Three laps of the space and a toilet trip later, his feet have warmed through in his new climbing socks and horribly plastic-looking rain boots, and he spots her in the café, sat with a man. It can’t be her, he decides, at first glance, because she’s not alone – but it is. Her coat is over the back of her chair, her hair tucked into her polo neck, her hands wrapped around a big blue mug, as if she’s the actor, not him. Nobody actually holds a cup that way. What’s wrong with the handle? She keeps touching her cheek and laughing. No, not laughing. Tittering. The guy is maybe early forties, all salt and pepper hair and strong jaw. Duke notices the jawline of every single man he sees, because he’s had to work hard for his. He chews rubbery weights to help with the definition. He already hates this guy for being so sharp.

Should he go over? Interrupt? He can’t decide. Evie isn’t his property. She can talk to whoever she likes. Flirt with whoever she likes. And yet there’s a feeling in Duke’s lower belly, his gut, he supposes, that doesn’t like what he’s seeing and wants it to stop. She looks up before he can decide what to do. They lock eyes. If panic response is fight or flight, Duke doesn’t know where he’d fall since he finds himself frozen stuck to the spot. She lifts a hand. He doesn’t know if that is acknowledgement or a welcome over. She goes back to chatting with her man. Duke can’t stand it, he decides. Even if he just goes over to know what they’re talking about, what’s making her look up from under her eyelashes that way, that’s enough.

‘You look like you’re settled in for the duration,’ Duke says coolly as he reaches their table. With his coat still on, ridiculous petrol station boots and laden down with bags of his discounted stock, he looks ridiculous. This meathead Evie is sat with is all thin layers and fleecy fabrics and effortlessly Bear Grylls.

‘Duke,’ Evie says. Is she happy to see him? ‘This is Markus. Markus thinks we’re going to be here for a few more hours yet.’

‘I work at the national news station.’ Markus smiles. ‘So I have a meteorologist on speed dial.’ He has an accent, but perfect English.

‘Shame you didn’t call him before you set off this morning.’ Duke smiles back, but the humour he thought he’d injected into the joke doesn’t translate.

‘Yes, I thought so too until I met Evie here.’ He’s smooth. Too smooth. Duke will not be leaving her alone with him. Nope. No way. Duke sets his bags down and turns around an empty chair from a nearby table.