Alicia's mailman was beginning to hate her.

Over the past week, Alicia had received four bouquets of flowers, two greeting cards, and even a package of Medjool dates along with a note saying, "Please Date Me?" None of it had been signed. But she knew who it was from. Obviously.

And that was just the beginning.

Oliver had sent a string quartet to the driving range. He had even projected a red heart on to the wall outside the golf shop with the message "Alicia — Don't Break My Heart." Steve had chuckled to himself, snapped several photos of the spectacle, and posted it on the company Instagram without her permission. He claimed the stunt would help pull in business.

"Put the poor wee lad out of his misery," Steve chortled, shaking his head. "Anyway, ye've not exactly got suitors queuing up for you, love."

Alicia resolved to put laxatives in Steve's coffee.

Hattie was also pretty outspoken on the matter, and it was clear that she was firmly Team Oliver— Alicia's feelings be damned.

"Just go out with him," Hattie said, adjusting her sewing machine. "He's only asking for one date." She jabbed a needle into a pincushion. "And you fancy him."

"I do not!"

"Oh, really?" She smiled smugly. "Then why have you started doing your hair before work?"

And Alicia — who hadn't been able to deny it — growled something unpleasant and stormed out of the room.

The only time that Alicia forgot about Oliver entirely was at the driving range. She spent hours whacking golf balls into the field, occasionally tweaking her grip. Tiger Woods' golf coach, Butch Harmon, once allegedly said that it took 1,000 swings for your muscles to remember what you altered, which she privately thought was a load of bullshit.

It took much longer than that.

10,000 swings, maybe.

She ran into Antony McIntosh at the driving range most days, and — much to her relief — she was now able to form coherent sentences around him. He had even stopped by to give her a few pointers.

"Drive more with your right hip, sugarplum." He poked her side. "You'll get more power that way. And your club face is too open; you need to close it."

Alicia nearly passed out.

Antony McIntosh had touched her. Actually touched her. She might as well have been blessed by the God of Golf.

When Alicia wasn't at the driving range or working, she had taken to wandering around the town. Sometimes, she strolled down Lade Braes, following the well-beaten path to Hallow Hill or the duck pond just beyond it. Other times, she turned in the opposite direction, starting towards the Cathedral.

Like now.

She paused outside the ruins. The moonlight cast odd shadows over the gravestones, transforming them into sleeping stone mice. The East tower — pronged like a fork — loomed over it all, like a silent, watchful cat. Mist made the air thick as soup.

Alicia shivered, wrapping her jacket tighter. Local legend held that a beautiful ghost wandered the Cathedral grounds after dark, cloaked in white silk and a broken heart. But there was no sign of the White Lady tonight. Pity. Alicia had always felt a special kinship to the ghost; she would have liked to meet her.

Two women, divided by centuries, each nursing a broken heart. Each dead because of it too, one way or the other.

Alicia stepped back from the low stone wall. It was growing late. Come to think of it, it was pretty stupid to be out here by herself; malevolent spirits weren't the only dangerous things, for young women walking alone at night.

Yes, she should go. Hattie would be worried, and—

A hand landed on her shoulder.

In retrospect, Oliver should have called out first.

Alicia let out a scream. Before Oliver could fully process what was happening, she gripped his arm, twisting it, hard. Pain ripped through his shoulder joint. He let out a rather embarrassingly high-pitched shriek, trying to wrestle free, but her grip was like iron.

Good god.

Did this girl arm wrestle for a living?

She dug her nails in, and Oliver's right hand groaned in protest. Panic spiked through him. Oh, hell. The boys would kill him if he ruined his playing hand; that would be months of recovery. And Oliver didn't even want to know how much it was insured for.

"It's me!" Oliver grunted. "Alicia, it's Oliver!"

She stopped struggling, squinting at his face.

"Ollie?"

"Yeah."

"You idiot," she breathed, dropping his hand. "Are you stalking me, now?"

"No!" Oliver raised his hands and then winced. Damn, that hurt. "No, it was just a coincidence. Honestly."

Oliver was aware of how bogus that sounded, but it was true; he came to the cathedral most nights, simply because it was the one place that Brooks actually let him go alone. You could only access the single tower, St Rule's, by a set of stairs, which were locked from the bottom. Oliver could happily spend hours at the top, reading a book, while Brooks watched nearby.

He paused.

Actually, come to think of it, where was Brooks? Shouldn't he have jumped out of the bushes to courageously save him from Alicia's attack? As if on cue, Oliver heard a snigger from a nearby headstone, and he glared.

Bloody useless git.

"I swear I'm not stalking you," Oliver added, seeing the wariness on her face. "I came to look at the stars." He took out a key. "I was about to go up the tower."

She frowned. "Where did you get that?"

Ah.

Shit.

"I filmed a video here earlier," Oliver lied. "For, er, dance." Dancers did that, right? "I held on to the key for the night."

