I’m not obsessed, I tell myself. I’m terrified. The dress. He’s been to the lake house. It’s not paranoia. Cain is still watching me. He’s always been hard to read, but even more so lately.

When we first met, I didn’t think he was that into me until we were out with my friends one time. He was taking it slow, too slow, until in a dark, crowded bar full of mostly over-forties swilling wine, ‘Go Your Own Way’ came on. People filed on to the dancefloor. I said, ‘Come on, let’s have a boogie.’ I took his hand and that contact was enough. Just my hand squeezing his. His self-consciousness seemed to evaporate, he trusted me. Then we were dancing and before long he was kissing me, pressing me against the wall outside the bar. It started to rain but we didn’t stop at first. His body so tense and powerful. I remember my hands sliding over the hard muscle of his back. ‘Come back to mine,’ I said. It’s what he was waiting for. No taxis would take us, being drenched like that, so we walked in squelching shoes through the city back to my flat.

‘I just want to feel safe at the house,’ I say now, ‘that’s all. And something feels off about the last guests.’

‘We can change the entry code if that’s what you’re worried about.’

‘Yeah. Can we do that?’ My voice is unnaturally tight.

‘Sure. I’ll do it tonight.’

I realise other diners are quieter now, listening to us. Cain turns his head, his eyes wandering the street. ‘After dinner, I’ll check the house properly. I’ll make sure there’s nothing to worry about, okay?’

I give him a smile. ‘Thank you, that would be nice.’ I’ll need to hide my dress or tell him I hung it there when we arrived.

Cain sips from his glass of wine and screws up his nose.

‘No good?’

‘Putrid. Lucky we didn’t let the guests drink it.’

I take the glass from his hand, sniff it. ‘Doesn’t smell too good.’

‘No,’ he says. ‘Tastes even worse than it smells.’ He takes another sip. ‘I’ll get through it.’

Cain orders the pan-fried gnocchi in an oily white wine sauce. I go with the lamb bolognaise.

He takes his phone out of his pocket, looking down for a moment, reminding me I’ve left mine in the car – part of me wanted to put some distance between me and the messages. Now I wish I had it so I had something to look at too. I need to distract myself from these thoughts about Daniel.

‘Maybe I should go get my phone,’ I say, ‘I haven’t received my roster for next month yet. I’m starting to think there’s something wrong with my emails.’

Cain looks uninterested.