“Unlimited cupcakes for life,” Olivia promised. “In whatever flavour you want.” Smiling, she watched Mallory flounce out, her phone out and thumbs working madly before the door had closed behind her.
Olivia had known Mallory for nearly two years and she couldn’t believe how grown-up she was becoming, half startling maturity, half sulky attitude. Harriet had her hands full, not just with Mallory, but with William, her ten-year-old brother, and Chloe, the family’s adorable but slightly spoiled seven-year-old. But then Harriet was one of those frighteningly organised women who didn’t seem fazed by anything—or at least she had been, until her life had fallen apart in spectacular style, and then come together again, better than before.
Olivia was happy her friend had found happiness with her husband again—in fact, all four of her friends at Willoughby Close had found their happily-ever-afters, and Olivia had had an admittedly small part to play in each of their stories, whether it was doling out cups of tea and generous slabs of cake, or simply providing a smiling face and a listening ear. Now Ellie and Oliver were married, as were Alice and Henry, and Ava and Jace.
Olivia had made all their wedding cakes, which had brought in a nice bit of business. Since Henry was the local lord of the manor, her cake had been something of a talked-about centrepiece. But wedding cake orders had dropped right off after the summer, and once again Olivia was trying to think of another way to make a go of her little tea shop. At least things were ticking over at the moment…if only just.
Olivia bustled around the shop, tidying up after Mallory and finishing her Christmas shopping list. Darkness was already starting to fall, nearly obscuring the steady trickle of mums and children now coming from the primary school at the top end of the high street. None of them stopped in the shop, and Olivia wasn’t surprised. Most mothers just wanted to get home at this point, and the wintry weather would put anyone off lingering in front of the display windows she spent hours trying to make look irresistibly delectable.
Olivia had known when she’d taken on her mum’s tea shop that it would be a challenging endeavour. Wychwood-on-Lea was a lovely village, but it was small, and Olivia had always understood that foot traffic alone wouldn’t keep the place afloat, something her mum had never seemed to accept. She’d been trying a lot of other strategies, and some had taken off a bit, but things were still tight, and at this point, she thought they might always be.
But that was okay. She sank onto a stool behind the wooden counter, propping her chin in her hands as twilight began to settle softly over the village, the buildings of mellow golden stone becoming shadowy in the darkness.
It was fine. She loved running the tea shop; she loved her friends; she loved Wychwood-on-Lea, its quaint cottages, the river burbling alongside, a soothing balm after the hectic busyness of her London life. Everything was good. Absolutely everything.
The merry jingle of bells on the shop door had Olivia lifting her head, and then quickly standing up as a man came into the shop, ducking his head underneath the stone lintel. He glanced around the empty space, wrought-iron chairs tucked into tables, everything tidied away.
“I’m sorry…are you still open?”
“Yes, absolutely,” Olivia said, widening her welcome smile. “Just a bit slow today… It’s so cold, I think everyone wants to get home.”
“Completely understandable.” He loosened the colourful Dr Who-like scarf from around his neck, glancing at the now rather empty glass display cases with an endearingly boyish interest.
He was, Olivia decided, a most interesting-looking man. Tall and lithe, at least six three, she’d say, and a bit gangly and awkward too, in a charming way. When he swung around to look at the display case in front of the counter, his elbow nearly knocked the cake stand but fortunately Olivia whisked it a few inches backwards before he made contact.
He glanced at it, startled, and then gave her a sheepish smile. “Sorry. I’m horribly clumsy. My mother despaired of me. I managed to break six of her Royal Doulton teacups in one go. Plus saucers.”
Olivia gave a little laugh. “And how did you manage that?”
“They were all on a tray and I knocked it with my elbow. Naturally. It was a bridge party, all the ladies of the neighbourhood. She was not pleased.”
“Oh, dear.” Olivia found she couldn’t quite look away from his glinting, grey-green eyes and wide, infectious smile. He had a dimple in one lean cheek, she noticed, which made him look boyish, although the streaks of grey in his dark, unruly hair, as well as the deepening crow’s feet by his eyes suggested someone close to her age of nearly forty.
“Anyway.” He glanced up from the display case, eyebrows raised. “What do you recommend?”
“Umm…I’m afraid there’s not much left. All the scones are gone, as well as the triple chocolate cake. It’s only lemon drizzle or Victoria sponge on offer now…” Her gaze fell on the last cookies and cream cupcake. “Or a cupcake, if you’d rather. I have one left.”
His face lit up, making her laugh at the exuberance of his expression. “One cupcake left? How perfectly serendipitous. What flavour is it?”
“Cookies and cream.” She fetched the cupcake from the plate behind her; she hadn’t put it back after wrapping up the others for Mallory.
“Now that is a work of art.” The man studied the cupcake as if it were the edible version of Michelangelo’s David. “Are those pieces of Oreo?”
“They are.”
“Amazing.”
She smiled, gratified by his compliment, because it sounded so sincere. He seemed like one of those rare people who was truly fascinated by life, always stopping to study or stare, marvelling at the mechanics of something simple. It was
