‘Oh, hello,’ I greet him briefly, unable to drag myself away from my Twitter discussions.

I continue to dip in and out of various discussion threads, some funny, some political, some involving more emotive and important issues like mental health. As I do, I become aware that my now seated tablemate is watching me. I look up from typing a tweet in support of an environmental activist group, and my breath catches in my throat. It’s the Brummie man from the train all those months ago.

‘We meet again.’ He smiles warmly at me and my senses feel like they’ve taken a dive into a cake mixer.

I remember him being quite attractive. He’s not. He’s absolutely bloody gorgeous. His well-manicured beard gives him a look not dissimilar to Dom’s, but those dark chocolate eyes paired with his chestnut hair and that bone structure take him to a whole other level. He’s also wearing trendy outdoorsy gear that makes him look like Bear Grylls. It certainly explains the athletic physique: about right for someone who evidently hikes in the Lake District.

I set my phone down on the table in front of me and try to breathe normally. ‘We do indeed.’

‘How are you? How’s the career going?’

It’s an obvious conversation starter, given where we left off before, but with my changing circumstances, I’m not keen to chat about myself.

‘It’s… fine. I’m fine. And you? You’ve been hiking, I assume?’

‘Sure have. Three days, three peaks. Just ticked Scafell Pike, Helvellyn and Old Man of Coniston off my list.’

‘Right… I’ve heard of Scafell Pike. But not the others.’

‘They’re the three highest peaks in the Lake District.’

‘Gosh, you’re keen.’

‘Can’t get enough of the outdoors.’ He gazes longingly out the window at the hills and woods scooting past. ‘I’d live in a tent on a mountainside if it weren’t so impractical.’

‘The commute would certainly be a bit of a bitch.’ I smile at him and he chuckles in amusement. ‘I’ve never done the full-on hiking thing.’

‘You should try it. Once you get a taste, you’ll never go back. Promise you.’

‘Not sure I’m a stay-in-a-tent-with-no-running-water-and-pee-outside-in-the-middle-of-the-night kind of girl.’

‘What kind of girl are you then? A married one by now, I’m guessing.’

I hesitate. ‘Actually, no. I split from my fiancé a few months ago.’

His face immediately falls. ‘Shit. I’m really sorry. Got a habit of asking the wrong questions, haven’t I?’

‘It’s OK. You weren’t to know – either time. My ring was getting resized, by the way, I’m not one of those women who removes it to get attention.’

‘Right. Still haven’t covered myself in glory though, have I?’

‘You’re fine. How about we change the subject? What was it you were asking me?’

He rubs his beard thoughtfully. ‘Ah, yes… what do you like if tents aren’t your thing?’

I consider how to answer this question, given what I enjoy doing and what I can actually do don’t always match up any more.