Stupid to feel it. Stupid to let it matter. The shop was cosy and inviting, the cupcakes were pleasing to look at, and someone was warbling ‘I’m dreaming of a white Christmas’ on the radio. What was there to feel restless about?
Olivia turned up the volume on the radio and then reached for her laptop to start googling Christmas decoration ideas while keeping one eye on the front door.
At three o’clock Mallory breezed in with one of her best friends, Abby, who was Ellie’s daughter.
Olivia had heard from Ellie a bit of the drama of their relationship; Mallory had been the cool girl to Abby’s nerd but somehow between the small pond of primary school and the enormous ocean of the local comprehensive they’d found a little island of middle ground and were now practically inseparable, despite Mallory having a couple of friends (flicky-haired girls, she called them) that Abby couldn’t stand.
“You did it!” Mallory cried as she burst through the door with so much energy that the glass pane rattled and Olivia winced.
“Yes, I did. What do you think?”
“It’s fab. And those cupcakes look amazing. Can we have one each?”
“Of course,” Olivia said. “It’s the least I can do for the genius behind my inspiration.”
“We’ll pay for them,” Mallory declared as Olivia took two cakes from the window and put them on doily-lined plates. “There’s no point giving them away, is there?”
“You don’t—”
“No, we will,” Abby insisted.
“And then we’ll be eligible for the free cake at the end!” Mallory crowed.
“Ah, now I see the method to your madness.” The two girls sprawled at one of the tables while Olivia watched them affectionately. Twelve nearly thirteen—such a tricky age. She remembered it well herself; she’d been chubby, round-faced and freckly and fairly miserable, thanks to some mean girls in her year. Mallory had had a run-in with her own mean girls, and Olivia was glad she’d come out whole, if not completely unscathed.
Two more of Mallory’s friends came in a short while later, and to Olivia’s gratification they each bought a cupcake. Then a moody-looking sixth form boy with super-gelled hair and a sulky expression strode in, causing Mallory and her friends to look up and nudge each other. He bought two cupcakes, and a little while later a mum bought four for her family’s pudding that night. It seemed people were taking notice of her sign, not to mention the offer of a free cupcake at the end. Olivia had stamped their cards with cheerful enthusiasm. Perhaps this idea really would take off.
She’d already sold ten cupcakes, and there were only two left. It was half past four and the shop had emptied out, and Olivia hoped that one of the cupcakes had a certain person’s name on it. Simon Blacklock. Was she mad, thinking this way—or just pathetic? Wishful, at the very least.
The clock ticked slowly to the hour and no one came in. It was dark outside now; people were hurrying home, heads tucked low against the bitter December wind. Olivia tidied up and then toyed with designs for a customer loyalty card on a notepad, looking up to check the door every few minutes, only to catch sight of her own rather woebegone reflection in the darkened pane. Maybe he wasn’t coming. That really shouldn’t disappoint her as much as it clearly did.
It wasn’t even him, Olivia thought even though she knew it sort of was. But it was also the fact that something so small, so seemingly inconsequential, could become so important to her. A couple minutes, if that, of chit-chat, and here she was, glancing hopefully towards the door yet again.
Another hour passed by with agonising slowness, and yet all too fast. Olivia sorted through her boxes of Christmas decorations, binning the dodgy lights with their too-tangled cords and dusting off the porcelain nativity set she placed on the Victorian stand in the centre of the shop. Already things were starting to look a bit more Christmassy, and it gave her a little lift, even as she fought a growing disappointment as time ticked relentlessly on.
Finally, at quarter past five, Olivia flipped the sign to closed—something she usually did at five—and rather disconsolately started wiping tables and stacking chairs.
Don’t be disappointed, she told herself. Don’t be a complete ninny. And maybe get out more, besides the wine nights at Willoughby Close. Maybe she’d join one of those wretched dating sites. Oh, no. She wasn’t ready for that. But something else, perhaps… The village had loads of clubs. Bridge, crocheting, cricket. Admittedly most of the clubs attracted either OAPs or children, but perhaps she could find something suited to someone like her—middle-aged and single.
The shop tidied, she glanced at two cupcakes in all of their salted caramel glory, the glossy buttercream piled on top of the spongy cake in lovely swirls.
“Oh, screw it, then,” she said on a sigh, and taking one of the cupcakes, she peeled the paper away from the cake and took a big, gooey bite.
A tapping on the door had Olivia turning far too fast, her mouth still full of caramel and cake. And then her heart was turning, over and over, as she caught sight of the familiar—well, somewhat—figure standing in the window, scarf wrapped around his neck, eyebrows raised in a hopeful way.
Swallowing so fast she nearly choked, her mouth still full of sweetness, she walked quickly to the door and flipped the lock, unable to keep from grinning even though she suspected she had icing on her teeth.
“Am I too late?” Simon asked in a dramatically aggrieved way as she opened the door and stepped aside so he could come in. She was still smiling.
“Almost.”
“Are there any cupcakes left?” He nodded towards the window. “The cake stand…”
“Is empty. I’ve kept one behind for you,
