Cupcakes for Christmas: The most uplifting and unmissable feel good love story of Christmas 2018! (Return to Willoughby Close)

by Kate Hewitt

  Simon gave a rueful laugh. “I suppose I’m the same.”

  “No one serious?”

  “Similar to you. I was engaged about fifteen years ago, in my twenties, to another musician. We met in uni and then she got a gig travelling the world with an orchestra. It was for eighteen months, and I thought we’d survive it, but then I got a ‘Dear John’ email from Singapore. It wasn’t meant to be.”

  “No, that’s how I’ve always thought. If I’d really want to get married, I would have done. I wouldn’t have been so picky.”

  “And now?” Simon asked, his gaze serious enough to make her squirm a little. “How do you feel about all that now?”

  Gulp. Was this really the kind of question to ask on a first date? But of course it was; neither of them were getting any younger. No point in wasting time if they wanted different things in life.

  “Honestly?” Olivia rotated her wineglass by its stem as she considered his question—and her answer. “I don’t know. In London I was always happy enough, being the honorary auntie, the godmother, the best friend.”

  “All supporting roles.”

  She was gratified he got it so quickly. “Exactly. And that really suited me fine. I liked having my freedom—my own place, Saturdays to do with as I chose, always able to decide what I want to eat or watch on telly.”

  “There are definitely some perks to the single life.”

  “Yes.” She took a deep breath. “But I’m turning forty in a few months and things are starting to feel different, I suppose—with my mum and also my friends all having kids and busy lives. Living in Wychwood isn’t actually a swinging singles paradise, not that I’d want that scene.”

  “True. So what do you want out of life now?”

  “Wow, deep question.”

  “No point pussyfooting around, is there? We don’t spend enough time pondering the deep questions, in my opinion.”

  “No, I don’t suppose we do.” Olivia took a sip of wine, considering. “I suppose I’m a little scared,” she admitted, surprised at how vulnerable she was being—and yet Simon had already seen her vulnerable, back in the hospital and afterwards.

  “Scared of what?”

  “The future. Living the rest of it alone. I’ve got Dr Jekyll of course, but as you know he’s a changeable creature.”

  “There’s still time, though, isn’t there?” He smiled wryly. “I’m forty-one in April and I’m still hoping there is.”

  “Time for what, exactly?” Olivia decided to be direct. “Because in terms of the whole bumps-and-babies thing, there probably isn’t, for me.” Which perhaps was too much information, but she knew some men set a lot of store by these things. Back in London, she’d seen far too many men her own age preferring a younger, more fertile model.

  “I suppose it depends. I can’t say I’m an expert, but in any case I wasn’t speaking so much of kids as life partner. Love, marriage, that sort of thing.”

  “Ah. Well, here’s hoping.”

  “Yes.” His voice dropped a notch, taking on a not-so-subtle meaning that made Olivia’s insides fizz. “Here’s hoping.”

  Thankfully then they kept the conversation lighter, talking about village life and art and music, and then Simon fetched a pair of menus in case they wanted any food.

  Olivia realised she was enjoying herself; she’d let go of her nerves and worries and was simply revelling in being with someone who was witty and interesting and attractive, and more importantly, interested in her. She loved how Simon gave her his full attention, his gaze both warm and alert, so clearly listening to everything she said. It was a rare gift in any person, to be so fully present and involved.

  They ordered a couple of starters and shared them; Olivia didn’t even mind gnawing at a buffalo wing in front of him, getting sauce on her chin in the process, and no doubt shreds of meat between her teeth.

  “So, do you think you’ll stay in Wychwood long-term?” she asked after they’d polished off a plate of wings as well as another of nachos.

  “I think for the time being, yes. It’s good to be close to my sister, and I was getting priced out of London anyway.”

  “You live with your sister?” Olivia asked, and that surprised, slightly guarded look came into Simon’s eyes, which made her realise she shouldn’t have known that. “Sorry, my friend again. She mentioned it.”

  “She knows quite a bit,” Simon remarked. “What else did she say about me?” Olivia hesitated, feeling both guilty and trapped, and he shrugged. “It’s okay. I figure there’s something. At the start of the evening you were looking a little wary.”

