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‘Is that…?’

‘Not a euphemism,’ I quickly insist.

‘Glad to hear it,’ he replies. ‘Listen, I was wondering if you wanted to come over for dinner tonight?’

‘Oh,’ I say, and then I go quiet, because obviously I’m terrible at this stuff.

‘I’m cooking,’ he continues. ‘Are you going to make me eat alone?’

I smile to myself, despite the wind cutting through my jacket. Suddenly I feel oddly warm, which is pathetic, really, because all the man has done is invite me over for dinner.

‘Okay, sure, I would love that,’ I tell him.

‘Great, I’ll message you a time, and my address, and I’ll see you later,’ he says, the excitement evident in his voice.

‘Fab, see you soon,’ I tell him. ‘Can I bring anything?’

‘Just yourself,’ he tells me.

I feel like I can hear him smiling. I’m smiling too. I think I have a date with Si.

I push open the shop door and the bell jingles. I swear, it’s the same jingle from when I was a kid, because the nostalgia hits me like a ton of bricks.

Mmm, and it smells the same too. Like Christmas trees, cinnamon and something sweet and buttery, like biscuits baking behind the scenes.

‘Lia?!’

I look over and see Ivy standing behind the counter.

‘Ivy!’

She abandons the miniature tree she was decorating and hurries around the counter. The next thing I know, I’m being pulled into the kind of hug that briefly makes you feel like you’re fighting for your life.

Ivy really was like a big sister to me when we were younger. She was older, cooler, prettier, impossibly grown-up. She taught me how to French plait my hair, gave me my first proper grown-up make-up – I remember she once told Rory she’d bury him in the back garden if he ever made me cry again, after he put one of my Barbies on the barbecue. I adored her. In fact, it was her who passed on all her Leonardo DiCaprio posters to me, so perhaps she’s the one to blame for my crushes on unattainable men.

‘Look at you,’ she says, pulling back to take me in. ‘You look so grown up.’

‘Well, I am thirty,’ I reply, pulling a face.

‘Wait until you hit forty, then you’ll panic,’ she jokes. ‘It’s so good to see you.’

‘You too,’ I say, and I mean it more than I expected to.

The shop looks so beautiful, every way I turn. Bigger, yes, but still familiar. Shelves stacked with hand-painted baubles, garlands looped over beams, tiny lights glowing everywhere. There’s Christmas music playing softly in the background – I always loved that, even when we would visit in July.

‘You’ve done an amazing job with the place,’ I tell her.

Ivy smiles, looking around the shop, beaming with pride.

‘Thanks. I was terrified of ruining it, honestly. Mum loved this place so much,’ she says with a sigh. ‘But I think she would be really happy with how it has turned out – and how well it’s doing.’

A man appears from the back room, tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair and a phone pressed to his ear. He pauses when he sees me, ending the call with a quick promise to ring whoever it is back.

‘Sorry,’ he says, smiling. ‘I didn’t realise we had company.’

‘Seb, this is Lia,’ Ivy says. ‘Helen’s daughter.’

‘Ah, hello,’ he says warmly. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’