Later that day she was warming up before her practice with John, when Mrs. Tiddles rushed into the hall with a stack of papers in her hands.

"Viola, dear, I wouldn't want to interrupt," she said and gave Viola a look over. "Oh, I see, John's not here yet. Lovely! I have a few designs to finalise with you." She lifted a piece of paper to show to Viola. "What do you think? For the poster for the Dance?"

Viola looked over a rather stylish design with a silhouette of a dancing couple and the words 'Fleckney Winter Dance' in an elegant font.

"It looks really good to me, Mrs. Tiddles," Viola said.

"Excellent," the old lady said. "Just as we expected, the whole county is already talking about it, and I imagine you'll sell quite a few tickets at the Market on the weekend, especially if John stops by for a small... demonstration."

"He promised he would," Viola answered. "He'll be busy with the book fair obviously, but he said he'll be available around noon. How late does the Market normally run?" she asked nonchalantly.

"Oh, do you have plans that night, my dear?" Mrs. Tiddles gave her a cheeky look. "Everyone's talking about the bouquet, so you know. And the lunch at Miss Rosa's."

Viola chuckled and shook her head slightly.

"Of course they are," she said. "It would be naive to assume otherwise."

"You'll have to forgive everyone's curiosity," Mrs. Tiddles drew out. "There hasn't been anything remotely scandalous happening in the county since Fiona Holyoake's appearance in the Swallow Barn Cottage two years ago."

"Ah, but of course," Viola said, laughing openly now. "And here I am having lunch with my ex-husband. Do you think there's a chance I could pretend it was an innocent lunch between two friends?"

"Don't be silly, Viola," Mrs. Tiddles cut off. "Not after he bought two dozens of Mrs. Tomlin's most luxurious Hanoi Ranunculus asking for the 'best bouquet for a woman of impeccable taste.' And not after you two held hands, sharing Miss Rosa's cognac and honey fig cheesecake, famous for its aphrodisiac qualities."

Viola burst into loud laughter. "Oh my goodness, I have clearly underestimated Mrs. Tomlin and Miss Rosa's gossip broadcasting abilities," she said, covering her mouth with her hand. "I can't imagine Rhys saying anything of the kind when buying flowers. And there was no cheesecake - or holding hands, for that matter," she said to the old woman.

"But there was the bouquet," Mrs. Tiddles pointed out, "and everyone who shopped at the butcher's today has received a detailed account of it with their pork chops or their rashers."

"I fear to imagine." Viola snorted. "I assume if Mr. Buck is prone to exaggerating, that would be the account of some inappropriate behaviour, wouldn't it?"

"But of course," Mrs. Tiddles scoffed. "But since it seemed that every customer heard a different story, the public is confused - and only more curious, of course."

Viola shook her head again.

"I do appreciate you aren't asking, Mrs. Tiddles," Viola said and gave the old lady a smile.

"My dearest, I'm just as greedy for news as everyone else, but I have been in a similar situation, seeing that I'd stolen Mr. Tiddles from the first Mrs. Tiddles, so I will leave you in peace," the old lady said with dignity and departed.

Viola stretched for another few minutes, when she felt a presence behind her. She turned, ready to greet John - and met Rhys' eyes. His left eyebrow was slightly raised, on the account of Viola's leggings and off shoulder top, perhaps.

"Evening," Viola said.

"Hiya," he answered and moved into the room. "I'm delivering the supplies for the Market. Thought I'd stop by to say 'hi'."

"You saw me just a few hours ago," Viola pointed out - and made several slow steps towards him.

He shrugged and grinned. They met in the middle of the room. Some sort of an excited shiver tickled the back of Viola's neck, and she brushed her fingers to her nape. His gaze followed her movement, slid up her throat, and fell on her lips. Viola prohibited herself to think about the night of her unfortunate pub blunder. Realising she found her ex-husband attractive hadn't been that much of a surprise, no matter how shocking the intensity of her reaction to him had been. Allowing her sudden craving to dictate their relationship before they tried to establish any sort of an emotional connection would be simply short-sighted.

As always, all plans were the proverbial best laid plans, when it came to Rhys Holyoake. He slowly leaned in, picked up her hand, and pulled, making her step even closer. He then tilted his head, looking her over, and she saw a sly lopsided smirk curl up his lips. He affected her - and he knew it. Viola looked down, as if feeling shy, and then wrapped her fingers around his, scraped her nails on his palm, and slid her hand higher, snaking fingers into his sleeve, onto the sensitive skin of his wrist. She looked up. Not so smug now, are we? she thought in amusement. His eyes were narrowed, his jaw tense. She was pushing him, she knew that - but judging by how chaste their lunch had been, he intended to stick by the rules she'd outlined that day in her bedroom. Let's see how much reserve he's got.

"Teasing again?" he asked, his voice raspy.

She hummed, and tickled his wrist, in a much more innocent gesture now. "You can always take your hand away," she murmured and threw him another flirty look.

His lips opened, but she didn't get to hear his quip, because there was a small noise behind him.

"I'm sorry, I'm–" John said and paused. "Late," he finished, his gaze dancing between the two of them.

"Hey," Rhys grumbled, pulled away from Viola, and threw John a dark look over his shoulder.

"Hiya," John greeted him with a chuckle. "Freddy and Imogen weren't particularly cooperative tonight, so I got delayed. But I'm here now," he announced and grinned a toothy grin. "Evening, Viola."

Viola gave him a small wave. She then looked at Rhys and almost laughed at his tense posture and clenched jaw - and then he gave her an exasperated look. Something changed in his eyes, and he quickly leaned in and kissed her cheek.

