We held each other’s gaze for a few moments then I got into the car. I paused a moment, taking a few deep breaths in the safety of the car’s darkness. My hands were trembling slightly, my heart pounding. There was a voice inside me screaming Stay! Stay! Stay! but I’d promised myself a long time ago I’d carry on moving, not stopping, no people to tie me down, to disappoint me, to have me disappoint them. Only Reg had got through that. And now this man, this bearded giant who made me feel as warm as the whisky he drank. What was wrong with me? I barely knew him.

I quickly turned the key in the ignition before I changed my mind.

The car spluttered then died.

I turned the key again but, still, nothing.

‘You have to be kidding me,’ I hissed.

Dylan knocked on the car window and I unrolled it, ice cracking.

‘Won’t start?’ he asked.

‘Doesn’t look like it. I think it might be the fuel line, as it is turning over.’

‘You know your stuff.’

‘Don’t look so surprised! I have to when I’m in the middle of nowhere filming and a car is my only getaway.’ I grabbed the torch I always took with me when I travelled, got out of the car and opened the bonnet. I aimed the light at the fuel filter as Dylan stood next to me, leaning close to have a look too.

‘Looks like it is the fuel filter,’ he said, gesturing to the fuel seeping out of one of the pipes.

I sighed. ‘Yep. Not easily fixed. No flow, no go.’

‘Well, that’s decided. I’m not saying this place doesn’t make a great bedroom,’ Dylan said, gesturing to the backseat of the car. ‘God knows I’ve spent a few nights out here staring up at the stars, but I wouldn’t recommend it in the winter. And I’d offer to give you a lift but I’ve had a few drinks, as have the others.’

‘Taxi?’ I asked half-heartedly. Truth was, I wasn’t disappointed the car wouldn’t start. Something inside me was yearning to stay and anyway, my fate had been decided by a faulty fuel filter.

Dylan laughed. ‘On Christmas Eve? You have to be kidding.’

I stared up the road. There was a bell of excitement ringing inside, one I was trying to stifle. I could feel this might be the beginning of something, and, truth was, it scared me. Christmases reminded me of a time I had a family to celebrate with, a time before the fracture that opened up between my parents and me. But Dylan, Dylan with his gorgeous face and huge hands and that smile, beaming at me in that moment, tantalising, teasing …

‘Okay,’ I said in an exhale of breath. ‘If your family won’t mind?’