Laurel, though normally considering herself blessed to earn her living creating, today felt no pull towards the studio. Grady hadn’t contacted her yesterday evening and neither had she contacted him. Her time had been spent writing her Christmas cards, rather tardily, and trudging through the snow to post them in the red box outside Booze & News or through the letterboxes of Iris and Hubert from Craft Stuff and Tess and her husband Ratty.

There was nothing to stop her contacting Grady but she felt as if she had nothing new to offer … and now she was plagued by the thought that, if she wasn’t around, Grady’s relationship with Mac could resume its former stability and depth and Grady could accept the alternative Pippa had clearly been offering when Laurel arrived at Mistletoe Cottage yesterday. Being an adoptive dad could be as fulfilling as being a birth dad and Grady would make a great one.

If only Laurel’s heart didn’t stop whenever she thought of being without him.

Wistfully, she remembered Fliss’s hurt little comment that no doubt Laurel would call when she needed her and realised she would indeed like to make that call, even if Fliss held the conviction that Grady wasn’t good for her. Laurel felt the reverse was true and that she wasn’t good for Grady, but could see why Fliss had come along to see for herself. Laurel had been snippy because Fliss had chosen to share that mission with Alex and so seeking her counsel now felt an imposition.

By way of testing the water, she sent Fliss a photo of her Everyday Woman canvas.

In return, she received a GIF of a plump, red, satiny heart, revolving on a string of tinsel. It made her smile but was not an invitation to progress to a conversation. Her own heart as a GIF would be much more battered and tarnished, but its fate was down to her alone.

Unable to paint, she busied herself with emails and renewing her car tax. When her phone rang, displaying an unknown number, she answered absently, anticipating a cold call or automated message.

‘I’m trying to reach Laurel Hill,’ said a business-like female voice.

Tuning in, Laurel replied, ‘Hello. This is Laurel.’

‘My name’s Selina Sullivan,’ the voice went on. ‘I’m an art dealer based in Peterborough. I have a client who’s seen one of your pieces and has asked me to make a deal.’

‘Great,’ said Laurel cautiously, opening a web browser on her laptop and tapping ‘Selina Sullivan’ into the search bar, which led her to a professional-looking gallery website. ‘I’m interested in knowing which piece and why a client’s acquiring through you. My work’s on Etsy or with a gallery, physical or online.’