Alicia was a firm believer in the healing powers of doughnuts.

She ducked under the cheerful pink awning, pushing into the bakery. The tantalizing scent of buttery croissants hit her, followed by something sweet and acidic. Strawberry jam, maybe? She scanned the display case, more out of habit than curiosity: chocolate eclairs, lemon swishes, coffee towers and strawberry Danishes.

"Hiya." An older woman materialized. "What can I get for you, love?"

"A fudge doughnut, please." She paused. "Actually, make that two."

Steve would kill her if she showed up to work empty-handed. She leaned against the counter, watching as the woman magically produced a paper bag. Much in the same way that Oliver had magically produced that key last night.

She gripped the counter.

Oliver.

What the hell was she going to do about him?

Alicia counted out the change. She could feel something imperceptible shifting between them, the way that clouds moved so slowly sometimes that you didn't notice at first. But then you looked away for a moment, and the whole sky was different.

He was winning her over. She could feel it.

She took the doughnuts, stepping out into the June chill. Could one date really be so bad? And it wasn't like Oliver was famous; even if they were seen together, what were the odds of her location being—?

Her phone trilled.

Alicia shifted the doughnuts, fishing for her mobile. "Hello?"

"Where were you last night?"

She frowned. "Tess?"

"Obviously." Her sister made a huffing noise. "Now answer the question."

"I was out. Why?"

"Because we were supposed to watch Bake Off, idiot."

Alicia paused, her mouth sunk halfway into the doughnut. Ah. Shit. She had completely blanked on that. Which was shocking, really, because her family had been watching The Great British Bake Off together every Tuesday for as long as she could remember. And she had been very invested in what Tim would make for pastry week.

"Hang on." Tess shut a door. "What do you mean, you were out?"

"I do leave the house sometimes, you know."

"With a boy?"

Her sister's voice was sly. Alicia stuffed more fudge doughnut into her mouth.

"Maybe."

"What's his name?"

"It's not like you'd know him." She sucked powdered sugar off her fingers. "He's just some posh guy from the south of England."

"His name, Leese."

"Oliver."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. She could hear the frantic clicking of keys, followed by Tess's heavy breathing.

"Tess?"

"Sorry," her sister muttered. "I'm just checking to see whether Oliver from The Patriots is in St Andrews. He doesn't have blond hair, does he?"

"Oh, for god's sake," Alicia sighed. "I think I'd know if I was going out with a famous boyband member, Tessie."

"Well, does he?"

"No." She took a sharp right. "He's brunette."

"Bollocks." More clacking of keys. Tess sighed. "Well, it looks like they're all recording an album in Los Angeles right now anyway. How disappointing."

Her younger sister switched to other topics next: her upcoming GCSEs, a know-it-all student that their mother was growing frustrated with... She was just recapping the Bake-Off episode when Alicia reached the golf shop.

Alicia polished off her doughnut. "Look, I have to go, Tessie. I'll ring you tomorrow, alright? Love you."

"Love you, too."

Alicia hung up. A moment later, her phone pinged. A text from Hattie.

You're still coming tonight, right? Xx

Alicia paused, her hand on the door handle. Ah, hell; she had completely forgotten about the big party at The Sinner tonight. She shot back a text.

Working late, but yes! I'll come after xx

Her phone beeped almost instantly.

I've invited Ollie and Brooks, too. Dress cute. Love you. Xx

Alicia shoved her phone back into her pocket. She wished that she was disappointed, but she wasn't; instead, a tiny seed of hope had been planted in her chest, blooming with green promise and expectation.

Alicia pushed into the pub.

The Sinner was already packed with bodies; the thrumming music vibrated through the floorboards, and the room was abuzz with laughter and the clinking of glasses. Neon lights bathed sweaty skin in a red wash. A group of giggling girls were tottering towards the dance floor, nodding at the empty stage.

"Did you hear Adam Grey is performing later?"

"He was so good on X-Factor."

"So dreamy, too."

"Do you think he'd sign my purse?"

Alicia ducked her head to hide a smile. Hattie would be pleased; the poor girl had spent the last three months in a Twitter battle with Adam Grey's publicist, trying to convince her to let Adam perform tonight. It seemed her efforts weren't in vain.

She ordered a gin-and-tonic at the bar. The bartender's eyes flashed down to the low dip of her black dress, and Alicia shot him a flirtatious smile. This was good. Drinks in St Andrews were criminally expensive, and if he was willing to make her shot of gin a little bigger, then hey — who was she to argue?

"Alicia!"

