Tears prickled at the backs of her eyes. ‘Thank you,’ she managed, her voice strained by the tightness of her throat. Then the tears reached the front of her eyes and the twinkling lights blurred.

Gently, he passed her a napkin and then laid his hand softly against her arm while she mopped up. ‘I’m sorry if the text was upsetting … or if I’ve upset you by talking about it. Will a nice sugary dessert help? Or do you just want to leave? We can have coffee at my place and I can show you the workshop. Or I can just walk you home.’

She wiped her eyes and sniffed, trying to force a laugh, partly because she was aware the racket had dropped at the noisy table and wondered whether it was because they were all gazing at her. ‘You always walked me home when we were kids. Daisy gave Rea a lecture about males being as vulnerable as females, but I’m afraid I never thought of that then. Maybe your dad, being the old-fashioned type, taught you that walking girls home was the right thing to do?’ She found another napkin on her lap and used that to complete her mopping up operations.

His head came so close she felt the heat of his skin and the brush of his hair. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Walking you home meant goodnight kisses.’ Then he pulled away and said, ‘Let’s get the bill.’

Ten minutes later, muffled up in coat and scarf because the wind seemed to be blowing sleet into Middledip straight from the polar ice cap, Laurel found herself halfway to Mistletoe Cottage before she realised she’d never actually opted for it. On reflection, she didn’t mind.

‘Any ideas yet on how long you’re staying in Middledip?’ He hunched his shoulders, sleet spangling his hair before melting. He strode along companionably, arm close but not brushing hers. The comment about the goodnight kiss might never have been spoken.

‘Maybe several months, if Rea needs support that long,’ she answered. ‘Daisy seems happier at school so I’m crossing my fingers that it lasts.’ She showed him the crossed fingers then shoved her hands back in her pockets because the night air was glacial and held the metallic taste of the snow that the sleet was fast turning into. The idea of a prolonged stay in Middledip wasn’t the anathema it had been a few weeks ago. She could have done without Mac Cassidy still living in the village, his orbit making glancing contact with hers, but, even before Grady had pointed it out this evening, she had realised she didn’t feel threatened by Mac now. That fact didn’t alter the old yearning for revenge, but it made life in the village more bearable than she’d once feared.