The builders had packed up an hour ago, when it was starting to go dark. The extension to the dining area was pretty much completed: the external work was done and the plasterers had finished. The flooring was going in tomorrow and then the furniture and some of the décor would be delivered, including what must be a mile of fairy lights.

There wasn’t a great deal more to do, other than styling the rooms and tackling the snag list. Gwensi had spent three days there, helping Sorrell with the bedding, curtains and other knick-knacks around the place. Another two weeks, and Sorrell would have her first guests. Another four, and there was the wedding.

Sorrell put the idea of weddings out of her mind and instead checked the long mirror that was now in the hallway. The temperature had dropped further, with a forecast of minus two overnight, so she’d taken the sensible option of wearing layers. At some point, they’d be going in a bar, probably the one owned by Zack’s brother, Scott, and she didn’t want to overheat.

Her hair was tied loosely back into a braid, a black wooly hat with a large pom pom on top. She’d kept her make up minimal and opted for skinny jeans and a sweater, with a vest underneath and her padded Canada Goose coat over everything.

It wasn’t a date, she kept reminding herself. He had said it wasn’t a date, categorically. And that was good, because after Mark she wasn’t ready for dating anyone, even though Gwensi had told her about thirty thousand times that the best way to get over a man was to get under another. But she was still nervous.

Half past five arrived and the door was silent. There had been no confirmation from him that he was still calling for her on his way into town. They hadn’t swapped mobile numbers and she hadn’t bumped into him or his brothers or Jake when she’d been in town since Halloween. He might not turn up.

Sorrell was bracing herself for that possibility when there was the sound of skidding tyres on the driveway. She opened the front door and saw a huge monstrosity of a Land Rover, the back seats filled to the roof with boxes, and a grumpy Zack at the wheel, whose face was illuminated by the artful lighting that was directed at the front of the manor.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, jumping off the seat. “Seriously, I should’ve got your number so I could’ve texted you, but I kind of figured you’d be late anyway, getting ready or something.”

She should have been annoyed at his stereotypical presumption, but instead she was quelled by the soft smile he gave her. He had a weaponry of smiles, all of them lethal. “I’m always on time or early. Can I help with anything?”

Zack took long steps towards her, his breath visible in the freezing evening air.

“When we get to the clubhouse, you can give me a hand carrying all this in. What do I smell?” He lifted his nose in the air a little like a bloodhound.

“Treacle toffee and parkin,” Sorrell said, feeling a tiny amount of pride slipping in. Mark had never been keen on her habit of cooking sweet stuff. He was too into the gym and counting his macros. “The parkin is a recipe from my gran. It was the first thing I ever baked.” The recipe wasn’t an easy one, with its quality coming from getting the balance of ingredients just right, but the heavy, sweet cake was worth the effort. Proper bonfire food. “And I’ve got five batches of it.”

“I’ll help you bring them out,” he said, heading inside. “Although I can’t guarantee that five will make it to the clubhouse.”

She walked behind him down the hallway, to the kitchens. He was casual in jeans and a hoodie, with a large padded jacket over it. Her boots were flat which meant he was at least half a foot taller than her and he made her feel small, small in a good way, not like Mark had made her feel sometimes.

“It’s in the plastic crate there,” she said, pointing to it. She could’ve carried it herself, because even though she was little and on the thin side, she was strong, especially after learning a lot of DIY in a short space of time. No one had ever told her stripping wallpaper was hard work.

“Why a hotel and not a bakery?” Zack said, lifting up the crate with hands covered with black fleece gloves.

“The ex wanted a hotel. He said it had always been his dream,” she said, grabbing the bag filled with treacle toffee. “Until his dream was something else. So I have a hotel to get off the ground.”

“How are you doing for bookings?”

She nodded and smiled, thinking of the flux of phone calls she’d had. “I’m doing better than I thought, given that I only have a few pictures on the website. It’s surprising people want to take a chance on somewhere that’s not open yet.”

“You offered special rates?” he said.

“I did. Introductory offer, plus a guaranteed discount if they stay again within twelve months,” Sorrell said, closing the doors as they headed out into the bitter air. “A marketing offer that I didn’t feel bad about.”

“What did you do before?” he said, opening the door for her and balancing the crate between his leg and body. “I’ll have to rest this on your knee. The back’s pretty full.”

“No problem.” She climbed up into the car. “I was a therapist, mainly for children. Buy one get one free offers weren’t really ethical.”

Zack chuckled and placed the crate carefully. “I can see why. Big change though.”

“I’m not sure. I suspect a few of my guests might end up needing therapy. I’m considering wellbeing retreats too at some point; the place lends itself to that sort of thing,” she said.

