‘Do you do any kind of co-incentives here?’

‘I don’t even know what they are,’ Noel says.

‘Co-ordinated shopping. Like, if you buy a tree here, you get 20 per cent off at the decorations stall. If someone buys a bathbomb, you could give them a coupon for the candle stall and vice versa. If someone buys two loaves of bread from the baker, they could have a free gingerbread biscuit from Fergus.’

‘I could make gingerbread in the shape of loaves!’ Fergus says.

‘We’ve never done that.’ Noel looks around the market and then back at me. ‘Why have we never done that? That’s genius.’

I blush again. The Noel I’ve got to know over the last couple of weeks is a creative genius, so hearing that from him is a real compliment. I barrel on because I don’t want to think about how fluttery it makes me feel. ‘We need to give people a reason to visit the whole market, to look at every stall, to buy things that they didn’t know they wanted before stepping foot in here. If we have any chance of saving this place, we have to do it together.’

‘Do you think we can?’ Fiona looks between me and Noel. ‘There’s been an underlying current between traders that it’s as good as gone. There’s no saving it.’

‘I think a good season could delay it.’ Noel sounds like he’s being careful not to get their hopes up. ‘If businesses take up the Christmas tree idea – and if we can get a good bit of publicity going online and in the local area then I think they will – it could be a game-changer. If we can get people talking about it, encourage kids from all around to come and vote for their favourite, the trees would be the sort of thing that people would visit specifically to see. And with this wee genius on board, who knows what the year could bring?’ His arm drops around my shoulder and he squeezes me tight into his side.

The surface of the sun is currently cooler than my burning cheeks. I reach up with the intention of smacking his hand where his warm fingers are curled into my upper arm, but as soon as I touch his skin, my hand sort of ends up staying there, closing over his. I don’t make any attempt to move, despite the fact Fiona’s eyes have swivelled to our joined hands and even Fergus is craning his neck for a better look.

‘Were you in marketing before?’ Fiona asks, her eyes alternating between my shoulder and Noel’s face. ‘We should take you on as a market manager permanently. You’re wasted as a tree farmer.’

‘Not as wasted as the trees are most days,’ Noel replies quickly.