‘Not coming to Sydney next month, I don’t suppose?’ I find myself asking him by email.

‘Do you want me to?’ he replies, almost immediately. It’s late at night in England so he must be checking his emails on his phone.

‘Yes,’ I reply, my heart in my throat.

‘I’ll look into flights,’ he responds.

A couple of days later, he tells me he’s booked his ticket to come the following week. Just like that.

I ring Bridget in a panic.

‘Why are you flipping out?’ she asks bluntly. ‘You wanted him to come, right?’

‘Yes. I think. But Bridget, what if it all goes horribly wrong? I’m so scared he’ll break my heart again.’

She doesn’t say anything for a long moment and it’s disconcerting because I can’t see her face – we’re not FaceTiming.

‘I don’t think you need to worry about that,’ she says gently. ‘I think this is your time. Embrace it.’

The following week, I get up very early on Saturday morning and drive to the airport.

I’m a nervous wreck as I wait for Alex to come through the arrivals hall, but the look on his face when he spots me makes it worth it, a million times over.

‘You came!’ he gasps, engulfing me in a hug.

I didn’t tell him that I would.

‘Thought I’d better return the favour after you drove me around in England,’ I reply with a smile, my stomach continuing to somersault as he pulls back.

He gazes down at me, his hands still resting on my waist. His dark hair is squashed half flat on top, his eyes are tinged red from lack of sleep, and he has five o’clock shadow gracing his chiselled jaw.

But he’s still breathtaking.

He reaches up to brush his thumb across my cheek, leaving a tiny series of sparks fizzing electrically across my skin. I cover his hand with my own and realise his is shaking, ever so slightly.

‘My car’s this way,’ I say.

Neither of us can stop smiling on the journey to his hotel. He checks in, and then I wait on his comfy double bed while he has a shower and a shave. He doesn’t want to rest.

We’ve only got the weekend before I’m back at work – my office is around the corner from where he’s staying. It’s a flying visit – he’s leaving next Sunday night. He and Neal have a big client meeting on the Wednesday after he gets home. This was his one free week for the next month and he didn’t want to delay coming. He plans to work from his hotel room during the day and catch up with me at lunchtime and in the evenings. There is no way I’m staying late this week.

The bathroom door opens and Alex comes out, wearing nothing but a towel.

‘Forgot to take my clothes in,’ he apologises, going to his suitcase and dragging out jeans, a long-sleeve dark T-shirt and underwear.