‘Fancy a walk?’ she suggested. ‘I love tromping about in snow and it’s a genuine white Christmas.’

‘Sure,’ he said, happy to agree to just about anything.

They ate soup and rolls first then set off hand in hand, crossing to Church Close where Laurel pointed out the red-brick house where her grandparents had brought up her mum and aunt Terri, then they took the path to the bridleways that encircled Middledip, crossing the Carlysle Estate and its home farm. Laurel looked amazing in boots, a long black coat and blue hat and gloves. He ached with longing for their relationship to work out.

The fields looked as if they were made of cotton wool, while trees held out their leafless arms to embrace the snow. They met no one. The world around was hushed but for the squeak of snow crystals beneath their boots and their discussion of weighty matters such as whether you could hear snow land and whether ‘burn’ was the right word for the way your ears stung in the cold.

Then Laurel told him that Daisy had performed the feat of befriending her erstwhile bully.

Without engaging his brain before he spoke, Grady said, ‘Good for her,’ then wished he’d opted for something more noncommittal as Laurel became pensive. They trudged in silence for a while after that, trailing footprints through the winter landscape, their coats sprinkled white as if from a giant sugar shaker. When they’d walked for an hour, they took a path back onto Little Lane and slipped and slithered their way up through a village full of brightly lit Christmas trees, back to Mistletoe Cottage.

Grady understood Laurel’s quiet mood. He’d praised Daisy for forgiving her bully, which must have seemed a criticism of Laurel for not being able to do the same. In actuality, he agreed with her that feelings couldn’t be controlled. Daisy felt one way about Scarlett. Laurel felt differently about Mac. He understood why she couldn’t forgive Mac. It made his heart heavy but he understood. What he’d planned to ask her jumped to the front of his mind.

It seemed like the kind of conversation that would go well with alcohol, so after they’d shed their coats and boots and left them to dry he took the first bottle of champagne from the fridge.

She raised her eyebrows and managed a smile as she watched the festive froth and sparkle he poured into glasses. ‘Champagne in the afternoon?’

He kissed her mouth. ‘Why not?’ He grabbed a box of chocolates for good measure, leading her into the sitting room, where it was warm and the mistletoe dangling over the sofa gave him a reason – no, an obligation – to kiss her. Ensconced on the soft cushions, they toasted each other with the bubbling champagne.

Then he looked into her eyes. ‘You’ve thought about leaving the village now that your family no longer needs you so much.’

All light left her face but she didn’t contradict him. ‘Leaving might be best.’