‘I bet.’ She mixed up the hot chocolate and sprayed on the whipped cream, then passed it across. ‘On the house, like I said.’

‘Aw, thanks. It looks amazing.’ She went straight in for her first hot and creamy sip – hot chocolate bliss. She glanced across at her stall, still no one there. She was okay for another minute or two.

‘My name’s Lisa, by the way.’

‘Thank you, and nice to meet you, Lisa. I’m Emma.’

‘Well, Emma, if you’re thinking of ever doing any more markets, I’ll let you know which are the best ones to go to, especially for Christmas time. Here.’ She handed over a business card. ‘Get in touch and I’ll be happy to advise.’

‘Thanks so much.’

Emma turned to see someone standing beside her pitch. A man, tall, broad-shouldered, in a black Puffa-style jacket and jeans.

‘Oops, someone at my stall. Better go. And thanks again, Lisa. I’ll be in touch.’

As she neared her stand, Emma paused. The set of that broad back, the short brown hairline – even under his black woollen hat – was extremely familiar. She had kissed the nape of that neck. Max.

He turned, and she stopped in her tracks. Awkward moment ahead.

‘Max … hi.’

‘Hello, stranger.’ He looked a little stern. ‘So, I’ve tracked you down at last.’

‘How did you know I was here?’ He didn’t seem the type to be wandering around a Christmas market on his own by chance.

‘I went to The Chocolate Shop first. Had a bit of a tour.’ He managed a smile then. ‘Holly told me you were here.’

She didn’t think he’d come to stock up on chocolates, somehow. She took in his face, his dark green eyes, He was looking good, but there was an edge about him, a sense of unease.

‘Em, why aren’t you returning my calls?’

There had been more than one call she’d not answered, yes. But she’d been so busy, getting ready for the market, getting the shop and café up and running, and the pre-Christmas mayhem was really kicking in. She was building the excuses nicely in her own mind. ‘Ah, sorry. It’s just been pretty manic.’

‘You could have just sent a quick text.’

‘Well, yeah, maybe.’ She felt herself redden.

A man in smart work clothes with a skinny youth slowed by the stall. The lad picked up a packet of champagne truffles, whilst the chap browsed the display.

‘Look. I’ll let you crack on just now. This probably isn’t the time and place,’ Max said. ‘When do you finish here?’

‘The market is meant to close by eight o’clock.’ Emma looked up at the old clock tower of the Town Hall. Ten to six.

‘Okay. Are you here on your own?’ Max asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Well, shall I come back and help you start to pack up about a quarter to eight or something?’