Obviously, I’d spent the entire walk back planning my trip and it had quickly become clear as to why you never saw grand romantic gestures from the other end on TV or in the movies. Someone doing something epic for the person they loved was so overwhelmingly wonderful, you let yourself be swept along in the adventure without having to worry about the logistics. There was nothing sexy or romantic about logistics. No one wanted to see their hero toggling between flight options to find anything under a grand any more than they wanted to see some perfectionist fiancé screaming at his rehearsing flashmob until his second cousin locked herself in the toilet, sobbing.

‘The flights did look quite expensive,’ I admitted. ‘And, you know it would have been a bit of a downer if I’d got all the way there then found out you were here.’

‘And is it OK that I’m here?’ he asked. ‘When I got your text I figured …’

‘It’s more than OK,’ I replied in a whisper, very much wishing I had more Irish coffee. ‘It’s very, very OK.’

My heart soared as he smiled and reached inside his coat to pull out a silver envelope from the inside pocket. ‘I got you something,’ he said. ‘It didn’t feel right to show up on Christmas Day without a gift.’

He held up the envelope and I saw a name written on the front in very fancy handwriting. Francesca Anderson.

‘What is it?’ I asked.

‘In America, it’s traditional to open presents, that’s how you find out what’s inside,’ Evan replied, handing it over. He sat down on the floor in front of the tree and crossed his long legs, patting the floor beside him. Reluctantly letting go of the doorframe, I sat down beside him, close enough to smell his aftershave, that same spicy, warm scent, and I realized I was shaking.

Inside the envelope was a stiff piece of card, heavy and thick and coated in some sort of iridescent varnish that made it hard to read. At the top, was a small engraving of a crystal ball and underneath that, the details of an all-expenses paid, luxury shopping trip to New York. First class flights, five-star hotels, private chauffeur and, most importantly to me and my stomach, all meals included.

I looked up at him in disbelief.

‘What is this?’

‘Guess who won the auction at the Crystal Ball?’ he replied, waggling his eyebrows up and down. ‘Congratulations.’

‘Evan, it’s too much,’ I said as I tried to jam the card and my feelings back inside the envelope. ‘I can’t accept this.’

He pressed his lips together in a small smile. ‘Yes, you can. The auction was for charity and I bid with my dad’s credit card, so if you refuse it, that would pretty much make you the reverse Robin Hood. Isn’t he from around here?’