“Coming…” Olivia repeated blankly, too shocked to process what he was saying, and now Simon was the one who was blushing.
“Sorry, I should have introduced myself first, shouldn’t I?” He stuck out a hand. “Simon Blacklock.”
“Olivia James.” She took his hand, his fingers tightening on hers, his palm warm and dry. She noticed he had calluses on the fingers of his left hand, and she wondered what instrument he played.
“So.” Simon withdrew his hand, smiling. “Concert. Starting at six, if you fancy it. Mince pies and mulled wine after, but I’m sure yours are better.” His smile was wry, a bit apologetic, almost as if he were bracing himself for a polite refusal.
And Olivia almost did refuse…although she wasn’t even sure why she would. After all, why shouldn’t she go to the concert? Staying home alone all evening was the only other option, and she’d had enough of that, really.
“All right, then,” she said, seeming to surprise them both. “I’d love to come. But I should probably change…”
“Oh, it’s casual, don’t worry,” Simon said hurriedly. “I’d better be off now—but I’ll see you there? And after?”
After. He almost made it sound like a quasi-date, even though Olivia knew he was just talking about the standard mulled-wine-and-mince-pies that accompanied just about every public gathering this time of year, including her own.
“Yes,” she said firmly. “And after.”
With one last fleeting smile of farewell, Simon headed out into the dark night and after locking the door and putting the mince pies away, Olivia scurried upstairs to get herself concert-ready.
Obviously she couldn’t look as if she were trying too hard since Simon had told her it was casual and it most certainly wasn’t a date, but Olivia knew she needed to do better than her old jeans, a jumper dusted with flour, and her hair in a complete frizz.
Quickly she squeezed herself into a pair of skinny jeans—although there was nothing very skinny about her in them—and a forgiving tunic-style cashmere jumper in a Christmassy green that brought out the barest glint of hazel in her mud-brown eyes. Some expensive hair products that she defiantly splurged on took care of most of the frizz, although, thanks to having been busy in a hot kitchen for the better part of an hour, her hairstyle did not resemble the gentle waves her various potions and products promised.
Dr Jekyll came into her tiny bedroom and wound between her legs, his bottle-brush tail waving high as he meowed plaintively.
“Dinner. Right.” She gave him a stroke but he ducked away, hissing, showing his Hyde-like nature as he often did. Olivia’s stomach growled in sympathy—she hadn’t eaten anything since mid-morning—but she didn’t have time to eat before the concert.
As it was, she hurried to open a tin of cat food for Dr Jekyll, and then grabbed her coat, giving her reflection one last hard stare, before heading out into the darkened night.
Quite a few people were heading towards the church at the bottom of the high street. Olivia was slightly ashamed to realise she’d only been there a few times since she’d moved to the village, for her friends’ weddings.
Her mum had taken her to church when she’d been little, but she’d fallen out of the habit when she’d moved to London and Sundays mornings had been for lie-ins. Now nostalgia enveloped her in its misty memory as she stepped through the ancient wooden doors and into the candlelit interior; the dusty, musty smell of old hymnals and candle wax took her right back to her childhood.
Someone at the door handed her a program, and she took it with murmured thanks, scanning the pews for Simon but not seeing him anywhere. Since he was one of the musicians she wasn’t surprised, but she still felt the tiniest bit disappointed.
She slid into a pew midway down the church and settled back, enjoying the sense of serenity that pervaded the soaring space. Creamy candles garlanded with holly adorned the end of each pew, as well as the choir stalls at the front. A small orchestra had been set up at the front of the church, and curiosity sparked inside her as she wondered again what instrument Simon played. She really didn’t know anything about him, and she hoped she’d have the opportunity to learn more tonight.
The church soon filled up and a few minutes later the vicar, a kindly looking man in his fifties, introduced the service. A few seconds after that the musicians came out, and Olivia recognised Simon’s rangy form instantly. He took his seat behind a cello, and she decided that seemed exactly right for him. The cello, the instrument closest to the human voice, the sound beautiful, emotional, a little melancholy.
She watched, unable to tear her gaze away, as he picked up his bow, his head bent over the cello, almost as if in prayer. Then the music started, filling the space, soaring up to the ceiling high above. O Come, O Come, Emmanuel…
The congregation rose to sing, as the music continued to wend its way through the space. Olivia couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard live music, and each note plucked at her soul now, the sonorous melody, the beautiful words, the sense of expectation, for all the songs, being Advent hymns and carols, were about waiting. Rejoice… for something good is coming… something you can’t even imagine…
As the congregation sat down for an orchestral piece, Olivia found her gaze sneaking to Simon again, his long fingers gripping the cello and bow, an unruly lock of hair sliding forward, obscuring his face. He wore a crisp blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms and a pair of brown cords, and Olivia’s heart gave a little lurch as she watched him play.
I like him, she realised with a jolt. Not just a fun crush or a passing interest, the way she’d panned it off to her