  “Sorry.” Olivia wished now more than ever that Harriet hadn’t said anything to her. “She didn’t say anything more, actually. Just that…” How to put it? “You’re not a serial killer.”

  Simon let out a huff of laughter. “That must have been a great relief to you.”

  “Well, I wish she hadn’t said anything. I’d rather learn about you from you.”

  “So if I’m not a serial killer, what did she think I am?”

  “She didn’t say,” Olivia said wretchedly. She could tell, despite Simon’s easy manner, that he was hurt, and she hated that. “Just that there had been rumours…of something.” As soon as she said the words, she regretted them. They sounded awful.

  “Ah.” His gaze had turned distant, and Olivia waited, wondering if he was going to explain. If she wanted him to. “Well, like you said, you should learn about me from me.”

  “Yes…”

  “And hopefully you’ve liked what you’ve learned so far.”

  “Yes, I have. I really have.” He nodded slowly, and she realised he wasn’t going to tell her anything more, and she didn’t know whether to feel disappointed or relieved. Whatever it was, it wasn’t first date material, and she decided she was okay with that. No one wanted to air all their dirty laundry and deep secrets right away. It wouldn’t be fair on either of them if he did. She felt better somehow, even though she knew she still didn’t know anything—or at least not much.

  “So.” He smiled, his eyes crinkling, his tone and expression deliberately light. “What do we talk about now?”

  “Sorry that was all a bit of a buzzkill, wasn’t it?” She grimaced. “How do you like Wychwood-on-Lea?”

  “I like it. It’s quiet, peaceful. And as it happens, your friend doesn’t have up-to-date information. I’m about to move out of my sister’s right after Christmas.”

  “Oh? Where to?”

  “A converted stables cottage in the grounds of the local manor.”

  “Willoughby Close?” Olivia answered in surprised delight. “You must be moving into number three or four.”

  “Yes, that’s right, number four.” He cocked his head. “You know it?”

  “Yes, my good friends live there. In numbers one and two, although they’re both moving on soon.”

  “So the place will be empty save for me?”

  “Yes, I suppose at first…but the other cottages are sure to be let soon.”

  “Something to look forward to, then.”

  “Yes, if you like neighbours.”

  “My neighbours in London kept to themselves. It’s one thing I like about living in a village. People care.”

  “And they gossip.”

  “So I’ve noticed.” He kept his voice light and Olivia smiled, glad he could joke about it.

  “Anyway, Willoughby Close is lovely. I’d live there myself if I didn’t have the flat.”

  The pub, Olivia noticed, had started to empty out. It was getting late and she had an early start tomorrow, as usual…yet she felt reluctant for the evening to end. “I suppose I should get going,” she finally said. “Five a.m. wakeup to bake three cakes, scones and muffins, and of course, some cupcakes.”

  “What flavour tomorrow?”

  “Nutella. Today was raspberry cheesecake. You didn’t come for your cupcake.” She meant to sound teasing but a faintly accusing note entered her voice.

  “I
’m sorry, I was stuck at school sorting out some paperwork for music exams. And…” he gave a sheepish grin “…I knew I’d be seeing you later anyway.”

  “Are you saying you’ve only been coming into the shop to see me?” Olivia dared to ask, her cheeks warming at the thought.

  “Well, I must admit it’s not for the cupcakes.”

  “What!” She pretended to look outraged.

  “They’re delicious, I’m sure, but I haven’t eaten any.” He paused, hanging his head. “The truth is, I didn’t come into the shop for the cupcakes, or any of your other delectable treats. I came in to see you.”

  “Oh…” She was flummoxed and pleased by this admission, and she didn’t know how to respond.

  Simon cocked his head, his gaze thoughtful. “I saw you through the window and thought, she looks like someone I’d like to know.”

  Olivia’s cheeks warmed as she stared at his honest, open face. “Oh,” she said again.

  “Is that creepy?”

  “No, no…it’s…it’s sweet.” It was rather wonderful. She laughed, willing her blush to fade, absurdly touched by his admission. “Thank you.”

