‘I don’t expect anything in return, but that’d be great.’ He turns around to speak and jumps as we bump into each other again. ‘We usually make drinks from the kitchen when the patch is open, but it gets busier every year and running back and forth and passing drinks out through the kitchen window is getting increasingly unprofessional. You can be the guinea pig and see how it goes this year. It might fail miserably for all you know.’

‘Yeah.’ I roll my eyes. ‘Thanks for that vote of confidence.’

‘Just being realistic. You’ve got all these grand plans, but …’ He trails off, deliberately not finishing the sentence.

He doesn’t need to because I can finish it for him. But you’re a city girl and this world isn’t for you. He might be helping me, but he’s clearly still in no doubt that I’ll leave whenever things get tough. I decide not to push it. I can’t tell him he’s wrong about me – I can only prove it. ‘How is it possible that you’re this grumpy on a lovely sunny evening, but at six o’clock in the morning, you’re as chirpy as a cheerful canary who’s had frosted cereal for breakfast?’

He raises an eyebrow that gradually goes higher and it takes a ridiculously long time for him to start laughing. ‘I’m a morning person, all right? By this time of day, the caffeine hit has worn off and I turn back into a yeti. Like a hairier Cinderella in reverse.’

The mental image washes away all the lingering annoyance. ‘You’d never suit a ballgown.’ I don’t mention that his shoulders are so wide and his arm muscles are so defined that they’d never find a ballgown large enough for him to suit.

He laughs. ‘But at least I’ve got plenty of pumpkin carriages and a terrible sense of timekeeping, and the prince wouldn’t have any trouble remembering my giant feet in glass slippers.’ He rubs his fingers over his chin. ‘The stubble might give it away too.’

I’m giggling so hard that I have to lean against the caravan wall for support, and the more I laugh, the more it makes him laugh too, until the lines around his eyes are crinkled up and tears of joy are forming in the corners.

He suddenly seems to realise that we’re just standing here laughing at each other, because he jolts upright. ‘Pumpkin spice!’

‘What?’ I say in confusion, wondering how you go from Cinderella to pumpkin spice.

He looks really pleased with himself. ‘It goes brilliantly in hot chocolate, and you look like you could use a drink. Stay there, I’ll prove it.’