‘I’ll give you some time to peruse the menu, but I can tell you that the roast fillet of saddle of wild fallow deer with walnut forcemeat comes recommended. It’s served with a crushed butternut squash and potato gratin, alongside a cranberry and ginger compote. I’ll give you a moment.’ He finishes by laying out our napkins and asking a waiter to bring us fresh rolls before disappearing into the fabric of the building like some kind of restaurant superpower.

I look down at my menu, trying to fathom what any of it means. After a few seconds, I look up to see if I can sneak a glimpse of her. She looks different. The make-up, maybe. And her clothes. We both look like we’ve dressed up as other people.

‘Are you as nervous as I am?’ she asks, leaning forward yet looking over her shoulder.

‘Me? Nah, I do this all the time.’ She turns to face me. ‘Or yes, I’m shitting it, is the other answer.’ And that’s when I see her, the Michelle I know and… I stop myself before thinking it. ‘Yes. I am terrified.’ ‘It’s nice though.’ She smiles. It’s a much sweeter smile than I’ve ever noticed before. Her whole face lights up, despite only the corner of her mouth turning. It’s in her eyes.

We go back to our menus. ‘I’ve never heard of half of this stuff,’ I admit.

‘And I thought you were a connoisseur of fine dining!’ she teases.

‘Is it bad that my knowledge starts and stops at the kebab menu?’

‘Yes. It is. It’s a good job I’m here.’ She winks. When the waiter returns to take our order, she orders for both of us in word-perfect French. I stare, open mouthed at her.

‘What?’ she asks flirtatiously.

‘I didn’t… I didn’t know you could…’

She leans in. ‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Rhys Woods.’

I loosen my collar.

‘So,’ she says. ‘What are people like us doing in a place like this?’

‘They shut down Wimpy,’ I joke, still a bit hot under the collar.

‘Shame,’ she answers, buttering her bread and biting it with more sex appeal than is strictly necessary. There’s a break in conversation, a pause that I sense she wants me to fill. ‘Really though,’ she pushes, ‘what is this?’

I put my glass down, taking a deep breath whilst I work out how to answer as honestly as I can. ‘I don’t know,’ I say. She sits back. ‘But, whatever it is, it’s something I can’t ignore anymore.’ She looks at me, perfectly composed. ‘I have fought it, I have tried to feel differently, but I can’t, I don’t…’ She reaches for her magically refilled drink, taking a sip. Her lips leave a pink stamp on the side of the glass, which I watch as she places it back on the table. ‘I’ve had time to think. The last month or so, it’s been… full on, and…’ Lost for words, I reach for my own drink now.