He’s wearing a red-and-black checked shirt with the sleeves rolled up, layered over a white T-shirt with black jeans and black boots. He glances up and instantly clocks me. My stomach does a somersault and his eyes widen.

‘Hi,’ he says, his face breaking into a grin as he stuffs his phone into his back pocket.

‘Hey.’ I force a smile in return, but my insides are going haywire as I come to a stop two feet in front of him.

He’s suddenly awkward, not knowing how to greet me. I make the decision for both of us, stepping forward to give him the briefest of hugs. His hands only just touch my back before I retreat, but there’s time enough for his catnip to hit me, full force.

‘I hope they have a table,’ I mumble, blushing as I turn away to push the door open. I’m hyper-aware of his proximity as he follows me inside.

There’s a table right at the back and I brace myself as I sit down and come face to face with him again.

He rakes a hand through his dark hair to push it back from his forehead and then rests his elbows on the table between us.

He hasn’t changed a bit.

‘How are you?’ he asks, studying me. His eyes are ocean blue, several shades darker than Lachie’s.

‘Really well, thanks,’ I reply, reaching for the salt shaker to play with. I’m nervous. ‘You?’

‘Good.’

I lie. He has changed. The lines at the corners of his eyes are deeper than they once were, and now there’s a hint of grey in the hair at his temples. He must be thirty-six – two years older than I am.

‘Let’s order and then we can chat,’ I decide, picking up the menu.

‘What do you usually go for?’ he asks, his eyes levelling mine over the top of our menus.

‘I don’t. I’ve never been here before.’

There’s a query in his expression.

‘I’ve been to the gift shop next door,’ I reveal.

‘Ah.’

I think it’s just dawned on him that I’ve chosen somewhere no one else I know would go to.

We need to order and pay at the counter, which I insist on doing, refusing, to his dismay, the note he tries to press into my hand. I go for the soup of the day – pumpkin and sweetcorn – while Alex opts for a baked potato with cheese.

‘So…’ he says when I return to the table. He’s swiped the salt shaker. ‘This is weird.’

‘Just a bit,’ I agree. ‘It’s been a long time.’

‘Almost four years.’

‘How’s it going at work?’ I ask.

‘Good, I think.’ Small talk can be a blessing. ‘It’s sometimes hard to know, but the team seem to be responding well to suggestions.’

‘That’s good. Jet lag?’

‘Terrible for the first week. I think I’m over it now.’

‘Is it your first time in Sydney?’