“I was hoping you would say that. The marquis is keen to do a precise restoration, but I want to keep the essence of what it’s become. I needed another opinion, to see if my idea was too out there.”

“And my idea matched yours?”

“Almost as if you’d read my mind. It’s actually a bit unnerving.”

Nory laughed. “Did I not mention I was psychic?”

“How would you feel if I sent you some designs? I know you’ve got the shop and everything, I’m not talking about a full collaboration or anything. But it would be nice to bounce some ideas off someone who feels the energy of the place.”

“I’d love that,” Nory replied.

She felt warm with satisfaction. And not only because Isaac valued her opinion; he was talking about keeping contact after she went back to London. She had tried not to think about her growing feelings for him. She had kept her hopeful little heart tightly bound to protect it from disappointment, telling herself that whatever this was would be a holiday fling, nothing more. But Isaac had just handed her a license to dream.

In the far corner stood a bony hawthorn tree, its thorny branches peppered with bright ruby berries, which were attracting a flock of hungry starlings.

“Is that . . . ?” Nory made her way over to the tree; some of the braver—or hungrier—starlings squawked indignantly at her but remained in the branches. Isaac followed her over. “It is!” she said, grinning.

Growing over one of the bigger branches in a matted ball of pea green leaves and small white berries was a large mistletoe plant. Isaac looked at it and he smiled too.

“Well, I’ll be,” he said.

Without stopping to think, Nory reached up and kissed him. Isaac responded, pulling her close to him, wrapping his arms around her. Every part of her felt alive, singing with pleasure in the places where he touched her and aching with want in the places he did not. They stumbled back against a wall, his mouth still on hers, her back against the cold stone as Isaac pressed hard against her. They explored each other as best they could through their arctic layers, giggling and fumbling like teenagers behind the bike sheds; gloves flung asunder, they gasped delightedly as cold fingers found warm skin. Eventually the cold won out and they stood, nose to nose, lips red and bee-stung, breath clouding fast between them.

“I wish we could go back to mine,” Isaac said. His eyes were closed, and he was still pinning her to the wall. “But I have to work. It’s the tree lighting tonight.”

“And I have to go and look at my old school with Bridezilla.”

Isaac laughed quietly. “Maybe you could come to the cottage this evening?”

“If I can get away, I would like that very much.”