I sighed, wrapping my mittened hands around his neck as I returned his kiss. ‘I don’t know why you’re trying to hide it from your family,’ I said as we pulled away from each other. ‘It’s clear they can see something’s going on, especially Rhonda and Glenn.’

‘Nothing gets past those two.’ He sighed. ‘I just don’t want everyone poking their noses in, you know? Poking and prodding at it.’

It. What was it? Yes, in many ways, it felt like a holiday romance, something to leave behind with fond memories when it was time to go. But in other ways, it felt like so much more than that. I’d never met anyone like Dylan, nor his family. Sure, there’d been my fair share of hulking cameramen and handsome presenters. But Dylan was something else altogether.

‘Agreed,’ I said. I grabbed his mittened hand. ‘Come on, I want to see this workshop you seem so proud of.’

We walked farther up the hill until a large barn started to come into view. It was in a clearing at the top of the hill, offering stunning views of the loch.

‘I made this place with Cole,’ Dylan said as he led me towards two huge wooden doors. ‘That was before he turned all corporate on us anyway. It was the first building I created. I was just fifteen.’

‘Wow.’ I walked up to it and placed my hands on the thick wood.

‘It’s just a pole barn,’ he said, joining me and placing his hand next to mine. ‘But I was proud of it.’

‘So you should be.’

Something caught my eye by my feet. A carving. I crouched down, brushing snow away. It was of a stag stamped into the wood there, three letters intricately woven into its antlers: D E C

‘Did you build it in December?’ I asked, taking my glove off and running my thumb over it.

Dylan’s face clouded over. ‘Nope,’ he said stiffly. He kicked the snow back to cover the carving.

‘What does DEC stand for then?’ I asked.

‘Initials.’

‘Oh, of course. Dylan. Cole. Who’s the E though?’

‘An old friend.’ He pushed the barn doors open and the smell of sawdust filled my nostrils.

The barn was huge, with a second level at the back that seemed to be a resting area, with an old battered sofa and an oak table scattered with books and magazines. The main area below was dominated by large woodworking instruments, including a huge saw mill.

‘You do all your work from here?’ I asked.

He nodded. ‘Well, used to anyway. Don’t get as much time for it now. I used to love escaping here when I was a kid. As soon as I walk in …’ He took a deep contented breath. ‘Exhale. All my troubles disappear.’

‘What kind of troubles?’