Another hot topic of conversation in the group chat titled ‘Let’s get Edi gay-ed’ – which consisted of me, Lily and Faith – was whether I would, firstly, wear my engagement ring on my date; secondly, whether I’d explain the situation. Faith and Lily had fallen on opposing sides of not telling and telling respectively. We’d all agreed on the middle ground of wearing the ring but waiting for Fred to initiate a conversation about what the ring meant – assuming I still knew. Over the course of the afternoon into early evening, though, I became more aware of my ring as a nervous tick. Whenever Fred asked something that made my cheeks flush – which seemed to be happening every ten to fifteen minutes – my right hand would reach for my left, and I’d spin the ring around one, two, three times as I answered. Worse or better still – I couldn’t quite decide – I thought she’d noticed. But not said anything.

She checked her watch. ‘We’d better ask for the bill.’ She turned and hollered the waiter who, having watched Fred from the corner of his eye for most of our dinner, came rushing over at speed. With what I thought was a forced smile she batted away his final push at flirting with her – I’m right here, chap, but okay – and then gave me her full attention again. I hadn’t realised I was back to spinning the ring until she reached over the table and grabbed my hand. It was our first skin-on-skin contact, and I felt like something was going to fall out the bottom of me – but in a very good way. She smiled. ‘Do we need to talk about the ring thing?’

I hesitated. ‘You’re not interested?’

‘In your potential spouse? No. In you? Very.’ Another smile, notably less forced than the one she’d flashed the waiter, though. ‘It’s not lack of interest. But I’m single, I’m allowed to be here.’

I pulled in a greedy amount of air and said, ‘I’m engaged. But my fiancé is worried that we rushed into the whole thing, maybe. We’re together, but we’re sort of seeing other people for a little while, to see what happens.’

‘Fiancé with one e, I assume?’

‘Yes.’

She half-laughed. ‘Of course.’

‘I don’t think I—’

She held up a hand to pause me. ‘So, just so everyone knows where they stand. I’m allowed to be here and you’re also allowed to be here.’ She said it with a questioning intonation at the end, so I nodded. She squeezed my hand then, before moving back to her own side of the table. I pushed down the rising want to reach out after her. ‘Whereabouts do you live?’

It felt like a rapid subject change. ‘Over in the Quarter.’