They wander off, holding hands, and I get closer to Peter.

‘You’re a really good salesman. I should leave you here by yourself for the rest of the afternoon. How’s it gone?’

‘Great! You have sold –’ he counts them off on his fingers – ‘ten cards. And someone took your details for their cousin’s shop.’

My grin is genuine. Even if I don’t sell any more cards, this day already feels like a win.

The afternoon goes more quickly than the morning, and when it’s over Peter helps me pack up, an activity that everyone else seems to do extremely quickly, and yet it seems to be taking Peter and me a lot longer by comparison. Maybe because he keeps doing impressions of the customers.

‘I think it was a good day.’

‘Me too.’ And I mean it, despite all the frantic last-minute preparations and my fears that my cards would fail. ‘Thanks for keeping me company, I really appreciate it.’ And I do. All the worries I felt this morning have gone. And Peter seems to have genuinely had a good time.

‘No problem. If I wasn’t doing this I would have been sitting in my lounge pants on my laptop.’

I stop packing. ‘Lounge pants? Peter, what the hell are lounge pants?’

He makes a hand gesture that suggests this is a common term and I’m the odd one for not knowing. ‘Comfortable pants that you wear when lounging. Surely everyone has a pair of lounge pants?’

He continues packing, and so do I. I carefully place the filched succulent into a safe corner of a box. I received so many compliments on it today. It was a good acquisition.

And it really has been a good day: I learnt some interesting things, I sold some cards, I ate a delicious halloumi wrap and I did some great people watching. One girl even sniffed all my cards and then bought the one she said smelt like the intended recipient.

Almost done with packing up, I look over at Peter, who has apparently wandered off and is now talking to another man. He is standing in that casual man stance with feet slightly apart, hips forward, arms crossed, surveying the room. He looks tall. Quite attractive actually.

Oh God. Is it OK that I think Peter looks quite attractive?

I’m frozen on the spot, staring. No, no, I don’t think that’s OK. Unable to shake the thought, I turn away – perhaps if I concentrate really hard on packing this last box …

But as though I have a devil on one shoulder, I can’t help but glance at him again. He is looking good. He’s still on the gangly side, but he’s grown into his features. He really does look quite handsome.

OK. This is a bit awkward.

Is this a bit awkward?

I find lots of my friends attractive. For example, Mia and Tilly are very beautiful, so, rationally, it should also be OK for me to appreciate the fact that Peter has become quite attractive. He’s not so odd any more. Or maybe he is, and I don’t care. It doesn’t mean anything.