He laughs and shakes his head at me. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I’m on my way home.’ I nod towards the ferries chugging in and out of Circular Quay.

‘You live in Sydney?’ he asks with amazement.

‘Sort of. I’m here for a year.’

‘Seriously?’ His eyes dart searchingly between mine. ‘Do you have to rush off? Can I buy you a drink?’

‘No, I don’t have to rush off, and, yes, I’d love a drink.’

He smiles at me and the words pop into my mind from out of nowhere: You’ve got something that belongs to me.

Of course, it’s immediately apparent that I’ll sound like a right idiot if I say them out loud, so I follow him mutely to his table instead.

Over the next couple of hours, I sit with Elliot and his mates, drinking and laughing and establishing that he is excellently single. When his friends call it a night, Elliot and I stay, and, as the white sails of the nearby Sydney Opera House glint gold in the setting sun, and bats swarm out of the nearby Botanic Gardens, I’m ready.

‘So,’ I say, swirling the ice around in my glass of vodka tonic, ‘I have a theory.’

Elliot cocks one eyebrow and listens with amusement as I enlighten him.

‘And that’s why I haven’t found The One,’ I conclude.

He looks confused. ‘But you’ve been in love since we went out, right?’

‘Yeah,’ I scoff. ‘Loads of times.’

‘Well, if that’s true, you’d better hunt down all of those guys and demand that they give you their pieces back, too.’ He takes a gulp of his beer and plonks the glass down on the table, looking a little too pleased with himself.

Is he right? Have I whittled my heart down to such a small chunk that I’m never going to be able to fall hook, line and sinker for anyone? Damn.

‘Your theory is flawed,’ he adds annoyingly.

‘No, no, no.’ I shake my head with renewed determination. ‘You were my first love. You’ve got the biggest piece. The most important piece. And I want it back.’

‘What if I don’t want to give it back?’ he asks.

I force my brow into a frown, while secretly thinking it’s adorable that he’s indulging this silliness. ‘Why would you want to keep it?’

‘I don’t know.’ He shrugs. ‘Maybe I like having it around. And anyway, if you want your piece back, then it’s only fair that you give me mine back, too.’

‘I have a piece of your heart?’ I ask with surprise, hoping no one is eavesdropping on our bonkers conversation.

‘Of course you do,’ he replies, barely refraining from adding, ‘Duh!’

I think about this, the alcohol muddling my brain. ‘I suppose we could do a straight swap,’ I mutter eventually.