She turned around. Oliver was crammed into a booth with Brooks — not a bad golfer, she recalled — and another young man with his back to her. Oliver grinned, waving her over.

Alicia murmured a thank-you, grabbing her drink. Oliver scooted over to make room for her, adjusting his red baseball cap. She frowned. Dear god; he practically lived in that thing, didn't he? Arsenal F.C. really ought to sponsor him, at this point.

"Wow." Brooks whistled. "You clean up nicely."

"Thanks."

Oliver scowled at him. "Weren't you about to get a drink, Brooks? Up at the bar?"

His voice was pointed. Brooks rolled his eyes, but he held up his hands, sliding out of his seat. Alicia ducked her head to hide a smile, taking the abandoned space. She turned to the third man at the booth.

"And who is—?"

She broke off, her eyes narrowing. Hang on. She knew that face.

Antony McIntosh.

Alicia set down her drink. He was wearing a baseball cap too, but it was definitely him; she would recognize those lazy golden eyes anywhere. The golf star grinned at her. "Surprised to see me, sugarplum?"

"Wait." Oliver frowned. "You two know one another?"

"Oh, yeah." Antony slung an arm across the booth. "We go way back."

Alicia rolled her eyes. "We met last week."

"You wound me."

"But I didn't realize that you two were friends." Alicia couldn't keep the edge out of her voice. She pointed at Antony. "That's why you recognized my name, isn't it? The first day that we met on the range."

"Hmm?"

"And why you were so damn cryptic."

Antony took an innocent sip of his drink. "I don't recall being cryptic."

"You know, Antony," Oliver said wryly, "your ability to experience selective memory loss is truly astonishing."

He seemed on the verge of saying something else when Hattie appeared. Her face was sheet white. Before Alicia could say anything, Hattie plucked her gin-and-tonic out of her hand, downing it in one gulp. She wiped her mouth.

"My life is over."

"Why?" Alicia sat up. "What happened?"

"Adam Grey just dropped out."

"Can't you get another singer?" asked Brooks, setting a glass of something clear down on the table.

Hattie stared at him. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

To Alicia's incredulity, Brooks blushed. He actually blushed. "I'm Brooks. Ollie's mate." He scratched his cheek with a tattooed hand. "Sorry. I've heard loads about you; I forgot we hadn't met properly yet."

Alicia exchanged a look with Oliver. Interesting. She decided to take pity on the poor bloke. Just this once.

"Brooks is right," she said. "Can't you just replace Adam?"

"This last minute?" Hattie grabbed a stray drink on the table. "Doubtful. I'd have more luck going to the beach and catching a fish with my bare hands." She took a large slug. "In fact, I—" She broke off, wrinkling her nose. "Oh, my god. Who ordered water?"

"Oh." Brooks looked sheepish. "That's me."

"Why?"

"Er." He darted a look at Oliver. "I'm doing dry June."

Hattie looked at Brooks as if he had just declared that he was passing up the free snacks on an airplane. "Are you mad? No alcohol for a whole month?"

"What about that one bartender?" Alicia suggested. "The one that plays the guitar?" She glanced at the eager crowd gathering around the stage. "Surely he could get up there and play a few songs."

"He quit last month." Hattie looked morosely at the napkins, as if she was debating stuffing a few in her mouth and suffocating to death. "It's too late; I'll never find another performer at this point."

Performer.

Something about that word sparked an idea. Alicia leaned forward. "Ollie's a dancer," she said. "He could perform tonight."

She might as well have set off a bomb.

Oliver spluttered and spilled his drink. Hattie squealed, clapping her hands together. And Antony and Brooks exchanged a look of great amusement, as if they knew something that she didn't. Oliver was already shaking his head.

"No." His voice was firm. "Absolutely not."

"Please?"

"Never." Oliver mopped up the pool of wine. "Like hell am I about to go up on that stage. You couldn't pay me enough money."

Alicia braced herself. She had a feeling that she was going to regret this later, but what the hell? Hattie needed her. And — if Alicia was honest with herself — she wanted to say it. Consequences be damned.

"If you dance tonight, I'll go on a date with you, Ollie. I swear."

A/N: Ooh, offer him an offer he can't refuse, Alicia!

So it's time for — you guessed it — another behind-the-scenes tidbit! You know those doughnuts that Alicia was eating? The fudge ones? Well, they exist in real life and they are the BEST. THINGS. EVER. Seriously. I could eat 10 million of them.

If you're ever in St Andrews, go to Fisher and Donaldson and order one. Trust me.

Affectionately,

J.K.