He must have hated me. Peppermint Branches means the world to him, and this clueless girl turns up having snatched it literally from underneath his fingers. I swan in and nonchalantly tell him I was drunk and didn’t have a clue about Christmas tree farming and I’d won the auction without even trying. I know Noel. I know how seriously he would’ve taken that auction. How much he would have got his hopes up when there were no other bids until the last few minutes. He would’ve pinned everything on winning that.

And then I ripped his dream away from him. He must’ve been heartbroken. Devastated.

He must have wanted it back.

He even told me that his father wanted to buy Evergreene out one day and run both farms together and I still didn’t fall in. Those two farms are his life, his love. His heart. It’s not me who’s given his heart back to him – it’s working on Peppermint Branches again. Helping me, supposedly. But why would anyone do that? Why would he help me so much, teach me so much, when he must hate me for stealing the farm he wanted? I thought he was doing it out of kindness because he could see I was out of my depth. But if it’s that simple, why didn’t he tell me about the auction?

Fiona clicks her fingers in front of my face like she’s waiting for a response to a question she’s asked several times.

‘Oh, er, yes,’ I mumble, hoping it was the right answer. I feel like I’m floating above the market, looking down on everything through a fog. In the few weeks I’ve been here, I’ve grown to trust Noel completely, and now I feel like the metaphorical rug has been physically pulled out from underneath me.

‘We definitely need you to share a stall next year,’ Fiona is saying. ‘Magical things happen when you two work together. He’s never sold as many pumpkins as he has this year and look at how many Christmas trees you’ve sold today. It’s simply wonderful.’

The gingerbread biscuit hangs limp in my fingers. ‘It’s great,’ I croak out. My voice is raspy and my throat is dry. I can barely get my words out, and I’m not sure if I want to cry or scream or both.

They share another glance like they’re not sure what’s wrong with me. ‘Do you want a hand with those pumpkins? You didn’t bring a bag to carry them back in.’

I look down at myself like I might accidentally have a carrier bag attached to my person. ‘No, it’s fine. They can stay until tomorrow.’

‘Noel usually clears them up. They start to go off.’

‘Let them rot.’

Fergus’s eyebrows shoot up so fast that they nearly meet his rapidly decreasing hairline.