those dark eyes seeming to bore right into the depths of my befuddled brain.

‘No. I don’t go to school here.’

He watched me for another long, heart-trembling moment. ‘You aren’t old enough to work here.’

I was indeed old enough, having been roped in more times than I could count to scrub desks, file reports, and tackle any other odd jobs that needed doing when there was no one else around to do them, but not in the way that he meant.

‘I’m fifteen.’

He nodded once, as if satisfied that his estimate had been accurate.

‘So-o-o-o… are you the Christmas fairy? Or just lost on your way to Grandma’s cottage?’

He smiled then, jerking his chin at my red duffel coat.

I really didn’t want to tell him who I was, but it would only be a matter of time until he found out anyway.

‘I live in the Coach House. The principals are my parents.’

‘Oooh, ouch!’ He winced. ‘That must be interesting.’

I shrugged. ‘Not quite the word I’d use.’

‘Why are you here, then? Are you home-schooled?’

‘I had a dentist appointment.’ Again, I cringed inwardly at having to reveal something so mundane to this boy. If my brain hadn’t turned to mush in his presence, I’d have come up with something glamorous like I had an interview with a modelling agency or I’d skipped school today because I’d been out partying all night.

Mercifully, he didn’t seem put off. ‘What’s in the tin?’

With clumsy fingers, I prized off the lid. Mum had agreed to me not going back to school for the final lesson on the basis that I spent the time learning a new skill. While I’d made plenty of cakes before, this was my first attempt at piping icing, and I’d been feeling quite pleased with the result until now, where I became suddenly racked with anxiety at my wobbly letters.

‘Looks great,’ the boy said, leaning closer.