by Kate Hewitt
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, just in case.” She blushed, wondering if that was too…well, something.
“You are amazing! A saint and a wonder.” He grinned. “Am I laying it on too thick?”
“Perhaps,” Olivia acknowledged with a little laugh, although truth be told she liked his rather theatrical manner.
“Here you are.” She fetched the last cupcake and presented it to him with a flourish. Simon took it, a slightly odd, whimsical look on his face as he gazed at her.
“What…” Olivia said, starting to blush all over again.
“You’ve a bit of icing on your mouth…”
“Oh.” Now she was turning a lovely—or not—shade of scarlet as she managed an unsteady laugh. “Whoops…” She rubbed her mouth a bit frantically, but Simon shook his head and then, leaning forward, he touched the corner of her mouth with his thumb. It was a brief yet tantalising gesture, and it felt shockingly intimate. It made Olivia realise just how long it had been since she’d been touched, in any way, by a man. Too long.
“Sorry.” Now he was the one who was blushing, a faint rosy tint to his lean cheeks as he stepped back. “I didn’t…”
“It’s okay.” She turned away quickly, trying to hide how unsettled that little touch had made her. How it made her mind jump to other, more extensive possibilities. What was wrong with her? “Would you like a box?” she asked, speaking so fast that her words jumbled into one another. “And a ribbon?”
“Um, yes, sure.” Simon sounded as unsettled as she was, which was both faintly gratifying and…more unsettling. This was getting too weird.
Olivia felt as if she were all thumbs as she fetched a box from the pantry, jamming the sides and flaps together, her mind a blur. Quick, think of something to say…something innocuous and witty…
“Did you like yesterday’s cupcake?” she asked a bit desperately. “The cookies and cream.”
“Ah, well.” Simon looked a bit embarrassed, his smile apologetic. “It looked absolutely delicious, of course, but I didn’t eat it.”
“You didn’t?”
In an icy flash of horror, Olivia pictured him giving the cupcake to someone else—his adorable girlfriend, his pregnant wife, his little daughter. Of course he had people like that in his life.
“No, I gave it to…to someone else. But they enjoyed it, I assure you.”
“Well, I hope you enjoy this one,” she said, every word stilted. “Salted caramel. That is, if you’re the one eating it.”
Simon just smiled, which made her feel worse. What was he not saying, and why? Or was she reading way too much into what was essentially a business exchange? She handed him the box. “Here you are.”
“Thank you so much. And here you are.” He handed her a five-pound note, his fingers brushing hers. “And no change. I absolutely insist.”
Which just felt like pity now. “Thank you,” Olivia said. “And…see you tomorrow?”
“I’ll be here.” He smiled, gave a mock salute, and then, far too soon, he was gone, the door banging shut behind him, letting in a gust of icy air that made Olivia shiver as she stared disconsolately out at the darkness.
Chapter Three
“Come in, come in!”
Harriet urged Olivia inside, brandishing a very full glass of white wine as her adorable dog Daisy frolicked about their heels, nearly making them both trip.
“Thanks.” Olivia smiled as she stepped across the threshold of Harriet’s converted-stable cottage at Willoughby Close. Ava, Ellie, and Alice were already inside, sprawled across the matching sofas. “Where’s Richard?”
“Upstairs, corralling the children. I’ve told them they will come down on pain of death, or at least a serious scolding, even Richard.” She plucked the bottle of average plonk Olivia had been holding. “You shouldn’t have, but I’m glad you did. I ruined the mulled wine with far too much orange juice, and we’re already mostly through the bottle of white Ava brought.”
“Oh, really?” Everyone’s glasses looked very full, Olivia noticed, and wondered what they were celebrating—or bemoaning.
“Let me get you a glass,” Alice offered as she rose from the sofa. “There’s still some white left…”
“Or this red.” Harriet placed Olivia’s bottle on the kitchen counter with a thunk. “What do you fancy?”
“Either is fine,” Olivia answered with a smile as she unbuttoned her parka. It was good to be with her friends, especially on a wet and windy winter’s night, where the only company she would have had was Dr Jekyll, who was definitely in full Mr Hyde mode at the moment.
“I’ll let you finish off the white, then,” Alice said cheerfully, and poured Olivia a glass to the brim before handing it over with a smile.
“So how is everyone?” Olivia asked as she plopped herself down in the middle of one of the sofas, between Ava and Ellie. Harriet flung herself onto the other one with a sigh, and Alice curled up in the opposite corner.
“We’re fine,” Ellie began, only to have her face crumple a little bit. Olivia sat up in alarm, sloshing her wine over her hand.
“Ellie…?”
“Oh, it’s nothing, really,” Ellie said as she fished for a hanky and blew her nose. “I’m being hormonal and weepy for no good reason.”
“That’s not true,” Ava fired back. “It’s a big deal, Ellie.”
“What is?” Olivia asked. She felt as if she’d missed part of a crucial conversation.
Ellie took a shuddering breath and a gulp of wine. “Oliver and I—and Abby, of course—are moving to Oxford in January.”
“What!” Olivia stared at her in surprise and dismay. “But…why?”
“We both work in Oxford, and it makes sense to be closer,” Ellie said, sounding rather resigned. “And Abby’s been accepted for the next term to Headington Girls.”
“She’s going to a girls’ school?”
“She wants to,” Ellie said. “She pushed the application.”
“But…” Olivia was at a loss, although she realised she didn’t know Abby all that well. Mallory did most of the talking.
