As I’m walking home, I pull my phone out of my coat pocket and see to my delight that I’ve received a message from Matt.

How was your Monday? Already feels like days since I’ve seen you. Can you cope with a midweek date? Or is your leadership thing too full on this week? x

My immediate instinct is to put him off. I’m overtired and that leaves me vulnerable. But I’m already dying to see him again too. The fizzy, whirly feeling in my stomach every time I think about him is like a withdrawal. I need my Matt fix – and I can’t wait until Friday to get it.

I make myself wait until I’ve arrived at my apartment before I text him back. Then as I flop onto my bed, I tap out a reply.

My Monday was good, thanks. The programme seems like it will be really interesting. How was yours? Reckon I can cope with a midweek date. xx

I lie back and close my eyes, but his reply is almost instant.

Wednesday work for you? I have something in mind. You can leave the rest to me. x

He has something in mind? Not only does this have me immediately intrigued, I’m impressed by his proactivity. Then the nervousness that he’ll choose something active and I won’t be able to keep up kicks in. I just have to hope my phantom injury will deter him from that.

Wednesday’s great. Any hints as to what you have in mind? xx

He replies with a simple ‘wait and see’ and a winky face. Chuckling to myself, I toss my phone across the bed out of reach, banish the guilty thoughts of Dom that are trying to hijack my mind and close my eyes again.

After a brief, reinvigorating catnap, I make myself a quinoa salad with feta and pomegranate seeds, then stick the TV on. I’m about to put on a new drama that everyone’s been raving about on Twitter when my phone lights up beside me, signalling a call from Sasha.

‘Hi you,’ I greet her as I hit the answer button. ‘Boy, have I got something to tell you.’

‘Can iv ait.’ A loud sob comes down the line. I switch off the TV to give her my full attention.

‘Sash? What’s up?’ Realisation hits me. ‘You’ve done it, haven’t you?’

There’s a deafening honk and I can’t decide whether it’s Sasha blowing her nose or an attempt at a response.

‘Sash? Talk to me.’

Another goose-like honk blares through my eardrum and this time it’s clear that it’s actually her trying to speak.

‘OK, let’s get you calmed down. Take some deep breaths. In through your nose and out through your mouth. Do it with me. In… and out.’

It takes several attempts and more bird-like tones, but Sasha does eventually manage to compose herself enough to give me a few fractured sentences.

‘Was going to… the weekend… chickened out… she called me… why avoiding… her.’