  “Shall I walk you back to the shop?”

  “All right.”

  Simon settled their bill, gallantly refusing Olivia’s offer to split it, and then they stepped out of the pub into the cold night, their breath creating frosty puffs of air.

  The high street of Wychwood-on-Lea was spangled with fairy lights and empty of people as they walked slowly down the cobbled pavement, the stars twinkling high above, diamond pinpricks in a dark night sky.

  As the blue-painted door of Tea on the Lea came nearer, Olivia wondered what would happen. Should she invite him in? It was quite late now and she didn’t want him to get ideas, but neither did she want the evening to end.

  With each step she wondered how to handle that ever-awkward moment, the goodbye on the first date. Kiss his cheek? Shake his hand? Do the cringe-worthy hug?

  “Do you want your cupcake?” she blurted as they both came to a halt outside the shop. “I saved one for you.”

  “Did you? That was kind. And most certainly worth five pounds.”

  She laughed as she unlocked the door and stepped inside. “I raised the price to three pounds, actually. I think that’s reasonable.”

  “Eminently so.”

  She fumbled with the lights, her heart starting to thud in both expectation and nerves. “Well, you should take the cupcake anyway. I certainly don’t want to eat it. I’ve been eating far too many as it is.”

  Simon stood by the door while Olivia fetched the cupcake, putting it in a box as she always did. Her fingers felt thick and clumsy, and she knew her face was scarlet. She was nearly forty, for heaven’s sake. Far too old for these kinds of jitters.

  “May I see you again?” Simon asked. “This weekend?”

  “Yes, I’d like that. I’m working Saturday, but…”

  “How about Sunday? We could go ice-skating. Apparently there’s a pond on the other side of the Lea that’s frozen over.”

  “Ice-skating…” That was novel. “I don’t have any skates…”

  “I’ll come prepared.”

  Olivia gazed at him; his eyes were warm and full of kindness, his smile wry, his hair flopping across his forehead. She didn’t care what Harriet had said. She liked him…and she definitely wanted to see him again, even if it meant making a fool of herself and falling flat on her back on the ice.

  “I’m not a very good skater.”

  “Neither am I. We’ll have to hold on to each other, to keep us both up.”

  She liked the sound of that. She liked the sound of it all. “All right. I see my mum in the late morning but I could meet you after that.”

  “Shall I pick you up from here?”

  “All right. Thank you.” She handed him the box, his fingers sliding over hers as he took it. “Your cupcake, sir.”

  “Many thanks, my lady.” He grinned and then stepped back, which gave her a little flicker of disappointment. So he wasn’t even going to try to kiss her. “I’ll see you Sunday.”

  “Yes. Sunday.” He gave a mock salute and then left, the jingle bells on the door ringing merrily as he shut it behind him. Olivia let out a gusty sigh as she locked up and turned off the lights. She’d been hoping the evening would have ended a little differently, even if it had just been a kiss on the cheek. Still, she told herself as she headed upstairs, she had Sunday to look forward to.

  Chapter Nine

  “So how was it?”

  Alice’s eyes were alight as she came into Tea on the Lea the next day, intending to buy six Nutella cupcakes for a dinner she and Henry were having. She’d barely got through the door, however, before blurting out her question.

  Olivia raised her eyebrows, determined to play cool. “How was what?”

  “Your date.” Alice dropped her voice to a theatrical whisper even though there was no one else in the shop; Evelyn Dearborn, a lovely old lady, had just had her morning tea and scone and had left as Alice came in, but she was mostly deaf anyway.

  “I gather you’ve been talking to Harriet?”

  “Yes, sorry.” Alice gave a guilty smile. “Should she not have said?”

  “No, it’s fine.” Judging from Alice’s unbridled enthusiasm, Harriet hadn’t mentioned the so-called rumours about Simon, for which Olivia was grateful. “And the date was good. Really good. We’re seeing each other again on Sunday.”

  “Oh, Olivia!” Alice clasped her hands together. “I’m so pleased. Is he nice?”

