‘It’s half yours.’ He shifts his head and looks over at me. ‘And just so you know, the only other person I’ve brought here is Gizmo. Well, not person, canine. You know what I mean. Although to be fair, Gizmo’s a better person than most of the humans I know.’

‘Same,’ I mumble, wondering why he has brought me here. Surely we both know what you’re supposed to do under mistletoe …

‘There’s plenty of it if you want to cut some and sell fresh bunches this year.’

It takes me a moment to realise he’s gone back to the mistletoe. ‘I could use it in the wreaths too. It would look amazing twirled up with some red holly berries.’

‘It’s easy enough to propagate if you want a crop of it. You make a nick in the branches and press the seeds into it. It takes a couple of years to get established and then it takes off. It won’t do well in the Christmas trees, but it will enjoy itself out front in your windbreaker trees, and it’ll provide a point of interest from the road when all the leaves are gone in the winter and only the mistletoe remains.’

How much better would this place have looked on the first day if all those skeletal trees had been full of glossy mistletoe? Just the thought makes me smile. It would look like the entrance to a winter wonderland. ‘It’s perfect. I’ve never seen mistletoe growing before.’

He reaches over and lifts my hand to his mouth, touching his lips to the back of it. The cold metal of his piercing presses against my skin, at odds with the burning heat coming from his touch, and I let out a completely involuntary whimper that wasn’t supposed to be audible.

‘Sorry, just a peace offering to the ancient druids given what you’re usually supposed to do under the mistletoe.’

I genuinely would not have minded at all if he’d done it in the traditional way.

Either he can tell what I’m thinking or he’s thinking the same thing. ‘I could sit here all day but we should eat.’ He drops my hand and pulls himself upright, leaning over and tugging the backpack towards him. ‘Hope you’re not sick of pumpkin yet.’

I sit forward too and give myself a shake. ‘’Course not. But I’m going to get a bit worried if there are any apples in that picnic …’

He laughs as he starts unpacking the bag, setting out Tupperware containers and a flask along with packages of various things. ‘Pumpkin biscuits sprinkled with sea-salted roasted pumpkin seeds, sliced local cheese with pumpkin dip on the side, and tea. Not pumpkin-flavoured.’