OK. First attempt. She tapped fast.

I think we can do better

No! Weird – so weird. Somehow sounded sexual, when the conversation was fundamentally about frozen pizza dough. Try again.

Weird craving to have on a Friday night

Better? Better, but sounded oddly intense, like he had suggested going out on the town to suck people’s blood, rather than get a passable pizza.

How the mighty have fallen

Better. Not brilliant, but at least slightly enigmatic, and passed the baton back to him.

She thought for a moment, cocking her head to one side. It would do. Decisively, she opened WhatsApp again, typed out the message, spell-checked it quickly (the shame of a misspelt quip!) and hit send. She put her phone back on the table, feeling a little like she was going to laugh. She took a sip of wine and kicked her shoes off. She picked her phone up again, opened her emails, opened Instagram, did a couple of scrolls and then closed it. Scroll, scroll, scroll.

Another message. That was fast.

Everyone has their vices

She made a face. He was still typing.

So fancy slumming it with me?

She barked a short, nervous laugh.

She reread the messages, chewing her lip, a buzzing in her ears. Wait, so – he was asking her if she wanted to go out for dinner, at the exceptionally average pizza place. Did she? She could feel the slight thrill of the small glass of white wine in her veins; she hadn’t eaten since lunchtime and her legs felt light, like they were full of helium. It was just round the corner. And maybe she’d read everything wrong, had overthought it. After all, he had just asked her out. And she did like him; she’d been so cross when she thought she’d bungled it. Not cross – despondent. Perhaps this was a second chance?

She tapped out a message, feeling reckless.

The high life is overrated

He was typing again.

Totally

See you and the great unwashed in an hour?