They talked for the rest of the short drive down the hill to the town, mainly about the manor and the idiosyncrasies of the building. It was easy conversation, with none of the atmosphere that there had been previously.

Severton itself was cloaked in darkness, with just the street lamps and light from the windows breaking the black. There were people milling about the streets, wrapped up in coats and scarves and hats.

“Have you been to the clubhouse before?” Zack asked as they turned left into a large car park.

“No. What’s it the clubhouse for? Rugby?” she said.

“Pretty much everything. Cricket, football, rugby. There are three pitches and it’s used all year round,” he said. “And tonight it’s the base for the bonfire party. Let’s get everything unloaded.”

They were swamped by people as soon as they opened the car doors. Some Sorrell recognized, some she didn’t. Jake was there, picking up boxes out of the boot and from the back seat, as was a man called Lee who she’d met at the farm when she’d gone to speak to Jake about orders.

There was a larger, bearded version of Zack, and a clean shaven guy with a German shepherd who probably should’ve been on the cover of a magazine. No introductions were given, as the only focus was getting the boxes out of the car and into the clubhouse.

Sorrell was dragged into helping as were the other two women there. She carried in boxes of disposable plates and bowls and a large vat of hotpot that was still piping warm. Metal trays of other food were taken from the car into the clubhouse and within five minutes it was empty, the food set up to be warmed and served in a couple of hours.

“Who pays for all this?” she asked Zack when he approached her with a mug of something steaming. It wasn’t freezing in the clubhouse, but neither was it warm enough to take off her coat or gloves. The doors were wide open, leading onto a large field where a bonfire had been built.

“There are events throughout the year which raise funds for this and other stuff, like the Christmas tree and the parties that happen. People tonight will make a donation too,” he said, sipping his own drink.

“What about the food?” Sorrell said, smelling something suspiciously alcoholic in her drink.

“Everyone donates it. We always have more than enough. There’s whisky in that. Wasn’t sure if you liked it, but it’ll help keep you warm,” he said, his eyes studying her reaction.

She smiled her approval. “Everyone seems to help out round here,” she said. “It’s nice.”

Zack nodded. “It’s why we all ended up coming back. It’s a good place to live. Let me introduce you to some people before the masses arrive.”

Sorrell followed him around, meeting people she’d seen in the town or that were new to her. She had a good memory for faces and remembered quirks and oddities and people’s lives. It had been a necessity in her previous job, when she was a therapist and the smallest details were often the most important.

“What did you do before you came here?” Rayah Maynard asked as she started to lay out oddly shaped gingerbread men that had been decorated by her nursery class.

“I was a children’s therapist,” Sorrell said, noticing a gingerbread man that had an extra appendage. “But I was getting to the point where I was burnt out by it all. There’s only so much you can take on before you get to the point of being full.”

Rayah focused on the gingerbread men but her hands paused. “We could do with a therapist in Severton for the kids. If you ever have any time and you don’t feel full with it anymore, let me know.”

“Bad case?” Sorrell said. “You know, with a family?”

Rayah nodded. “I have the youngest in my class. Not sure you could do much there.”

“Play therapy,” Sorrell said. “Or Draw and Talk therapy—there are loads of ways you can help children, even younger ones. But I have enough to do with getting the hotel up and running, and finding staff.”

“I might be able to help,” Rayah said, picking up a gingerbread man and biting its head off. It was a fairly vicious attack.

Zack nudged over, eyeing the food. “Are those safe to eat if your class made them?” he said.

“Perfectly. The pupils are well supervised. But you’re not having any. They’re for the kids.” She smacked his hand. “Are Jake and Scott sorting the fire?”

The fire had started to smolder with the odd flame crackling up over the wood. Scott Maynard had started it when he’d first arrived, ignoring Jake’s jokes about setting his beard on fire and threatening to toss him onto the fire instead of the guy. From what she’d seen, the guy was a traditional one, more representative of pagan traditions rather than representing Guy Fawkes, who’d been arrested and hung nearly four hundred years ago for trying to blow up the Houses of Parliament.

The guy was currently sitting in a wheelbarrow just outside the clubhouse, awaiting his fate. Sorrell had never quite understood the enjoyment behind seeing a human replica being tossed onto the flames and the glee it caused, but she had learnt not to say too much about it.

“Jake and Scott, and then Jonny’s team are on duty,” Zack said. “At least he’s here with a couple of the other guys.”

“They’re firefighters?” Sorrell said. Zack was close to her, close enough that she could smell the musk of his aftershave. She inched away, not sure how to deal with his proximity.

