The night had tossed a dark blanket over the sky, seemingly putting the world to bed. Tiny pinpricks of stars were already visible and the air was cold. So far, there hadn’t been much snow, just the odd sugar coating that wasn’t even enough to launch a marble-sized snowball, but Zack knew it was on its way. He could smell the change in the air and had noticed how the animals on the farm were behaving. Winter was coming.

“Last entry is at four fifteen,” Sorrell said, checking her phone. “Can you believe I’ve never been here before?”

“It’s easy to miss what’s on your doorstep. Although we were dragged here every year as kids. As soon as the house was decorated, Rayah was always desperate to visit, but our parents made us wait until the markets were on,” Zack said. “It does always feel like the start of Christmas though.”

He turned onto the long driveway into the estate, rolling fields around them and the house in the distance. He could see what were probably plenty more fairy lights in the distance decorating the market stalls and a few rows of cars.

“It’s such an amazing house,” Sorrell said. She was bundled up in flat boots and a multi coloured striped sweater, a woolly hat on her head with a large pompom on top. Her chestnut hair was controlled by the hat, framing her face and setting off her eyes.

He liked looking at her.

He liked talking with her.

And he was spending far too much time thinking about what else he’d like to be doing with her.

“The market’s open until seven,” he said. “We could eat here or there’s a really good pub that does food on the estate too.”

“Let’s see how it goes,” she said, getting straight out of the car and jumping down, then pulling her thick coat from the back seat.

He was dressed more like a farmer than the manager of a care home, wearing worn jeans, a fleecy jumper and padded gilet. His boots weren’t what he’d work in on the farm, but they had seen better days. For a moment, he wondered if he should’ve made more of an effort to impress Sorrell, but she seemed unperturbed.

“Imagine living somewhere like this,” she said as they got to the entrance to the house. “It’s mind-blowing. So many rooms and so much history.”

Zack smiled, pulling out his wallet to pay the entrance fee. “I’m not sure that would be a life I’d choose,” he said. “It’s enough running the number of rooms we have at Sunrise.”

She laughed softly. “I agree. And I’m not sure I’d like to have to bring in the public to make ends meet. Although coming up with ideas like this for Christmas would be fun.”

She scowled as he paid and then led the way through the courtyard to the entrance to the house which was now dressed for Christmas with the theme of A Christmas Carol.

Reds, golds and greens decorated the place, models of Bob Cratchit and his wife were placed to stand at the entrance to the first reception room. Lights shone from everywhere, it seemed, and Christmas carols were piped from invisible speakers.

He didn’t look at the scene that surrounded them, which was of several Christmas trees, each decorated slightly differently. Instead he looked at Sorrell’s face as she saw the scene and how her expression was brighter than every light in the room. There were no concerns about the hotel or builders or called off weddings.

Instead she looked like Christmas. Happy and relaxed and enchanted. Or was that him? Had he become the one who was enchanted?

“This is just magical,” she said, keeping her voice low as if she’d scare off the Christmas trees. As it was later in the day it was pretty empty; apart from another elderly couple, they were the only ones present.

They wandered through the rooms, past displays set up with scenes from Dickens’ novel: the Cratchit Christmas dinner, Christmas past, Scrooge’s bedroom, his office. They kept their voices low and made observations about the scenes, comparing Scott’s beard to Jacob Marley’s and Jake to one of Scrooge’s nephews.

“What’s Christmas like in Severton?” she said after taking what seemed like fifty photos of different Christmas displays.

Zack groaned. “Have you read The Grinch That Stole Christmas?”

“Of course.” She snapped one of him.

“Whoville. With more trees. And possibly more parties and weird traditions.”

“Tell me about the traditions. I lived in the city. Our traditions were putting up a tree and not much else. Maybe we’d have some lights outside,” she said, standing close enough to him to be touching.

“We hold off until December first, even though the shops have started already. My mum always used to have started before then—we’d have stir in Sunday…”

“To start the Christmas pudding?” she said, excited. “I want to do that this year. Although it might just be me eating it. My parents are travelling, my sister will be swamped with her husband’s family and Gwensi is going to her boyfriend’s in Cardiff. I’d best make a small pudding. Although I could do more and use it for the Sunrise Christmas dinner.”

“Why don’t you come to us at the farm?” he said without thinking. “We usually end up with about fifteen or so people there. My mum might be back. Jonny will probably come with the kids and there are usually a few others too.”

She gave a nod and smiled tightly. “It’s a kind offer.”

“Then accept it.”

“Provisionally. Unless Chris Hemsworth decides an English redhead is more his type.”

Zack flexed his arm and made his bicep bulge. “I can pretend to be Chris Hemsworth…”

Her giggle was half-embarrassed and half-playful. She grasped his upper arm and squeezed, her hand unable to get even half the way round. “I take it you want me to call you Thor from now on?”

“I’ll stick with Zack. If you start calling me Thor, Jake’ll insist on Captain America and that’ll piss everyone off.”

“What would Scott be?” she asked. She had mentioned Scott a lot and it was starting to bother him.

“Some form of mountain man,” Zack said. “Do you like him?”

