I expect him to shrug off the question or throw out some non-committal response. Instead, he looks thoughtful, a small crease forming between those piercing dark eyes that I’ve caught myself getting lost in more times than I want to admit.
‘You know what I’d really like?’ he starts, his gaze fixed on mine. ‘I’d like some mulled wine.’
I blink, caught off guard by his request. Mulled wine isn’t something I had even considered making, but in my mind the idea of it fills the room with a warm, spicy scent.
‘Mulled wine?’ I repeat, unable to mask the curiosity in my tone. ‘That’s extremely…Christmassyof you.’
Hoxton scowls. ‘It tastes nice.’
‘But you agree, itisa Christmas drink?’
‘It’s adrink,’ Hoxton says flatly. ‘I can’t help it if the rest of the world only wants to have it once a year. A drink is a drink. I’d have a glass in the middle of the summer if I could find it anywhere.’
‘Maybe that should be your next business venture,’ I tease. ‘A bar that only serves mulled wine 365 days a year.’
His lips twitch. ‘Maybe. I’ll be closed throughout December, of course.’
‘Oh, of course,’ I say. ‘Can’t have any Christmas joy seeping into things.’
The grin that takes over his face could light up a Christmas tree. ‘Exactly. Glad to see we’re on the same page again.’
‘Thought of any names for the bar?’ I ask.
‘None. It’ll be nameless. Only those in the know will be able to find it.’
‘Ooh,’ I laugh. ‘How very exclusive of you. They’ll love you on TikTok.’
‘What about you?’ he asks, tilting his head to the side.
‘A name for your bar? I don’t know, what about—’
‘No. For your restaurant.’
I stare at him for a few seconds. ‘I… I don’t have—’
‘Noelle,’ he says my name softly and bumps his arm gentlyagainst mine. ‘What’s the name you’ve beenmullingover in your mind for the last five years?’
The question, and the pun, catches me off guard, and for a moment, I feel my heart stutter in my chest. My fingers grip the spatula tighter, like it will keep me grounded in the here and now.It’s just Hoxton, I remind myself. He’s asking casually, like it’s no big deal. But it feels like he’s prying open a door I’ve kept firmly closed for a long time.
I try to brush it off with a nervous laugh, but the words slip out before I can stop them.
‘Heart,’ I say, quieter than I intended.
‘Heart?’ Hoxton repeats, sounding intrigued, but not mocking. His gaze doesn’t leave me, and I suddenly feel very exposed, like he’s waiting for more.
‘Yeah,’ I murmur, swallowing hard, shifting uncomfortably. I turn back to the counter and start shuffling around the ingredients laid out in front of me – anything to avoid eye contact. ‘I’ve been thinking about it for years now. A restaurant called Heart.’
I don’t say anything more, half hoping he won’t press me further. But Hoxton doesn’t let the silence hang for too long.
‘That’s an interesting name,’ he says. ‘What kind of restaurant is it?’
I hesitate. For some reason, this feels harder than it should. Maybe because it’s something I’ve never really shared with anyone before. Not Eve. Not anyone. My real dream. Notthe surface-level stuff about jobs or random ambitions, but the thing that’s always been at the core of me.
‘I don’t know,’ I admit, my voice soft. ‘It’s… it’s about bringing people together. Food has this way of doing that, you know? The whole idea is to create a space where people can share a meal, but not just any meal. It has to be good food. Comforting food. The kind that makes you feel like you belong, like you’re at home, even if you’re far away from it. I want people to sit down, break bread together, and leave feeling full – not just of food, but of something more. Like… like they’ve rebuilt a connection.’
I can feel Hoxton’s gaze on me, steady and intent. I try not to look at him, but it’s hard. There’s something in the way he’s looking at me that makes my chest tighten, like he’s truly listening. Reallyhearingme for the first time.
‘Sounds like a good idea,’ he says after a beat. ‘What’s the “Heart” part for?’