  “He is,” Olivia said firmly. There was absolutely no doubt about that. Simon Blacklock was the nicest man she’d ever met. And she still wished he’d kissed her last night.

  “Oh, that sounds lovely. What are you doing on Sunday, then?”

  “We’re going ice-skating at that pond on the other side of the Lea.” Olivia couldn’t stop herself from making a bit of a face. It had sounded fun and Christmassy last night, but now she was realising how little ice-skating experience she had, i.e. nil, and how likely she was to make a complete fool of herself.

  “How romantic,” Alice gushed. “Skating around hand in hand…I love it.”

  “Or falling flat on my face. I’ve never been ice-skating before.”

  “Me neither,” Alice said. Growing up as a lost cause in the foster system, there was a lot Alice hadn’t done, Olivia knew—and too much that she’d had to. “But it does sound nice. And if Simon is so nice, he’s hardly going to laugh at you or something for falling over.”

  “I know, but…it’s all very new.” And fragile. And that made her scared. Last night she’d lain in bed reliving the best parts of her evening with Simon, and then remembering the awkwardness of her confession—and Simon’s lack of one. She knew she was already starting to care about him—that was a freight train of feeling she had no control over, it seemed—but she also knew that when you cared you got hurt. Her lack of romantic relationships was a testament not just to her inability to find a Mr Right, but also a deliberate choice not to put herself out there. It simply wasn’t worth it.

  But could it be now? Could Simon be worth it? Of course she didn’t have enough information to answer that question yet, but already her emotions were galloping ahead of her far more rational thoughts.

  “Relationships are scary,” Alice commiserated with a sympathetic smile. “Not that I have loads of experience. Henry was my only boyfriend, the only man I ever kissed, even.”

  “Do you wish there had been others?” Olivia asked. She’d had a few boyfriends over the years, and definitely kissed a few frogs, but she still felt inexperienced and uncertain now, in light of this. Of Simon.

  “No, I don’t,” Alice answered. “Because I found Henry. I admit, sometimes I feel gauche compared to him or, well, anyone, but I’d rather be gauche than jaded. Naïve rather than cynical.”

  “That’s the right attitude, Alice. Definitely better to live your life on the side of hope.”
Which was sort of what she was doing, even if a part of her kept holding back as well as on to that ever-persistent fear. She didn’t want to be cynical about Simon, even her wary, rational side warned her that he was almost certainly too good to be true, whatever Harriet had or hadn’t said.

  “Are you coming to the mulled wine and mince pies evening?” Olivia asked as she boxed up the cupcakes. “Although I think I should come up with a catchier name.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Alice answered. “And I’ve invited a few people that Henry knows.”

  “Thanks, Alice. I’m hoping to get a good crowd.”

  “And so you should. It sounds like loads of fun.”

  Olivia hoped so. Sometimes she wondered if the special events she offered were overlapping with similar offerings from the school, church, or village hall, but she had to keep trying, and she liked planning them. Harriet had already designed a poster to put up throughout the village.

  Olivia spent the rest of the weekend, all the way up to Sunday afternoon, trying to keep herself busy and not obsess about Simon. She made a sign announcing the mulled wine and mince pies evening and propped it in the shop window, and even got a few enquiries about it.

  She made three batches of shortbread and planned her next few flavours of cupcake, and during a slow moment in the shop she did some Internet shopping for her Christmas presents. She debated whether to get Simon a present and then decided it was too much, too soon. She wouldn’t even know what to get him, anyway.

  Late Sunday morning she drove to Witney to visit her mum; she’d called every day to check in, but she still felt a bit anxious, and wondered if she should talk to one of the managers of her mother’s building. The retirement community was built so its residents could hold on to as much independence as possible, and at the moment Tina was living completely free of any interference.

  Olivia was reluctant to change that, but what if it was necessary? Her mother had already burned herself at least twice. The last thing Olivia wanted to do was compromise her well-being—what if she needed the next level of care, someone to check in on her, a carer of some sort? Olivia instinctively dismissed the idea; her mum was her mum, matter-of-fact and completely capable…except somehow she wasn’t, anymore.