‘Ah, Nico’s nines. Cute,’ said Jemima as she bit into her piece.

Though earlier, she’d decided the end of the meal would be her signal to make a quick exit, actually she was enjoying Tim’s company more as the evening progressed. She had discovered he was a keen chess player and manager of a bread factory, something more interesting than she’d anticipated. And what with the walk to the pizza place, ordering their food and chatting about everything from bread to books, they’d been together for nearly two hours. Jemima had shared the ups and downs of the literary world whilst Tim had explained the ins and outs of producing the nation’s favourite staple. Jemima had been fascinated.

‘So you make the same loaf and at one store they’ll sell it as a premium product while another will sell it in their budget range?’ Jemima asked.

‘Loads of manufacturers do it. Baked beans, cornflakes, sugar. It’s called private labelling. If you like you can come and see behind the wizard’s curtain sometime,’ Tim said wiping his hands and pushing away their empty pizza paddle.

Jemima squirmed. It was a nice offer but that meant meeting again, and meeting again sounded very much like a second date. Being on this date was already a landmark.

‘You know, the last factory I worked at burned down,’ said Tim breaking the silence.

‘Really?’ said Jemima, grateful he’d chosen to breeze over her lack of a response.

‘Yeah. The stock was toast.’

‘Oh my god, how long have you been waiting to say that?’ Jemima groaned.

‘Since the ice rink!’ Tim winked.

‘That was three days ago!’

‘Don’t I know it,’ said Tim as he placed his hand on Jemima’s.

She stared at it. The warmth was nice but alien. Perhaps she’d let it rest there for a minute before sliding her hand away, she calculated as her anxiety ascended.

‘What are you thinking about Jemima Abeson?’ Tim murmured.

Jemima could almost feel the blood coursing through her veins. Was holding hands first date behaviour? Pizza and a chat was fine. This was not. Just then he leaned over to kiss her. Jemima yanked her head back.

‘What are you doing?!’

Tim blinked in shock. ‘I thought…’

‘What?’ Jemima said tugging her hand away.

‘I’m sorry,’ Tim back-pedalled as Jemima stood. ‘I thought – Look, I live around the corner. Why don’t we have a coffee and just chat?’

Jemima’s cheeks grew hot. ‘Thanks but I have to go. Early start.’

She grabbed her bag and headed for the door, Tim darting between the tables behind her.

Outside in the street, Tim manoeuvred in front of Jemima.

‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m sorry. It’s not you,’ Jemima said, grimacing at her clichéd excuses.

She wished she could have given him more but even she wasn’t sure what was happening.

‘I know that,’ said Tim. ‘I thought we were having a nice night. What’s going on?’

Jemima tightened, her breath hard and heavy.

‘It’s too much. I’m sorry,’ she said, sensing the tingle of tears.