Soon after that she couldn’t think of any reason to stay longer, and as her mum seemed restless, almost wanting her to go, she decided to take her leave even though she’d only been there a little over an hour.
“I suppose I should get going,” she said as she reached for her coat. “I still have my weekly shop to do.” Tina stood by the sink, her arms folded, her smile a little distant. “You are…you are happy here, Mum?” Olivia couldn’t keep from asking, needing the reassurance. “Aren’t you?”
Tina looked surprised, and then, to Olivia’s dismay, her gaze slid away from hers. “Yes,” she said. “Of course I am. Don’t worry about me, Olivia.”
But of course she did worry, unable to keep from going over their conversation as she stocked up at Waitrose, adding some Christmas decorations—a porcelain angel, another set of fairy lights—to top up her supply. She bought her baking supplies in bulk from a wholesaler and had them delivered, but she enjoyed browsing the baking aisle and getting a few extras—edible gold stars, a tube of silver icing.
Back in Wychwood-on-Lea, Olivia tried to banish her worries and hurt by finishing the decoration of the shop. So far she had strung fairy lights all around, and lined the display cases and stands with red velvet ribbon. A sprig of mistletoe adorned the front door, whose brass handle now sported a cluster of jingle bells. She’d cut fresh holly and placed it in the corners of the display case, and now she added the newly purchased angel to the display case, and strung some more lights outside, to make the shop a bit more welcoming as dusk began earlier and earlier.
As the sun started to sink, the high street lost in shadow, she decided to start on a batch of mince pies for the Christmas light turn-on on Wednesday. It was time for Christmas baking, cupcakes included, to begin in earnest.
Baking always helped to banish worry; the methodical mixing, rolling out of dough, cutting the shapes helped to give her a focus and soothe her spirit. It reminded her of her childhood, standing next to her mum on top of a little stool, tiny hands patting out the dough or stirring the batter as her mother lovingly instructed her.
Soon, with the little kitchen in the back of the shop full of delicious, spicy smells, and Christmas carols blasting from the battered CD player in the corner, Olivia started to feel better. Her mum was probably just feeling a bit unsettled, being in a new place for Christmas.
And now that she had a little space to sort through her own thoughts, Olivia remembered that her mother protested them spending Christmas together just about every year, worried that Olivia was giving up more exciting plans to be with her mum. Maybe her protests this year hadn’t been quite as half-hearted as they had been in the past, but still. There was nothing to worry about, surely. Her mum was in a period of adjustment, just as she was. They’d both get over it soon, Olivia reassured herself. Of course they would.
She had just slid the first tray of mince pies out of the oven, admiring their perfectly baked tops, puffed and golden, when a determined tapping on the front door had her straightening in surprise. The shop was clearly closed, even though the lights were on. It was after five on a dark and wintry Sunday evening.
Still the tapping continued, and Olivia went to see who couldn’t read a closed sign.
She nearly stumbled in her step as she saw the tall, rangy figure by the door, his nose nearly pressed to the glass.
Fumbling with the lock, her heart doing its silly dance once more, Olivia opened the door.
“Sorry, am I too late? Are you closed?” Simon asked as he pushed an unruly lock of dark hair away from his forehead.
“I am closed,” Olivia admitted even though she half didn’t want to. “I was just baking mince pies for tomorrow.”
“Mince pies…” There was a note of longing in his voice that made her smile.
“Would you like to come in and have one?” Olivia asked, feeling bold, and the smile that bloomed across Simon’s face was answer enough.
“I’d love to,” he said, and stepped inside.
Chapter Four
Olivia busied herself with fetching two mince pies from the back, all the while giving herself a stern talking-to to calm down. She arranged the pies on plates decorated with lace doilies, and then scrapped the doilies as a step too far, even though she normally served them with everything.
“Here we are,” she called out cheerfully, bringing the plates to one of the tables at the front of the shop, only to stop uncertainly at the apologetic look on Simon’s face.
“I’m so sorry…but I can’t stay.”
“Oh.” Olivia willed herself not to blush as she glanced down at the two plates, her expectation so cringingly obvious. Thank heaven she hadn’t used the doilies.
“I should have said,” Simon continued. “I’m an absolute oaf—but you know that already, don’t you? From when I nearly knocked your Victoria sponge over—”
“And the lemon drizzle.” Olivia did her best to sound wry as she fetched a paper napkin and wrapped the mince pie up in it before thrusting it towards him “Here you are, then. Enjoy.”
“How much…?”
She waved him away, half wanting him gone. Actually, all wanting him gone. She felt so stupid, so obvious, hoping that he’d sit down with her and have a chat. Clearly he just wanted her baked goods. “It’s on the house.”
“No—”
“Really.” Her voice came out sounding the tiniest bit hard, and she tried to soften it with a smile.
He stared at her for a moment, his paper-wrapped pie in his hand, a look of regret on his face, etched deep into the lines running from his nose to his mouth. “The reason I have to run off,” he said at last, “is because I’m playing in
