‘Well, you do it right,’ I say. I realise I’m drinking it quite quickly but it’s not like earlier, because I was drowning my sorrows, it’s because it genuinely tastes incredible.

‘I wish I could make cocktails,’ I say. ‘Instead of having to pay 12 pound a pop for them in London bars.’

‘It’s really not that hard, once you know what you’re doing,’ he tells me. ‘Would you like me to show you?’

‘What, now?’

‘Sure, why not?’ he replies. ‘It’s been so quiet in here through the night this week, I guarantee no one will come in.’

‘Erm, okay, sure,’ I reply excitedly.

‘Okay, let’s do it.’

There’s a real spring in my step as I follow Freddie around to the business side of the bar. This is the last thing I thought I’d be doing tonight.

‘The Negroni is one of my favourite cocktails,’ he starts. ‘So I figure, when in Rome – or reasonably close to it, I suppose – why not make something Italian?’

‘Sounds great.’

Freddie glances around the bar, looking for the things we need. It’s strange – for someone who makes such amazing cocktails, it takes him a little searching to find everything.

‘Okay, so, we’re making a Negroni Sbagliato,’ he explains. ‘The Negroni is pretty strong, and you seem to like sweet drinks, so we’ll give this a shot.’

‘Sounds even better.’

Freddie places bottles down in front of me.

‘Campari, sweet vermouth, champagne,’ he says. ‘Follow my lead.’

I watch Freddie closely, doing exactly as he does, only with much less confidence and potentially zero style.

‘So, what do you do?’ he asks me.

‘I write books,’ I reply.

‘Oh, nice. What genre?’

‘Contemporary romance,’ I say. ‘Rom-coms.’

‘Nothing like Edge of Eden then?’ he asks.

‘No.’ I laugh. ‘Everyone always asks me if it’s like that – it’s that or Fifty Shades of Grey. My books aren’t exactly PG, but they certainly aren’t mucky books.’

‘Mucky books?’ He chuckles. ‘I love your accent, Lila. There’s something so attractive about the English accent.’

‘Are you sure?’ I ask. ‘I can imagine American ladies finding Hugh Grant swoonsome, but… I always thought I sounded a bit “apples and pears”.’

I can’t think of a better way to describe a strong London accent.

‘I don’t think I’m going to get all your jokes, am I?’ Freddie asks, bemused.

‘You’re not the first person to say that, don’t worry.’

‘I got that one,’ he replies with a laugh.

We hold eye contact for a moment, exchanging smiles. I can feel him, drawing me in, deeper and deeper.

‘So, what’s next?’ I ask, snapping us out of it.

‘Where are the oranges?’ he asks himself as he hunts around.

We garnish our drinks with a wheel of orange. They look incredible, they smell amazing – I wonder how they taste…

‘Let’s give them a go,’ he says.

I reach for my glass, but Freddie stops me.

‘No, no, you drink mine, I’ll drink yours,’ he says.