Miles and I have been dating for about five months and it’s that perfect limbo stage of a relationship before we decide if things get serious, and, if my past form is anything to go by, where things fall apart. It’s an unspoken rule between us that we’ll see each other a few nights a week, usually alternating between whose flat we stay in, but it’s not expected. There are no assumptions that we’ll be each other’s plus ones to events if we don’t want to go. Yet, whilst we’ve got those boundaries in place, we’re also comfortable enough around each other that I don’t mind if he sees me first thing in the morning make-up free with massive bedhead, and he’s unfortunately perfectly comfortable parading around in his flat in the pair of bright-orange fisherman trousers that he bought when travelling in Thailand. Ones that are quite frankly so hideous that they should have been confiscated at customs.

‘I thought you would have been excited. Hopefully it’s going to bring in a lot of business.’

‘Fingers crossed,’ I say, trying to find some enthusiasm. Winning the tender means we’re on the preferred suppliers list for the county council, which means all the council-run organisations – anything from the museums to country parks to the main offices themselves – now have the possibility of ordering from us. Doors that, up until now, were previously closed to us.

‘You never know, it might lead to an offer from a bigger company wanting to buy you out.’

‘You know I could never sell the business.’ I walk over to the coat hook and slip a light jacket over my dress.

Miles is a corporate lawyer and he’s used to the cut-throat world of global mergers and acquisitions. No matter how much I try and explain the family business and loyalty we have to our staff, he doesn’t get it. I could never sell it and risk what would happen to them.

‘Maybe if the offer was high enough it might be too good to refuse.’

‘I think you get Porter’s confused with one of the multi-million-pound companies you deal with.’ I decide to change the subject as we’re never going to agree. ‘So, what time is the reservation for?’

‘Ah, about that,’ he says. ‘I cancelled it.’

I sigh with relief. It must mean there’s no engagement on the horizon if we’re no longer going to the proposal restaurant.

‘I hope you don’t mind,’ he continues, ‘but I thought it would be more romantic if we did something just the two of us here. I’ve got everything we need.’

‘Oh, OK,’ I say, surprised. ‘That sounds lovely.’

He smiles and slides the Tiffany bag towards me. ‘Here’s your present, by the way. Happy birthday.’