Her phone pinged with a text, surely it wasn’t Max, she hadn’t been gone that long. It was Bev. How’s it going? x

Fine x she texted back. How could she even start to explain?

It wasn’t Max’s fault – how could he have known? So, she either had to ask to leave now, and get him to drive her home, but that would surely spoil his meal and be the end of it all, before it had even had a chance to start, or she stayed, tried to finish her supper, though her stomach was still quaking, and try and make conversation. She blew her nose, wiped her eyes, reapplied some lipstick, and headed back out.

‘Are you okay?’ he asked as she reached their table, looking genuinely concerned. ‘If you’re not well, we can just go.’

‘No, sorry about that. I’ll be fine.’

Her fish had gone cool but she forked it slowly. Max had already finished his steak dish.

‘Now, that was absolutely delicious.’ He sat back. ‘Good little place you recommended here, Emma. Been here often?’

‘Never,’ she admitted. ‘It was Bev’s choice, my friend. I don’t get to eat out that much.’

‘Ah … well, maybe we can change that.’ Hinting that there might be more dates, more them.

Emma put on her bravest face and rallied, even managing to share a chocolate pudding for dessert, a gorgeously oozing melt-in-the-middle creation. It just had to be done. They had a spoon each and pretty much demolished it within seconds.

‘Should have guessed you’d like chocolate. I hardly got a look in there,’ Max jested, with a grin.

‘Now stop exaggerating, you. Your spoon was dipping in pretty quickly, I can tell you.’

They both realised the double entendre and Em started giggling. It was lovely to be laughing.

He was easy to talk to, not bad at all to look at across the table, he liked chocolate. She felt she ought to give him a chance. His hand slipped over hers on the table top at one point and she felt a little jolt of surprise, then decided to leave her own hand there. It still felt strange, different, the thought of being with someone else, but she decided she should just go with the flow for once in her life. They shared a warm look, a gentle smile. Emma felt strangely vulnerable.

When coffee was served, she took her hand away to hold the cup. It was soon time to leave, and make the twenty-minute journey back. They shared the bill, Emma insisting; she didn’t want there to be any expectations at all, and she liked to pay her own way, despite her troubled finances.