by Kate Hewitt
“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 friends. She thought of the way his eyes lit up, the easy, goofy smile, the enthusiasm about everything that he seemed to have. I really like him and I want to get to know him better.
It had been a long time since she’d felt that way about anyone, the interest along with the hope. A long time since she’d even considered putting herself out there, risking her pride along with her comfort to meet and reach another person.
She would be forty next birthday, after all, and she was rather set in her ways. Relationships at her age were a whole other kettle of fish than when you were in your twenties or even thirties, when you hadn’t become settled in your life, the crow’s feet making their faint prints on your skin, as well as the scars into your soul. When you’d fought for happiness and found it, and inviting someone new in meant risking overturning everything.
Of course, she was getting way ahead of herself now. She barely knew Simon, and his invitation for her to come to this concert might have been no more than the actions of a keen musician, a kindly neighbour, or both. She would be foolish to read anything more into it, and yet…
And yet, she felt something more, and that was enough to make her want to act. Take a risk, even if it was just asking Simon out for a drink. Olivia imagined telling her friends what she’d got up to at their next wine evening and she smiled at the thought.
When the evening had ended, the musicians all took a quick bow before filing out, leaving Olivia to mill around in the back of the church with the other concert-goers, sipping a plastic cup of mulled wine and nibbling a mince pie that definitely was not as good as hers.
She saw a few people she knew, and chatted to Gwyneth Larsen, the dear old lady who bought a box of macaroons from her several times a week. A school mum who had come in several times for coffee wished her a happy Christmas, and Edith Payne, a friend of her mother’s who had afternoon tea twice a week like clockwork, buttonholed her by the drinks table.
“How is Tina, Olivia?” she asked with beady-eyed concern. “I keep meaning to visit her in Witney but they’ve stopped the bus service there and I don’t drive…”
“I’ll take you,” Olivia offered. “I visit her every Sunday.”
“Oh, that would be lovely, dear. I do miss her.”
“I’m sure she’d love to see you.” Perhaps visiting with an old friend would cheer her mum up. Even though Olivia had decided she was overreacting about her mum’s state, she was still worried. Tina definitely hadn’t seemed like herself that afternoon.
/>
“And how are you getting on?” Edith asked, giving Olivia’s elbow a sympathetic squeeze. “Managing that shop all on your own?”
“It’s fine,” Olivia answered, as she always did. “I like it.”
“But you really ought to get some help,” Edith insisted. “You must be there all hours…”
“Yes, but I really do enjoy it.” Olivia had toyed with the idea of part-time help, but she couldn’t really afford it, and what else would she do with her time?
“Still, you could get out more. Join a club in the village…” Edith looked at her hopefully. “We’re always looking for bridge players on a Wednesday afternoon.”
Olivia laughed and shook her head. “I’m not a patch on my mum, I’m afraid.”
Yet as Edith bustled away to chat to someone else she’d seen, leaving Olivia alone, she wondered at her own reluctance to hire help. She could afford it if she really wanted to…and an afternoon off would surely be welcome?
She’d been living in Wychwood-on-Lea for coming on two years and she hadn’t joined any village clubs or societies, hadn’t made any friends besides those at Willoughby Close, and she didn’t, Olivia realised with a pang, really feel as if she belonged in the village, outside of her shop and the people she chatted to on occasion. It was a rather depressing thought, and one that hadn’t actually occurred to her before. She had friends and she was busy; it had felt like enough, until suddenly it didn’t, and she didn’t even know why.
“Olivia.”
Simon’s voice, full of warmth, had her turning, a smile blooming shyly across her face. Never mind that she still didn’t know that many people in the village, here was a man she wanted to know. And judging by the happy look on Simon’s face, he wanted to get to know her, as well.
“Hello—”
“I’m so glad you decided to come. Can I fetch you a drink?” He glanced at her plastic cup. “Another?”
“Oh, well, all right, then,” Olivia practically stammered. She felt like a schoolgirl under Simon’s warm, appreciative gaze. “You were wonderful, by the way. I love the sound of the cello.”
“Thank you.” He looked so pleased she couldn’t keep from smiling, her heart buoyed by happiness through this little exchange. “I’ll be back in a tick,” he added, taking her empty cup. “Don’t move.”
“I won’t,” Olivia promised, and she didn’t, smiling foolishly as Simon made his way to the drinks table and the vat of mulled wine. He’d just filled two glasses when a woman in a swing coat, her wild dark hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun, strode purposefully through the crowd and then right to Simon.
Olivia watched, her smile starting to fade, as she tapped Simon on the shoulder, and then he turned, hurriedly putting down the drinks as the woman enveloped him in a tight embrace.
It wasn’t the usual side-arm hug of congratulations, but an emotional, intimate expression of affection that went on for several prolonged seconds. Olivia could see Simon’s face as he wrapped his arms around the woman, his eyes closed tightly, a look of naked emotion contorting his features. Watching them, she almost felt like a voyeur from across the crowded narthex.
Finally they separated, but even then the woman gripped Simon by the shoulders, talking to him earnestly while he listened with a similar intentness, their drinks—and Olivia—forgotten. Whatever was happening between them, it was important and intense and it served as a painful and perhaps timely reminder that Olivia still didn’t know him all that well, if at all.
It didn’t look as if the conversation was going to finish anytime soon, and so Olivia wound her way through the crowd, grabbing her coat from an empty pew and then heading out into the cold, dark night.
The air was so sharp it nearly stole her breath, and clouds had moved over the moon, making the blackness seem almost impenetrable. The Christmas tree and fairy lights spangling the high street were all turned off, awaiting the official Turning on the Lights ceremony, and just like they’d sung in the Advent carols, the world seemed hushed and expectant, waiting…but for what?