“Scott? Yeah, he’s been really nice while I’ve been settling in here.”

He stuck his hands in his pockets. “I meant as something… else.”

He saw her try to bite her lip and stop from laughing, her eyes dancing with amusement. Then she turned to face him and placed both her hands on his arms, just above his elbows. “I’m not interested in your brother, Zack. I’m not sure I should be interested in anyone right now.”

“Why?” he said, keeping his hands buried, otherwise he was unlikely to be able to keep them to himself.

“Because I should’ve been getting married in four weeks.”

“How long is it since it was called off?”

“Three months,” she said.

“Don’t you think that’s long enough?”

She looked up at him with moss green eyes that reminded him of the forest in summer.

“I was meant to be spending the rest of my life with him. How can I be over him in three months?” she said in barely a whisper.

He pulled his hands from his pockets and placed them on her waist, pushing inside her coat that was unfastened. He felt the heat of her skin as his hands moulded to the curve from her hips to her waist.

“Maybe it’s because you were swept away by what was happening on the surface rather than what you actually felt,” he said. “But he isn’t here now.”

Her eyes hadn’t left his.

“No. You are. I’m glad it’s you.”

He kept his hands on her waist as he leaned down, first to rest his forehead against hers and then, when her arms slid up his and wrapped around his neck, to press his lips to hers in a kiss sweeter than the cakes she’d made.

She tasted of cinnamon and sugar and something that made him want to carry her out of there and into his bed.

“Oh my, you two look just so romantic standing there.” An American accent made them part, their hands still holding each other. Zack cursed in his head and prayed for the nearby tree to collapse on top of their disturber. “I took a picture; I hope you don’t mind. I’ll send it to you.”

Sorrell’s cheeks were flushed and her lips pinker than before. She looked at him, her expression unreadable. His reaction was to wrap an arm around her back and pull her gently into his side.

“Can we see?” he said.

The American stretched out an arm to show him her phone, the photo up on screen. She was right, the picture looked like it should’ve been on the cover of a romance novel, the sort he’d seen Rayah read and Jake try to find the sexy parts in. The largest tree in the room was just behind them, the million lights twinkling, making the gold and silver decorations look as if they were actually metallic. Their lips were pressed together, eyes closed and their bodies were close.

“The one before it is sweet too,” the woman said, swiping back.

She’d captured the moment just before they had kissed, when the only thing in the room for him had been Sorrell and she was looking at him like she felt the same.

Zack glanced at her and saw her smiling at the photo, automatically feeling relief. She didn’t hate it.

“It’s a really good photo,” she said. He felt her fingers press into his back. “It looks so Christmassy.”

“And so romantic,” the woman said. “I thought for a minute I was about to witness a proposal but then figured you were probably saving it for Christmas Day or New Year’s. Let me send them to you.”

Sorrell fished her phone out of her bag and accepted the photos, quickly looking at them again. The American gave them another wide smile and wished them all the best, fluttering her eyelashes at them as she and what was probably her husband headed into the next room.

“That wasn’t awkward,” Sorrell said. “Although the pictures are rather good. I can’t believe that’s how we looked.”

Zack wanted to be able to say ‘where were we’ and kiss her again, but the moment had gone, stolen by the camera of a phone. “How many photos is that you have on your phone from today?”

She put her phone away and gave a little laugh. “Plenty. Let’s see the rest of the house.”

A party of tourists caught them up as they looked in the last of the rooms and the grand hallways. A guide talked them through some of the history of the objects in the room, the portraits and tapestries. Zack had heard it before, but Sorrell was captivated by it. He focused on her closeness although they weren’t touching, and the intimacy the anonymous crowd brought.

Outside, tourists and visitors lingered around the Christmas market with the stalls selling gifts and seasonal fayre. They stopped by a stall selling mulled wine and cider and he bought a mugful for each of them.

“You should’ve let me buy them,” she said. “You paid for the tickets.”

“My treat,” he said. “I’m buying you dinner as well so don’t plan on getting your purse out.”

Her eyes danced from above the rim of her mug. “You don’t want to eat here? I saw a place selling paella.”

Zack didn’t. He wanted her inside somewhere warm where they could talk and maybe he could persuade her to go out on a proper date, ex-fiancé be damned. “It’s cold,” he said. “I’m thinking a real fire and three courses sat down at a table, rather than standing up here.”

She nodded. “I’m glad you’ve said that. I didn’t want to sound like a city brat wanting somewhere warm.”

She didn’t look too cold, although her nose was slightly reddened and she had pulled her over-large scarf tightly around her neck and shoulders. It looked handmade and had Gran’s knitting club written all over it.

“Pub it is. Did you get conned into buying that thing?” he asked, touching the woollen monstrosity.

Her hands automatically raised to her neck and touched the material. “I might’ve decided to buy it.”

“Then Gran told you it was being sold to raise money for a good cause,” Zack said with raised brows. He knew exactly what game Gran was playing: her favourite—let’s tell newcomers to the village that the proceeds go to a fundraising kitty and suck them in.

