The evening seemed to speed by and when I glanced at the view, I was surprised to see that the sun had well and truly set, and the Sydney Harbour Bridge had donned her array of sparkling silvery lights. We’d finished the bottle of wine, and James asked about ordering another. At that rate, I was going to develop a drinking problem. “Uh, maybe just a glass, or something to go with dessert?”

James turned to our waiter, a young guy who throughout the evening had achieved that perfect kind of readiness where he was there when we needed him and discreetly absent when we didn’t. Ahh, Aria. It had leapt to the top of my list of favourite Australian restaurants. “Would you please check with Antoinette and ask what we’re having for dessert, then ask the sommelier to send over liqueur that will pair?”

“Very good, sir.” He nodded and left us. “You know, I do eat at normal restaurants too,” James said, another non sequitur. I could tell he was teasing himself and played along.

“Oh, yes? You like to slum it once in a while, see how the little people live?”

“I was one of the little people once. I like to remember my roots.” We shared a smile. “But really, I hope you know it’s not like this is every night. I’m showing off a little because I want to impress you.” I was definitely on board with that. “When I’m in London, I will cook for myself, or order in. Janice sometimes cooks, but it’s not part of her job. It’s only when she gets inspired. Sometimes, I’ll come home to a giant pot of something delicious on the stove.”

He laughed, “And then, of course, I’m eating lamb stew for three days straight, because it’s just me.” I had a very clear picture in my head of James sitting at his kitchen counter eating stew and I wanted to be there with him. Maybe I’d make him stew, or cookies, or any of the other things I liked to make.

Our desserts arrived, each a perfect miniature lemon meringue pie. Oh, how I love lemon meringue pie. LOVE! The sommelier brought a bottle of Limoncello over, along with two tiny liqueur glasses.

“I think you’ll find this is a terrific pairing. I assure you, it won’t feel like too much lemon. Instead, they should dance beautifully on the palette together.” What a lovely way to put it. She poured and I squirmed a little in anticipation.

I took a bite of pie, then followed up with a sip of Limoncello. Oh, my god, the sommelier was right. It was as though one taste continued into the other. It was a stunning pie, by the way, the pastry just perfect—not too doughy—the lemon custard, tart and silky, and the meringue creamy and sweet, the brushstrokes of caramelisation giving it that toasted-marshmallow note. Heavenly.

I cleaned my plate and sat back in my chair, a decent-sized food baby percolating. Uh oh, I did not think this through. Lolling about in a food coma until my food baby disappeared was hardly the way to end a romantic evening. And it was probably not what James had in mind when he’d invited me to stay with him in that fancy hotel. Crap.