“They are. Jonny went from starting fires to putting them out,” Zack said. “At least it was that way round though.”

“How’s Severton’s favorite hotelier?” Jake’s voice was clear and deep and full of laughter. He was the light to Zack’s dark, and Sorrell could tell that although they were cousins, they were closer than brothers. The bond between them was thick and tight.

“Not hotelier yet,” she said. “Not until I have the first set of guests.”

“About that,” Jake said shifting uncomfortably.

“No,” Zack jumped in. “You said you weren’t going to do it.”

Jake shrugged. “Business is business. Anyway, do you have bookings for April next year over the Easter period?”

“No, not yet. I’m not expecting any that far in advance until we’ve actually opened. Which might not happen if I can’t find a breakfast cook,” she said, trying to keep her tone light. She’d spent part of the day contacting recruitment agencies but there was a shortage and she didn’t want to take on that responsibility herself. She could bake, but cooking was a different matter entirely.

“I can help you find a cook, if you can block out the Easter weekend plus two days before,” Jake said, his smile easy.

Noise had started to mount up around them, excited voices of children echoing through the room from outside.

“The whole hotel?”

Jake nodded. “We’re starting a new tradition. God knows Severton is full of old ones, so I decided we’re going to have a country show, but one of the main attractions will be alpacas.”

“Holy fuck,” Zack muttered. “You can’t keep your alpacas where they should be. Mrs Hepplethwaite nearly had a heart attack when one wandered into the garden today when she was filling up the bird feeder.”

“Mrs Hepplethwaite’s heart is strong enough to withstand old Tiger popping up. That woman tried to batter me with her newspaper the last time she saw me,” Jake said.

“That’s because you ruined her roses when we were twelve.” Zack knocked back the rest of his coffee.

“Still. I need a place where I can guarantee rooms will be available for the big names on the show circuit.” Jake now directed his smile solely at Sorrell.

She knew she should’ve been attracted to him. He was carved by the same sculptor that crafted male models in photoshoots for top designers, with striking blue eyes and long eyelashes, a straight nose and chiseled jaw. But as handsome as he was, he didn’t stir her insides like… She glanced at Zack.

He wasn’t in the same category of model handsome like Jake. His skin was fairer, his stubble lighter and his eyes paler but they held an intensity that Sorrell hadn’t missed.

Zack shook his head. “Jake, have you spoken to my dad about it?”

Jake shrugged. “He was cool about it.”

Zack hands went in his pockets and his stance became a little wider. “Have you asked him?”

Jake nodded. “It’s still his farm. He might’ve been a bit preoccupied when I asked though.”

“Why? What was he doing?” Zack’s voice was full of caution.

Jake shook his head. “He was online. Chatting to someone. I don’t know who as I didn’t see the screen.”

“Fuck,” Zack said and looked at his feet.

Sorrell’s eyes flicked from one man to the other, trying to read the situation that was being left unsaid.

“It’s a good thing he’s starting to get out there,” Jake said. “And an even better thing that he’s not keeping his—well—options local.”

Zack shook his head. “I’d rather not think about his options.”

“Zack, he’s a single man and you’re not a kid anymore. He is allowed to, you know, date.” Jake looked amused, his eyes checking over at Sorrell, almost as if he was checking if she shared the amusement or if she was planning to get the hell out of there.

“I know. But he’s not had a woman friend since mum left,” Zack said.

Jake shook his head. “I think you’ve been burying your head in the hay if that’s what you think. I better go. Two of the high schoolers are in charge of setting up the boundary near the bonfire and it looks like they’re being over cautious.”

“There are worse things to be,” Zack mumbled.

Jake looked at him and raised his brows. “Zacky, you really need…” He then glanced at Sorrell and shook his head slightly. “I’ll see you in a bit. Sorrell, I’ll get your number off Zack and pass it onto the chef I know. He’s looking to move over here from Manchester.”

Jake strode outside, ignoring two sixth form girls who stared at him and then burst into giggles as he walked past.

“How long has your dad been single?” Sorrell asked Zack, who was staring at his almost empty mug.

Zack looked up, locking his eyes onto hers. “Sixteen years. I was seventeen when him and mum split. It wasn’t horrendous and no one had affairs that I knew of. I think they’d both outgrown each other and she wanted to do her own thing, given that the three of us were old enough to not be so dependent on her.”

“Do you still see her?”

He nodded. “Regularly. When she visits, she and her new husband stay at the farm. Her and my dad never fell out or argued. It was the definition of amicable.”

“But he hasn’t dated?”

