Before I can say that I’d rather snog a Jack O’Lantern than romp anywhere near him, Chels texts back again.

Romp? Bloody hell, are you in Scotland or the 1870s?

I take the phone back and quickly type a response.

That was Noel, he thinks he’s clever, and also of the Victorian era, apparently.

She replies instantly.

Ooh, sexy name! Fittingly festive! Please tell me he sounds like David Tennant!

I hold the phone up to show him and he laughs. ‘Do I?’

‘No.’ I don’t tell him he sounds better than David Tennant. Instead, I type back to Chels:

No, but he looks like the sexiest version of Luke Evans you’ve ever seen.

I go to throw the phone back onto the dashboard without showing Noel my reply, but he plucks it out of my hand and reads it.

‘Cheeky bugger,’ I mutter, realising that talking about his looks while he’s crouched next to me was probably not the best idea.

Chelsea sends back a series of drooling emojis and he laughs again. ‘I don’t know who that is. If I Google him, I’m going to find he looks like the back end of a mangled cow, aren’t I?’

It makes me laugh again. ‘No. Surprisingly, that wasn’t an insult.’ I take the phone back out of his hand and push it onto the dashboard. He leans heavier against the doorframe of the car and shuffles his feet with a wince. He’s been crouched there for ages, his legs must be getting sore. And I need to stop thinking about his legs in those well-fitting jeans.

‘It’s not as bad as you think, you know.’

‘What, this place?’ I glance up at the tumbledown house looming over us. ‘I think it’s the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. The only way it could be worse was if I’d accidentally bought a slurry pit. Which, in some parts of the house, is actually not an unfair description.’

‘What I said earlier … I was out of line. You took me by surprise and it’s taken until now for my brain to catch up with my mouth. I shouldn’t have been so blunt.’

‘But you were right. I don’t know the first thing about Christmas trees. The extent of my horticultural experience is pulling dead branches off a houseplant and putting some crocus bulbs in the lawn for Mum one winter. How did I ever think I could be a Christmas tree farmer? It would be bad enough if it was the working farm I’d imagined, but this … I can’t do this.’