Nothing, Olivia couldn’t keep from thinking rather flatly as she walked in the dark towards home. Nothing but more of the same. And for the first time in a long while, that thought didn’t fill her with optimism or happiness.
Struggling against a terrible, towering disappointment that she knew was unwarranted considering the situation, she unlocked the door to Tea on the Lea and breathed in the faint scent of cinnamon and spice from her earlier baking. It looked like the evening was shaping up to be exactly what she’d thought it would be earlier—a lot of mince pies and the company of her ornery cat. With a sigh, Olivia closed the door and locked it, and then turned towards the kitchen.
Chapter Five
Tea on the Lea was filled with festive smells and sights as Olivia bustled around at five o’clock on Wednesday evening, in preparation for the village’s Turning on the Lights ceremony.
Mallory and Abby had offered to help, and were decked out in white T-shirts and black miniskirts, with red velvet bows in their hair as they assembled trays of various Christmas goodies—mince pies, shortbread, gingerbread, and Olivia’s red velvet cupcakes decorated with holly piped in green royal icing. A huge pot of mulled wine was simmering on the stove, along with spiced apple cider for children and teetotallers. Christmas carols blasted from the speakers stuck in the corner and the shop was awash with fairy lights, holly, and red velvet ribbon. It was as Christmassy as she could make it, and with the high street filling up with families intent on seeing the switch-on, Olivia was hopeful of generating some business.
“Why didn’t you do this last year?” Mallory asked as she loaded up another tray in the kitchen. Olivia had spent the last forty-eight hours elbow-deep in flour; she’d even dreamed of shortcrust pastry last night. It had been more of a nightmare, with the pastry falling apart in her hands time and time again, and she’d actually woken up in a cold sweat, relieved that it was nothing but a dream, and about pastry at that.
“I didn’t think of it,” she told Mallory, “and more’s the pity.” Last year she had been focused on Alice and Henry’s wedding, and transferring the business from her mother’s name to her own. She hadn’t thought beyond either of those things. “Hopefully it will become a tradition now, along with the evening I’m planning next week.” She’d fanned out the invitations by the front door, the red and green lettering promising plenty of Christmas treats, a quiz, and carol singing.
“It should become a tradition,” Tina volunteered from her place at a table, where she was sticking cloves in several oranges to add to the spicy and festive scent of the shop. “I’m ashamed I never thought of it, for all these years.”
“Mum said they’ve only been doing the switching-on-the-lights thing for a few years,” Mallory offered. “So maybe you didn’t have the opportunity.”
Olivia was just glad her mum had agreed to come out for the evening. She’d resisted when Olivia had rung her on Monday, asking if she wanted to come, but then finally, after much cajoling and chivvying, she had agreed. Olivia had driven to Witney to pick her up, leaving Mallory with the awesome responsibility of taking the last batch of shortbread out on time, which she’d thankfully done.
Since she’d arrived Tina had kept busy in her corner, and Olivia had far more clove-stuck oranges than she actually needed, but at least her mum was staying busy and seemed happy. It made Olivia realise, with one of those funny little pangs, how much she hadn’t been busy or happy in the last year and a half she’d been in the shop. How slowly but surely she’d let go of her responsibilities while Olivia had taken over, too busy really to notice how little her mum did, or how adrift she had started to seem.
“It does seem like a nice tradition,” Tina said as she continued with her cloves. “Both the switching on of the lights and keeping the shop open. You’ve done well, Olivia. So well.” She smiled wistfully, and Olivia suppressed another of those pangs.
“Thanks, Mum, but you’re the one who
kept this shop going for so long. It still feels much more of your place than mine.” Which wasn’t entirely true, considering how many hours Olivia spent there, but she wanted her mother to feel a part of things.
“Oh, no.” Tina shook her head. “This is all yours now, Olivia.”
“How is it going?” Ellie cried gaily as she came into the shop with her husband, Oliver, a bespectacled cutie who gave Olivia a charmingly bashful smile.
“Good, I think.” Olivia tucked a wisp of decidedly frizzy hair behind her ear. “We officially open our doors in…” She checked her watch. “Five minutes.”
“Well, I think everything looks fab. So Christmassy. And someone said it might snow!” Someone was always saying it might snow, and occasionally it did. Olivia just smiled and then Ellie angled a little closer and dropped her voice to a rather theatrical whisper. “And what about Cupcake Man?”
Cupcake Man? Seriously? Olivia managed what she hoped was a careless shrug. “I have no idea.”
“Oh.” Ellie’s face fell. “Hasn’t he come in again?”
“Has who come in?” Mallory asked, always wanting to know the latest gossip.
Olivia busied herself with arranging a few more shortbread on an already full tray. “No one and no,” she said brightly. “But hopefully the shop will be full in a few minutes!”
Thankfully Ellie took the hint and didn’t press—not that there was any information for her to ferret out. Olivia hadn’t seen Simon since the concert on Sunday, something she was doing her best not to find crushing. So she’d got her hopes up a little, thinking there might be a spark between them. It happened.
Clearly something was going on with the arty, elegant woman who had given him the full-on embrace at the church. They looked good together, both tall and dark and artistic-looking. She wished them well. Really.
Of course, he still could have come in and bought a cupcake each day as he’d said he would, but oh, well. The promotion seemed to be working—she’d sold all twelve on Monday and eleven on Tuesday, and most of those had been repeats of people who’d bought before and were hoping for a free cupcake at the end. Really, it was all good…or at least mostly good.