‘Ah.’

‘I guess our age difference finally caught up with us.’ I drag my fingers under my eyes to catch a couple of stray teardrops.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says softly.

‘Yeah. It only happened a few days before I came away.’

‘Do you think he just needs space?’

‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘No, he’s adamant. We want different things.’

He nods, scratching off the label on his beer bottle with his thumbnail as he stares at it in a daze.

‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘Yours is not a shoulder I ever had any intention of crying on.’

He gives me a rueful look.

‘Do you think you and I could ever be friends again?’ I suddenly feel compelled to ask.

‘Of course,’ he replies.

I choose to ignore the fact that there was a moment’s hesitation before he spoke.

I wake up to the smell of bacon and freshly ground coffee. For a moment, I stare up at the ceiling, scarcely able to believe that I’m in Alex’s home. I climb out of bed and sweep up yesterday’s clothes, then walk through to the bathroom, glad of the oversized T-shirt covering me down to my thighs.

I don’t look too horrendous, I note as I check my reflection. I had nothing to take off my make-up with last night, so I went to bed with it on and it’s still pretty much intact this morning.

I say a silent thank-you to the clever people at Clinique who created their high-impact waterproof mascara and reach for the toothbrush Alex gave me from an unused airline travel kit. Then I drag the same kit’s comb through my hair, take a quick shower and get dressed in yesterday’s clothes.

‘Hey,’ Alex says warmly when I appear at the bottom of the stairs.

‘Hi.’ I smile back at him, my heart doing a funny little flip.

He’s wearing faded black jeans with a tear at the knees and a light-grey T-shirt.

‘Sleep well?’ he asks.

‘Surprisingly. Your spare bed is ridiculously comfortable. How about you?’

He screws up his nose. He looks tired, so I’m guessing that’s a no, but I don’t ask why.

‘Orange juice? Tea? Coffee?’ he offers.

‘The coffee smells good,’ I reply by way of an answer.

He grabs a mug out of a high cupboard, the bottom of his T-shirt riding up to reveal a brief glimpse of dark hair trailing from his bellybutton downwards.

I quickly avert my gaze, my heart quickening as I’m hit with a sudden flashback to the night we slept together. It was over six years ago, but it was pretty unforgettable.

‘Can I open your outside doors?’ I ask, feeling hot as I wander across the living room. His garden really is stunning. Compact, but gorgeous.

‘Sure.’ He comes over and unlocks the doors for me before pushing them open, letting a whoosh of cool air spill into the room. He goes back to the kitchen.

‘Full fry-up, right?’ he calls back at me.