He waited until the crowd had dissipated before asking her if she’d bought a Christmas tree yet.
“No, not yet. I’ve been a bit busy…”
“I was only asking because there is a Christmas tree farm nearby where you can cut your own tree down, and I thought it might be fun to go together.” He smiled wryly, waiting for her reply.
“Oh, it would, but—” Olivia hesitated, imagining the massive firs and spruces that were undoubtedly farmed. “I’m thinking I’ll need quite a small tree. More of a tabletop item.”
“I’m sure they sell small ones,” Simon said easily, and so they arranged to meet up the next day.
A few snowflakes were drifting down as Simon picked her up in his car, cheery as ever, and they fell into an easy camaraderie as they drove to the farm on the other side of Oxford.
“Do you have a saw?” Olivia asked somewhat dubiously. She’d never cut down her own Christmas tree before; she tended to buy them from the supermarket, prewrapped.
“Of course,” Simon answered easily. “I borrowed it from my brother-in-law.”
“When are they heading out for Christmas?”
“Tomorrow. And I pick up the keys for Willoughby Close this afternoon.”
“Oh!” Olivia was pleased for both Simon and the close itself, with a new resident to liven things up. “That’s wonderful, Simon.”
“When I’ve retrieved all of my furniture and things from storage, you must come over to dinner.”
“I’d love that,” Olivia answered, “but let me help you move in. That is, if you want me to…”
“That would be wonderful,” Simon answered with a beaming smile, and Olivia grinned back. Everything suddenly felt so wonderfully simple—her, Simon, their fledgling relationship.
A short while later they arrived at the Christmas tree farm, and with guidelines given and saw in hand, they walked across a field glittering with frost to the selection of smaller trees one of the staff had directed them to.
“How about this one?” Olivia asked as they approached a small, squat tree. Simon shook his head definitively.
“Too stubby.”
“Stubby?” Okay, actually, she could kind of see it. “Right, then. Do you see one you like?”
“Hmm.” Simon rubbed his chin, looking around the field of trees with a connoisseur’s discerning eye. “What about that one over there?”
Olivia looked where he pointed and then shook her head. “It’s all bare on one side.”
“All right, let’s try again.”
In the end, they decided they’d found the perfect, or almost, tree on the fifth attempt, and then spent a good twenty minutes taking turns sawing it. Lying flat on her back on the cold, frosty grass, staring up at the blue sky through a screen of pine needles as she sawed and sawed and her arm ached, Olivia couldn’t remember feeling so happy.
“Are you getting tired? Let me have a go.” Simon scooted next to her, and for a second his hip and leg were pressed to hers, his face so close if she turned her head they’d be kissing. Not that that was how she wanted their first kiss to happen.
Quickly Olivia scooted out from under the tree. No, she didn’t want it to happen under a tree, but it would happen. Of that she was becoming more and more sure.
Once they’d managed to saw through the trunk, they lugged the tree back to the main barn, where attendants wrapped it up and helped to tie it on top of Simon’s car. Then they repaired to the adjoining café for a much-needed hot chocolate, complete with whipped cream and marshmallows.
“This has been so fun,” Olivia said impulsively as she plucked a pink marshmallow from the top of her hot chocolate and popped it into her mouth. “I’m so glad I closed the shop for the week. I haven’t a holiday in ages.”
“You weren’t tempted to skip town and have a week in the sun somewhere?”
“By myself?” She made a face. “No, I’m glad to be in Wychwood, celebrating with my mum…and you.”
She was really glad, more pleased perhaps than she wanted Simon to know. She’d tried to downplay the fact that they were spending Christmas together—her friends would make far too much of it—but it still filled her with both excitement and hope.
“So am I,” Simon said, his smile and eyes both warm. Olivia smiled rather foolishly back. Really, everything felt just about perfect.
On the way back to Wychwood, Simon asked if she minded stopping by Willoughby Manor so he could pick up the keys for number four.
“No, of course not,” Olivia said. “Who are you picking them up from?”
“The caretaker of the manor…Jace, I think his name is?”
“Yes, Jace. He’s a good friend of mine. Well, his wife Ava is, especially. She used to live in number three.”
It felt strange to pull up to the familiar courtyard of Willoughby Close with Simon; Harriet and Ellie had both already left for Christmas, and so the courtyard looked a little forlorn, the curtains drawn on all the windows except for number four. Olivia peeked inside and saw the empty sitting room where Alice’s second-hand sofa had once resided.
“Do you know where Jace’s cottage is?” Simon asked. “He said he lived nearby but I’m not sure he gave specific directions…”
“That sounds like Jace. It’s through a little path on the other side of the drive—I’ll show you.”
They walked through the wood bordering the drive, the branches bare above them, the well-worn path of packed dirt, now frozen hard. After a few minutes they emerged in a little clearing where Jace’s caretaker cottage—a small, castle-like edifice—stood, complete with frilly gingerbread and a tiny turret.
“Wow,” Simon said as he eyed the elf-like abode. “Not what I expected.”
“No, it’s a bit OTT, especially for a man like Jace.”
They knocked on the door and a few seconds later Ava opened it, jiggling a fussy-looking William.
“Oh!” She stared at them both in surprise. “Hello, Olivia. And…Simon,