“She’s very driven,” Ellie said. “Unlike me. And a lot of the students at the comp mess about. It’s a good school, but she has the drive and Oliver has the money, so…” She shrugged. “Besides, it wasn’t really working, both of us commuting.”
“Right.” Olivia’s mind whirled. She’d come to depend on this little group of five. She hated the thought of losing even one of her dear friends.
“Well, you’re not the only one who is thinking of a move,” Harriet said with a wry smile. “Richard and I put an offer on a house on the other side of the village, and it’s been accepted. All things being equal, we should be able to move out by March.”
“What…!”
“You did?”
“Where?”
Harriet waved away all their surprised questions with a smile. “On the rougher side, as it were…an old wreck, but it’s what we could afford, and the truth is, we’re squeezed in this little place.”
“I can’t believe it,” Ava cried. “Willoughby Close will be completely empty.” Alice had moved into Willoughby Manor last year, when she’d married Henry Trent, and Ava had moved into the caretaker’s cottage with Jace. Their cottages hadn’t been let yet, and now the other two would be vacated, as well. It was strange to think of the cheerful little courtyard with its cluster of four cottages completely unoccupied. Olivia didn’t like it.
“Everyone’s moving on in one way or another, aren’t they?” Alice said with a nostalgic sigh. “It makes me feel a little sad, somehow.”
It made Olivia feel sad, as well. Everyone was moving on in some way…but her. She sat back and sipped her wine as the conversation swirled around her, talk of jobs and houses, babies and children. All her friends were married; all of them had children save for Alice, who had a manor and a charity to run, and was likely to start a family in the near future. All of them, Olivia acknowledged with a funny little pang she wasn’t used to feeling, had lives that suddenly seemed far fuller and busier than her own.
She’d never minded it before, or at least, she acknowledged, she hadn’t let herself mind. She didn’t need a partner or family to feel fulfilled and connected to her community. She knew that, and yet at the moment she felt like an appendage rather than an integral part. It wasn’t the best feeling.
“Well, we’re not going anywhere,” Ava said as she settled back into the sofa. “Jace is happy at the manor…and I’m happy too.” Her smile was a tiny bit brittle, reminding Olivia that Ava wasn’t ready to have another baby and Jace seemed as if he was. No one’s life was perfect, including her own.
“What about you, Olivia?” Ellie asked. “Anything new and exciting happening at Tea on the Lea?”
For some ridiculous reason Olivia thought of Simon Blacklock. He’d come in for his cupcake yesterday at a quarter to five, just when she’d started to worry that he wouldn’t. Her heart had done that silly tumble in her chest and she’d acted as if she hadn’t been saving a pistachio and strawberry cupcake just for him, having kept one back after selling the other eleven. The cupcake promotion was really working; people seemed interested in the loyalty cards, and the window display as well as word of mouth drew them in.
When Simon had bought his cupcake, they’d barely spoken, which had disappointed her more than it should have; he’d been his usual charming self, but clearly distracted and in a rush, and considering how she’d been looking forward to seeing him all day—again, ridiculous—the two-minute exchange had ended up making her feel rather flat.
“Nothing, really,” she said now, and Harriet, ever shrewd, arched an eyebrow.
“It took you long enough to reply. What were you thinking about telling us?”
Olivia’s cheeks started to warm. “Nnn…nothing,” she stammered, and Harriet folded her arms and stared her down.
“Nothing? You’re blushing.”
“And stammering,” Ellie contributed helpfully, looking interested. “What’s going on, Olivia?”
Perhaps it was because all her friends seemed to have busier lives, or maybe it was just the glass of wine she’d bolted down without much dinner be
forehand, but for some contrary reason Olivia felt reckless, something she usually didn’t feel. She’d always lived her life in a steady, measured way, but in that moment she wanted to share something exciting, to have something exciting to share.
“Oh, it really is nothing,” she said with a little laugh, or at least an attempt at one. “A bloke has come into the shop every day since I started my cupcake promotion.” Everyone stared at her, waiting for more, and suddenly Olivia didn’t feel reckless anymore, just a bit pathetic. “That’s it,” she finished a little flatly, and then drained the last of her wine.
“That can’t be it,” Ava said after a moment. “Or you wouldn’t have mentioned it. What is this bloke like?”
Olivia shrugged, hating having everyone’s eyes on her. She was never the centre of attention; all her life she’d played a supporting role, and she’d liked that…until now, it seemed. Honorary auntie, BFF with the wine and the tissues after someone else’s breakup, concerned colleague, friendly baker, kindly neighbour. She was happy in those roles; she felt comfortable in them. They were safe. Now the spotlight had swung on her and she squirmed. A lot.
“Does he buy a cupcake?” Ellie asked with a kindly smile, clearly trying to help her out. Olivia smiled back, a bit tightly. Her friends were lovely, and they were trying so hard, but when everyone else was talking about husbands and houses and babies, a stranger buying a cupcake in her shop just felt…sad. It wasn’t exciting. It wasn’t news.
“Yes, he does,” she finally said on a sigh.
“The important question is, is he fit?” Ava asked, her eyes narrowing in assessment. “He must be, or you wouldn’t have mentioned him.”
Fit? Olivia doubted Ava would think Simon Blacklock was fit. She was married to Jace, who oozed sex appeal and magnetic charisma from every pore. As for Simon…Olivia pictured his rangy figure, his slightly too-long hair, his colourful scarf, his glinting grey-green eyes.
