God, she looks good.

It’s all coming back to me now: how knocked out I was to see her again. She had changed so much since uni. Not in looks, particularly, but in the way she carried herself. She was more confident, more self-assured. At York she’d been funny and outgoing, but there was always an air of self-consciousness about her. Even when she flirted with me, I could sense it was slightly guarded; she’d hold just enough back for it to not be awkward when nothing happened. Maybe that was why we never got it together at uni – neither of us was bold enough to make the first move.

Whereas now – here in 2014 – she’s like a different person. I remember thinking at the time that it must have something to do with her new job. She told me all about it in that first café – how she’d seen off four other colleagues to get this promotion to her company’s Paris office. She didn’t mention money, but I remember sensing that she was probably earning truckloads. Despite knowing nothing about fashion, I can tell that her clothes must have cost an arm and a leg.

She had transformed from this self-deprecating hoodie-clad girl I used to cook sausage sandwiches with to a Gauloisessmoking businesswoman who could speak fluent French with a ridiculously sexy accent.

And, honestly, it knocked me for six.

I suddenly realise that I am openly staring at her. But rather than looking away, embarrassed, like the old Alice probably would have, she’s looking right back at me, with a wide smile on her face. I snap out of it and feel my cheeks start to redden as I glance down at the pavement. ‘So, what’s the plan for today?’ I ask, just to fill the silence. ‘Are you going to show me how real Parisians do Christmas?’

I can remember precisely what the plan for today is. Every single step. And the thought of how it ended first time around makes my skin prickle. I can’t even tell if I’m excited or anxious. Probably both.

‘Oh, I’ve got it all laid out, don’t worry,’ Alice says, finishing her hot chocolate. ‘I’ve sorted a full Christmas itinerary for us.’

She turns her smile up a notch, and as she shifts her feet under the table, I feel her ankle brush against mine. I smile back, and try to remember exactly what I was feeling at this moment six years ago.

I was missing Daphne something rotten – I know that for certain. But if I’m brutally honest, I was also enjoying the feeling of flirting with this new, confident Alice.