“Not that I know of. But Jake lives there, so I think he knows a bit more,” Zack said. “It isn’t that I don’t want him to have someone; I don’t want him to be lonely and he’s doing less and less on the farm now Jake’s stepping up, so he needs company.”

“It just feels a bit weird?” Sorrell guessed.

Zack bit his lips together. “It does. And it makes me sound like I’m thirteen. Speaking of thirteen…”

Another large group of teenagers entered, all looking very excited and talking very quickly and loudly. The girls were mainly wearing sheepskin boots; the boys, skinny and lanky in the main, were in tracksuits and beanie hats.

“I remember bonfire night being huge as a kid at secondary school,” Sorrell said. “Everyone wanted to be at the biggest ones with the best firework displays.”

“What did you usually do?” he asked.

She noticed how his eyes were shining, crinkled at the sides from his smile. And then she realized that she was smiling too. He was making her feel comfortable, relaxed. Her shoulders no longer felt like they were clutched around her ears and her breaths were longer.

“We used to have a family bonfire. My parents were, well, Pagans is the best way I can explain it, so we used to commemorate the solstices and equinox, so our big party was Samhain—Halloween. They weren’t in favour of celebrating Guy Fawkes’ death,” Sorrell said. Her family were not the straightforward middle-class norm by any stretch of the definition.

Zack took her empty mug from her hands. “I get that. A lot of Pagan traditions float around this town too. I know the kids make the guys and we have the competition that Rayah pretty much always wins because she’s bloodthirsty, but we have a wicker man. And wait until Christmas.”

His smile was infectious and filled with promise.

“I like this town,” Sorrell said. She felt Zack’s hand push between her shoulder blades, guiding her out of the way of some slightly older teenagers who had just arrived. “It’s different.”

“That’s one way of putting it. I can’t think of anywhere else you’d find alpacas walking around a care home for the elderly,” Zack said, his expression morphing into the one she remembered from the first time they’d met, when his temper had been frazzled from the theft of his builders.

Sorrell laughed softly and found herself reaching out to touch his arm. “I’m pretty sure things like that give your residents something to talk about,” she said. “I bet they tell their grandchildren when they speak to them or visit. It’s more interesting than what they’ve had for dinner.”

There was the curve of a smile again. “You’re right,” he said. “I need to take a leaf out of Jake’s book and relax a bit more.”

She kept her hand on his arm, feeling hard muscle underneath. “Jake doesn’t strike me as a person who has books.”

That stirred a laugh. “He’s more of a magazine guy.” Zack glanced over to where his cousin was chatting up a blonde. “As in top shelf.”

“He looks like a ladies’ man,” Sorrell said. They were at a table that held three huge vats, manned by three women who all looked to be over sixty and glamorous with it.

“Jake is a ladies’ man. Or man-whore if you want a more appropriate term. He was seeing three girls on the go at one point,” Zack said, putting their mugs down on the table. “Unfortunately, it ended well. They all ‘understood’ him and two of them carried on dating the fucker even when they found out.”

Sorrell was genuinely laughing now. Zack clearly had a lot of affection for his cousin and she didn’t read any jealousy in his comment.

“And who’s this lovely young lady?” The grey haired woman gave her a broad smile that didn’t hide the visual examination she was also giving Sorrell.

Sorrell would’ve shaken her hand, but she was brandishing a ladle. “I’m Sorrell Slater…”

“The woman who’s starting a hotel up at the manor house?” The woman smiled. “You need say no more. I believe you’re holding Christmas dinner there for the Sunrise residents?”

Sorrell nodded, feeling just a little like a schoolgirl again. “It was the least I could do.”

The woman’s eyes switched between Sorrell and Zack. “Hmmm. I’m Veronica Moore. I run the post office. And I’ve known him—” she directed the ladle at Zack, “—since he was in nappies.”

Sorrell noticed Zack redden slightly and she realized she was fighting a smile.

“He’s a good lad,” the woman said. “Anyway, everyone around here calls me Gran, so you do the same. Would you like a mug of spiced apple cider? We’ve made it ourselves.” Gran cast a glance at the other two women who were serving up mugs of the stuff.

Zack touched her shoulder, resting his large hand there for a long moment. “It’s really strong,” he said. “Be warned.”

Gran tutted. “Give over with yourself, Zack Maynard. You could do with a couple of mugs of it to put some hairs on your chest.”

“I’ve seen his chest, Veronica, and he doesn’t need any hairs there. It’s fine enough. And there are a few hairs, going from his belly button to, you know there…” one of the other women chirped in.

Gran shook her head. “You’re embarrassing the lad, Maud. For all we know, he’s trying to court the girl.”

Sorrell felt her cheeks start to heat up and took a quick sip of the cider she was passed.

