‘Charming,’ Patrick said, smiling. He picked up John’s wine glass and gave it a sniff. ‘Pinot Grigio? Classic Sumi, never had a clue about wine. White and wet and in a glass as I remember. Where is she? In the ladies?’

‘It’s a Sauvignon … never mind. Sumi had to work, that’s not hers,’ I told him as I tried to fasten the top two buttons of my jeans without him noticing. ‘How was your dinner?’

‘Long,’ he said as he picked up the wine glass and took a swig anyway, pulling a face as he put it down. ‘Can’t wait to get you home.’

‘Rough day? Me too. Honestly, work today was—’

‘Let’s get out of here,’ Patrick interrupted, skewering me with his light blue eyes. ‘I’ve got a bottle of Valpolicella at home that will wash the taste of this away in no time.’

‘OK, give me a minute.’ I hurriedly fished around under the table for all my things, my shoes, my jacket, my backpack. I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye to John but, at the same time, I really didn’t want him to see Patrick. They just weren’t fated to be best friends, why make a lovely evening awkward?

‘If you’re not a whisky girl, how about a cognac?’

John reappeared from the kitchen, dusting off a big, square bottle. ‘I’ve had this for ages but it’s still incredible stuff.’ He looked up and saw Patrick in his seat. ‘Oh. Hello.’

It might have been the least welcoming greeting I’d ever heard.

‘Ahh,’ Patrick stood up, hands on his hips, chest puffed out. ‘The bartender.’

‘The bar owner,’ John corrected.

‘Do you want a drink?’ I asked Patrick hurriedly. ‘John’s got some amazing stuff.’

‘We’re about ready to close up,’ he said before Patrick could reply. ‘I was going to pour you one for the road then kick you out, I’m afraid.’

‘Not to worry,’ Patrick said, peering at the bottle in his hand. ‘That’s a pretty nice cognac though. Ever been to the Chateau de Royal Cognac?’

John shook his head as he tested the weight of the bottle in his hand.

‘It’s about an hour and a half out of Bordeaux, you should try to visit, incredible place.’ Patrick stepped away from the table and picked up my bag, slinging it over his shoulder and narrowly missing clobbering me right in the chops. ‘I’d better get this one home.’

He took my hand tightly in his and pulled me towards the door. I looked back at John with a smile I hoped conveyed how grateful I was for the burger and the wine and the conversation, how much I’d enjoyed hanging out with him, how much I wished I could have said a proper goodnight. It was, in all honesty, probably too much to fit into one smile.