“She did. She didn’t say what though.” Sorrell eyed him suspiciously. “I’d have bought the scarf anyway so it doesn’t matter but I’m interested to know what her ‘good cause’ is.”

He took her empty mug from her and placed it down on the wooden bar. “It varies, but at present it’s her gin business. She wants one of the copper things to distil it properly. She and her two partners in crime have been experimenting,” Zack said. “They keep sneaking samples of it into Sunrise and feeding it to some of the residents to check its potency and flavour. I walked into one of the lounges on Wednesday and found a full on Speakeasy set up there, complete with Gatsby style outfits.”

Sorrell was starting to laugh loudly, her eyes crinkling with mirth. “What did you do?”

“What could I do? It isn’t like any of them are underage. So I joined in.” He was enjoying seeing her amusement, her face animated with laughter.

“How was it?”

“I didn’t drive home, put it that way. In fact, I called Jake and suggested he try some too. He fancies himself as a gin connoisseur,” Zack said. They had started to walk over to where he had parked, the house behind them twinkling with lights.

“Why doesn’t he have a girlfriend?” Sorrell said. “And your brothers? I can’t believe that you’re all single.”

He wondered how he should take the fact that she hadn’t included him in that. “Jake’s usually seeing someone, but at the moment it’s someone who works in Leeds occasionally and it’s never serious. He’s gone through all the available women he’s interested in from round here. Scott occasionally hooks up with either someone here on a night out or an ex or someone for the night. And Alex—I don’t know. He can work anywhere in the north and I think he’s had a few relationships, just none of them have ever been serious enough to subject her to us.”

He opened the car door for her and offered her a hand to help her up, not that he thought she needed it.

“What about you?” she said. “Why aren’t you off the market?”

Finally, a hint that she was interested, other than kissing him back.

“I saw someone for a while and when I came back here it ended. I’ve not met anyone I’ve wanted to be serious with, and if I have, they’ve not wanted to stay in Severton so it wouldn’t have gone anywhere.” He remembered his ex-girlfriend and the excuses she’d made to not have to come to Severton and see his family. She had been happy to parade him round Manchester and in front of her friends, telling them how he grew his muscles on his family’s farm and she’d been more than happy to let him keep her bed warm at night, but as soon as he’d mentioned her moving back with him, she’d distanced herself and he’d been left wondering how he’d let himself be in the position where someone could break his heart like his mother had his dad’s.

“It’s an unusual place,” Sorrell said. “I don’t think I’ve lived anywhere like it, or even known anywhere like it.”

“You used to be a kids’ therapist, right?” Sorrell was calm and quiet, as far as he had learned, but he noticed that she watched people and when she had interacted with others, she knew what made them comfortable.

“I was a children’s therapist,” she said. “I guess I still am. I used to specialise in working with looked after children, you know, the kids in the care system or sometimes post-adoption.”

“Why the change?” He started up the engine, piping up the heat.

She loosened her scarf. “Because it’s hard,” she said. “You work with kids who have had the most traumatic start to life and don’t know how to make sense of the world. I helped them and I saw better outcomes for them, but every time you work with one of those children and hear about what they’ve suffered, you give them a piece of your soul.”

“You burnt out?” he said.

“No. I wasn’t at that point. I saw some of my colleagues burn out and I wasn’t there, but I knew I needed to step away for a bit, to recharge and do something completely different. When Mark saw Litton Manor for sale he wanted to start up his own business so we put together the business plan and got the cash sorted. I had some money I cashed in to help finance it. This was meant to be our new life.”

“You got lucky,” he said, driving down the quiet road towards the pub. “As weird as Severton can be, it will help you restore those pieces of your soul. Gran might be defrauding people into buying her handmade scarves to finance her home brew, but that home brew will be used at community events or other mad ideas she dreams up with the other old crones.”

“I can see that,” Sorrell nodded. “Are we here?”

They were. The pub was part of the Chatsworth estate, its brick the Derbyshire stone that characterised the area. Inside, the building was still free of Christmas decorations, but there were three open fires crackling with the smell of rich food and the clinking of cutlery and wine glasses.

Since being in charge of the Sunrise project, Zack had noticed the interiors of buildings more. Rather than simply inheriting the décor of an old folks’ home like he had at the Manor, he’d been assigned to finalise the details of a place that would suit an eclectic mix of people with a multitude of different needs. He noticed carpets and curtains and understood that the choice wasn’t always simply a budgetary one.

And here, with the thick, durable red carpets, and exposed wooden beams, the curios and pictures illustrating the lives from the Chatsworth estate, he felt a sort of peace. It was warm and comfortable, the sound of the wood snapping on the fire a lullaby and he wished that he had tomorrow off and they’d brought overnight bags to stay.

“I know they do a really good Merlot,” he said. “This is one of Rayah’s favourite places and it’s what she always orders.” He felt her now gloveless hand slip around his wrist as they walked through the pub to find an empty table. Even though it was a Thursday, it was fairly busy and he wanted a spot near one of the fires.

It was Sorrell who spotted a table close to the blaze, gently tugging him to the two leather wingback chairs. “Here,” she said. “Then tell me about the Christmas traditions in Severton so I can start to heal my soul.”