He squeezes past me in the narrowest part of the caravan and our bodies drag against each other as we both breathe in and I try to flatten myself against the wall to let him pass.

I get the feeling it’s an excuse to get out of this cramped space and away from whatever that was that sparked between us, but a hot chocolate sounds absolutely perfect right now, and I find myself watching from the doorway as he walks through the rows of pumpkins towards his house.

The sun is setting in the distance, making the clouds around it look pink and gold. It’s too late to start cleaning up the caravan tonight, and now I’ve stopped moving for a few minutes, I realise that I’m as knackered as I must look. I grab the long, flat cushion I’ve just pulled off the bench and put it on the grass outside. I turn it upside down and sit on the least damaged part, facing the setting sun.

Noel grins as he comes back, a Roscoe-Farm-branded recyclable cup in each hand and a paper bag between his teeth, containing two pumpkin cupcakes with orange butter icing and sprinkles of sugared pumpkin seeds.

‘I like your thinking.’ He sits beside me on the cushion and hands me one of the cups. ‘Pumpkin spice hot chocolate. Roscoe Farm’s finest. If you like it, I’ve got plenty of pumpkin spice you can have for the caravan. And you’ll have to get some peppermint flavouring as well, because you can’t run a place called Peppermint Branches without offering peppermint hot chocolates. A couple of different options will help too. If you don’t make them too expensive, people are likely to try a plain hot chocolate when they arrive and then a flavoured one when they leave.’

‘You’re really good at this sort of thing, aren’t you?’

His cheeks go red as he sips his hot chocolate and flinches because it’s too hot.

I set mine down on the grass beside me and start on the pumpkin cupcake instead, swiping my finger through the sweet icing and taking a bite of fluffy and lightly spiced orange-coloured cake. As arrogant and harsh as Noel can be sometimes, he’s actually quite humble, and in the few days I’ve known him, I can already tell that he’s terrible at taking compliments.

‘I’m fascinated by the number of things your mum can pumpkin-ise. Is there anything she doesn’t put pumpkin in?’

‘Hmm.’ The look of concentration on his face makes me smile as he seriously considers it. ‘Toothpaste?’ he says eventually with a grin.

The sky above us is almost completely pink as the sun drops to the west, the pumpkins sprawling out on Noel’s side, and Christmas trees waving in the gentle breeze on mine.

‘It’s been ages since I stopped to watch a sunset.’