Flynn smiled at this. “And what do they do?”

“Mum is a mobile hairdresser and Dad is a painter and decorator.”

Flynn’s attention travelled to my hair. “That explains why you look like one of those Botticelli girls. I wish I had my camera with me right now. The way the light is drizzling through your curls would make a stunning shot.”

My hand shot up to my wayward hair. “Your sales pitch is excellent, Mr Talbot.”

“Nope. Not a sales pitch at all. It’s true.”

I trained my attention back on my lunch. This conversation was travelling off in a direction I hadn’t envisaged – and it felt lovely.

“My hair is down to my Italian side of the family,” I explained. “That and my love of food.”

Flynn grinned over the table at me, displaying white even teeth. “I think a woman who loves her food is very sexy. I can’t be bothered with girls who sit and anguish and prod over a lettuce leaf.”

I found myself blushing. “I think I know what you mean. A passion for food often indicates a passion for other things.”

Flynn’s teasing, dark brow made me even more self-conscious when I realised what I’d said and how it could be construed. “Life,” I clarified quickly. “You know. Experiences.”

Oh, shut up Baxter, before you make even more of a tit of yourself!

I focused all my attention again on my plate in front of me.

This was so ridiculous! I was fine one minute – a perfectly normal, functioning human being. Then when I was in Flynn’s company, I was finding more and more that I was morphing into a bumbling, self-conscious sixteen-year-old again.

Flynn delivered a mischievous grin. “I bet you don’t call your parents by their first names.”

“What makes you say that?”

He gave a shrug. “I don’t know. I bet when you get together with them, it’s all apple pie and big hugs.”

“I don’t like apple pie,” I teased. “Now if you had said chocolate torta della nonna, you would have been on the right track.”

“Oh, what’s that?”

“A Tuscan tart – dark chocolate with custard filling and sweet pastry. It means grandmother’s cake in Italian.”

“Sounds irresistible.”

I flicked him a look and moved the conversation on. “So why photography?”

Flynn set down his knife and fork for a moment. “I’ve always wanted to be a photographer. This might sound like a cliché but I love the idea of capturing a moment or a memory.” He lifted his glass of water and took a considered sip. “It’s being able to let other people see a side to a person or a landscape that they would never normally witness themselves.”