In reality, Brooks had forcefully pressured some poor lady working at the Visitor's Centre to give it to them. But, you know. Same difference.

Oliver waggled the key. "Want to come up with me?"

He wasn't expecting her to say yes; it wasn't exactly wise to climb a tower with a strange man at night. But Alicia shrugged and said, "Well, I do love stars."

Oliver watched, open-mouthed, as she plucked the key from his hands, loping neatly toward the tower. He turned to the sniggering gravestone. "If you breathe one word about Alicia beating me up to anyone, Brooks, I swear I'll kill you."

"Duly noted, Hogarth."

Oliver jogged toward the tower. Alicia had already unlatched the gate, and she was halfway up the narrow staircase by the time that he caught up with her. They emerged on to the viewing platform together.

Alicia plopped down on her back. "Bad night for stargazing." She pointed to the misty sky. "Pretty cool cirrostratus clouds, though."

"Now you're just showing off."

"Is it working?"

"I haven't decided yet." Oliver lay down next to her. "You know a lot about the sky, don't you? Clouds and stars and such?"

"Not really." Alicia shrugged. "Not as much as Mum, anyway. She's an astrophysicist at King's College in London."

"Impressive."

"She really is." Alicia clasped her hands on her stomach. "She raised us all by herself, too. After my father left, Mum packed her whole life up and relocated all of us to England. I can't even imagine what that was like for her. Leaving behind everything you know — your whole family and support system— and moving halfway across the world with two toddlers. And..." She paused. "Sorry. I don't know why I'm saying all of this."

"I'm enjoying it."

Her cheeks were flushed. "It's boring."

"No." Oliver shifted to face her. "It's not."

He couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. Alicia was always so confident. So self-assured. He wondered if someone had once given her a reason to doubt herself though, and the thought made him clench his fists.

"You said toddlers," he prompted. "You have a brother?"

"A little sister." Alicia smiled. "Tess."

"What's she like?"

"Loud. Popular." She turned her head to face him. "She's completely obsessed with this one boy band."

"Oh?"

"Yeah." Alicia pulled a face. "The Patriots."

Oliver made a choking noise. She might as well have tasered him directly in the ribs.

"They're complete rubbish, though," Alicia continued blithely. "She was always playing their music around the house, and it used to drive me mad. One time, I got so fed up that I took all of her CDs into the driveway and ran them over with my car."

"Did you really?"

"Oh, yeah." Alicia's face was solemn. "Twice. For good measure."

"You don't like pop music?"

"Oh, I like it." She scrunched up her face. "But what that band produces isn't pop; it's a hellish abomination of music."

Oliver snorted. He was still torn between being offended, horrified and amused when Alicia rolled on to her side, propping her head on one hand.

"Anyway, enough about me. What's your family like?"

Oliver paused. That was a good question; what was his family like? He was so used to everyone already knowing the answer from watching interviews on YouTube or seeing pictures in magazines that he forgot how to formulate an answer.

"Well, Mum's a lawyer," Oliver said slowly. "Or she was; she's retired now, actually. She does a lot of charity work. And Dad's in politics."

He was the Minister of Health, to be precise. But Oliver figured there was no need to expand on the fact that James Hogarth was an Eton alumnus that enjoyed horse racing, weekend mini breaks to Tuscany, and expensive wine. It would only freak her out.

"No siblings?" Alicia asked.

Oliver shook his head. "I have two cousins — Rupert and Henry — that are like brothers, though. Rupe's actually the one that taught me to play the bass. He was so chuffed when I told him that I joined—"

The Patriots.

He broke off. Alicia looked at him expectantly.

"Er, a dance troupe."

She stared at him. "A dance troupe?"

"Yeah."

"Do dance troupes often require you to play the bass?"

"Oh, yeah," he lied. "All the time."

"I see," Alicia said slowly, in a tone that implied she didn't see at all and was largely considering jumping from the tower. "Well. I'm sure he's very proud of you."

Oliver swallowed. He could feel his pulse racing, and he took a deep breath. He had come dangerously close to telling her the truth, there, and a part of him was oddly excited by the prospect.

Should he just blurt it out?

But, no; Alicia was terrified of being in the spotlight. She had said so herself, the very first day they met. He didn't want to give her any more reason to push him away. And besides, Oliver reasoned, he would tell her the truth eventually — he just needed to win her over first.

A/N: Eek another Olicia moment! How sweet :)

Okay, so I'm going to hit you with ANOTHER behind-the-scenes tidbit (I wasn't planning to do these, but here we are, so I'm rolling with it lol) — St Andrews is very haunted. The White Lady is based on real reports, and people have also spotted a benevolent monk that's been known to guide visitors around St Rule's tower.

Basically, if you ever visit the town, keep your eyes peeled for otherworldly occurrences!

Affectionately,

J.K.