The third woman, who was taller than the other two, simply shook her head. “Why are you staring at men’s chests, Maud? You know it doesn’t do your heart any good.”

“Probably for the same reason you read those books, Marian. Who’s today’s author? Jessica Peterson, you were saying?” Maud snapped back.

“Get your drinks and go,” Zack whispered, his hand on Sorrell’s back again. “The last time this conversation started they were comparing me to the man on the front of the book they were all reading. It’s too cold for that again.”

Sorrell turned to look at him. “You mean they made you strip?”

Zack nodded. “And Scott too.”

She looked horrified. “And you agreed?”

Zack shrugged. “Kind of. It’s hard to say no to Gran. And it did seem fairly scientific.”

“Did one of them promise you a modelling contract too at the end of it?” Sorrell said. They were heading outside where she could see a wicker man being placed on the bonfire. Crowds of people had gathered now, some already eating the hot pot and potato pie that was being dished out inside.

“Hilarious,” Zack rolled his eyes. “Are you warm enough?” He turned to her, his eyes containing something she didn’t recognize.

“This cider will keep me warm,” she said. “And laughter at you being had by Gran and her cronies.”

“I shouldn’t have told you that,” Zack said. “Although if I didn’t, you’d hear it from Jake or Alex at some point.”

The noise from the crowd grew louder; children’s excited voices mingled in the air along with laughter from the adults. She heard the gaggle of teenagers nearby trying not to be as enthralled by the burst of flames from the bonfire as the younger children and struggling to hide it.

Flames started to spurt towards the night sky, sparks showering around the rest of the wood that had been piled high. She had seen two firefighters nearby, controlling the smolder and then adding something to the fire to bring it to life, making it dance like an enchanted spirit. She was captivated by the colour and movement, the chatter around her blurring into pure noise.

“You look mesmerized,” she heard Zack say. “Do I need to warn Jonny that we have a firebug in Severton.”

She pulled her gaze away and focused on the man who was still standing next to her. “No, sorry—I just find them fascinating.”

He chuckled softly. “The fireworks will start in an hour or so. I think you’ll like them.”

Sorrell nodded, feeling a little awkward. “Did you know that the word bonfire comes from bone fire? That fires were always held at this time of year and they’d burn the bones of the animals that had died. It was part to get rid of the parasites from the farm animals—they’d drive livestock between two bone fires and the acrid smoke would act as a pesticide—but also a way of helping the cycle of life.”

This time his grin was wider, teasing and she felt her cheeks burn hotter.

“Were you the geeky girl at school who knew all the random facts?” Zack folded his arms, causing muscles to visibly bunch.

She looked to the ground. “I still am the geeky girl. I’m great at pub quizzes though.”

“Did you get asked a lot to help boys with their assignments?”

She felt his eyes stick to her and knew without looking that he was still smiling. “I did. I was that student.”

She felt his arm around her shoulders and then his body pressed close. “Sorrell, the boys weren’t asking you to help because of your brains. They would’ve just been a bonus.”

Her head tipped up to look at him. There was no teasing look on his face; he wasn’t making fun of her.

“Shall we get some food?” She wanted to change the subject. “Or if you want to see your friends, I’ll sort myself out.”

“Why don’t you come and meet Scott and Alex before the fireworks start? And we’ll both get some supper.”

His arm stayed around her as they walked back inside to where she saw his two brothers. One looked relaxed and fairly chilled as he sipped at a pint. The other, the one with the beard who she knew to be Scott, looked fairly grumpy.

“Is he doing a good job of keeping you warm?” Jake said as they got closer, looking pointedly at Zack’s arm.

Sorrell glanced at Zack to read his reaction. They had come here as kind of friends, or even enemies who signed a peace treaty. It wasn’t a date. She didn’t date, didn’t want to. Not after Mark.

“He’s like a radiator,” she said, trying to keep from sounding like one of the teenage girls they’d been standing close to. “And it’s cold out there.”

“You want some more hot cider?” Zack said, his hand dropping from near her shoulders to her back, still touching.

She felt embarrassed, feeling as if she was being judged for being with him, a bit like one of Mark’s female friends had done when she’d asked how Sorrell had managed to snare someone like Mark.

But these were grown men. And she was an adult, not a kid anymore. She remembered the techniques she taught children who were anxious or scared and applied one to herself.

“I’ll go.” She stepped away. “Do you want another?”

“Sure.” His arm finally dropped. “If Marian serves you, make sure she doesn’t give you half measures.”

Sorrell gave him a smile and moved away, needing a breath or three hundred away from him so she could collect her thoughts.