‘It’s nearly dark,’ he said. ‘There’s no light out here. Come down to the road, I’ll take you home on the bike.’

No. After what had just taken place, I was frightened. ‘There’s no need.’

‘I’ll walk with you then.’

‘But how will you get back to your bike?’ Then, ‘Okay. It’s easier to say yes than to spend fifteen minutes arguing in a field in the dark.’

He laughed, a proper burst of delight. It was a surprise to hear him so light-hearted, but maybe it shouldn’t have been—once upon a time he’d always been that way.

At his bike, he insisted I wear his helmet. Again, it was easier to just go along with it. I was being torn in two—desperate for him yet terrified by my want. The sooner I got on the bike, the sooner I could get off.

He climbed on first, swinging his leg over with easy grace, then I clambered up behind him.

‘Okay? Hold on tight.’ He kicked off the stand and we roared away.

My arms in a cautious circle around his waist, we sped through the narrow roads until a sharp swerve pressed me against him. The heat from his body was too hard to resist and I let myself relax, leaning into his back, inhaling the smell of leather.

If I moved my hand even four or five inches lower, I could cup his…

The graphic vision arrived in my head from nowhere. The thought—and it was an actual memory—of him hardening in my hand made me swoony, then very ashamed, then even more fearful.

Wanting this—him—was much too much of a complication. I was still dealing with my damage from the past. If I started fancying him again, I’d also ruin the present.

Outside my house, he stayed on the bike, his feet on the ground, the engine still throbbing. With fumbling fingers, I untied the helmet. ‘Thanks for the lift. See you Saturday.’

The movements of his hands, as they fastened the clasp on the helmet, had me somewhat hypnotized.

Bye, he mouthed with a smile I didn’t understand, and as soon as he was gone I missed him.

Crunchie was waiting by the door and, instead of her usual wild, barky delight, she greeted me with enquiring kindness. ‘I’m in bits,’ I told her.

It’s to be expected.

‘I feel like I’ve cheated on Quin.’

Random thoughts about Luke’s ‘region’ isn’t cheating.

‘What about emotional cheating, though?’

You’re hardly doing that. Some of your old feelings have got jumbled up with more current ones. The confusion is understandable but nothing to worry about.

‘You’re sure about this?’

Yes. Well, probably. Obviously, I can’t know for certain. I’m not Esther Perel, I’m only a dog.