"See you later," he said and turned to John. "The stands for the fair are late. I'll drop them off tomorrow."

"Perfect," John said.

Rhys gave Viola another look and left.

"Shall we?" Viola said nonchalantly, and walked to her laptop to turn on the music.

She heard John laugh behind her, and she pressed her lips stifling a giggle.

***

The Winter Market was held on Greville Square in Fleckney Woulds. Just as every year, almost every business in Fleckney had either a stall outside, or a table in the Oak and Shield. The air was filled with the aromas of Miss Rosa's baking, mulled wine, and Mrs. Tate's famous pretzels. Beautiful lights decorated the trees. The square looked festive and inviting.

At eight in the morning Viola took her spot inside the pub behind a small antique rosewood table, brought from the Nidhogg Hall for the 'vibe purposes' as Anders Bjornsson proclaimed with a booming laugh. She hardly had time to organise the tickets, the cash box, and her Square reader on her mobile, when her first customer popped up in front of her.

"Morning, Alan," Viola said with a surprised laugh.

Fenton muttered something incomprehensible and stretched his hand with a bill to her.

"I didn't quite take you for a dance enthusiast," she said, shook her head, and opened the crispy glossy box of tickets.

"I'm going to need a premium ticket," he grumbled, and Viola's hand with a ticket froze mid air.

"Do you mean, you wish to purchase a dance with me?" she asked. "Or with John, perhaps?" she couldn't help but add.

Fenton gave her a slightly vexed glare, and she opened the second box, with the premium tickets.

"It's very generous of you, Alan," she said. "All the proceedings from the ticket sales and the auction that will take during the Dance will go to–"

"Yeah, sure," he interrupted her. "Can I have two?"

Viola once again stopped in her tracks, the change in her hand.

"Oh, are you bringing a plus one?" she said politely.

"No, I want to dance with you twice," he said.

"Oh, well, that's very– kind of you," she said. "I'm flattered."

He took two golden cardstock rectangles out of her hand, dismissed the change with a brisk wave of his hand, nodded to her, and left.

Viola had no time to wrap her mind around it, when the bell over the pub door rang again, and several people came in. Among them, Viola saw the Harris brothers, Frank and Ethan, and their mum, who worked in the Town Hall and was now Viola's patient. All three of them purchased tickets, the lads buying the golden ones. Ethan took his with a grin, and he and Viola chatted a bit about his work with James Whitlaw. Frank stood nearby, his cheekbones flushed with a bit of blush. Mrs. Harris refused the offer of a golden ticket, explaining she didn't feel quite 'that agile anymore' to dance with John Holyoake. The next three women who came in felt differently. For the next hour, the stream of Viola and John's future dance partners became steady, split equally between them, which, according to Mrs. Owens who brought Viola her second cup of coffee, was to be expected. Apparently, there was a certain 'early bird crowd' that came to the Market for breakfast. Just as the landlady predicted, once the breakfast bunch were gone, the pub grew rather empty. The square meanwhile was growing more and more packed. Viola quite enjoyed it, really: sitting, watching families and couples joyously shop and treat themselves, while an occasional visitor or two would wander into the pub, grab a ticket from Viola or a small trinket from some other table there, chat a bit, and then proceed outside, leaving Viola to converse with her fellow vendors.

Around eleven thirty, Mable Holyoake and Clementine entered the pub, and Viola gave them a wave. The women headed to her. They greeted each other, and Mable beckoned Mrs. Owens. There was an unspoken rule in the Oak and Shield that only the Holyoakes, Fitzroys, and Oakbies - and not even all of them - weren't obliged to go to the bar to order, but of course Mable Holyoake was never expected to. Once tea and scones were requested, Nana turned to Viola.

"So, how is it going, my dear?" she asked, and Viola proudly reported that almost half of her tickets were gone.

"I'm not surprised," Clementine said with a jolly laugh. "One doesn't even need any posters in this place. Everyone knew all the details before the tickets were even printed."

"Would you like a golden ticket on the house?" Viola asked, and Clem giggled.

"I'd love to, trust me," she drew out, "but I'm not deceiving myself. You're quite out of my league, Viola."

Viola snorted. "I should've known you wouldn't be interested in dancing with John," she answered. "It's not exciting after so many years, is it?"

"I've also got two left feet," Clem said with a shrug. "I'd needed extra classes for our first dance. Since then I decided that as much as I love to watch, it's just too much pressure for me."

"Do not forget, dear," Nana said to Viola and shook her finger at her, "you are an unusual Holyoake wife. We are not supposed to be able to match our husbands in dancing or singing - and you can do both."

"Perhaps, that's why I didn't last," Viola murmured, and Clem giggled again.

Judging by the peeved expression, Nana was planning to rebuke Viola - but thankfully, Mrs. Owens showed up with their tray.

"So, is John coming?" Mrs. Owens asked Clem, arranging the milk jug and the sugar bowl on their table.

"He said he'd be here by noon," Clem answered, picking up her cup. "I wonder if many people will come for your number."

Viola sipped her tea. "I hope not," she said and chuckled. "We thought we'd do something different from the routine we're preparing for the dance, so we practised a bit of salsa, but it's not as polished as our tango. Maybe, no one shows up, and we can pretend we forgot."

Twenty minutes later she knew she couldn't be any more wrong. It was five to noon, when John tried to enter the pub - and had to push through their audience, muttering his sorry's and excuse me's. He reached their table, kissed Clem, and greeted Nana and Viola.

"Well, I suppose there's no way out of it," he said to Viola.

She rose, hoping no one could see how nervous she was, and placed her hand in his.