It was almost maddening how easily Francesco slipped into Derbyshire life. Penny had agreed to give him a job after catching Paul trying to pass off a Waitrose cheesecake as his own. It was all very straightforward: Francesco came to visit and charmed everyone with his easy ways and helpfulness and had sat and rubbed Penny’s feet at night after service, telling her over and over what a brilliant job she was doing. Penny had told him she was going to go out with Priyesh, and the foot-rub was merely a friendly one, and Francesco had promised to honour that. The next morning, Penny had caught Paul in the act and asked him how long he’d been doing it – using shop-bought products as his own – hoping he’d say it was a desperate one-off for a reason that would never crop up again. He didn’t. It turned out he’d been doing it for years and, as such, Penny fired him on the spot with a one-week grace period in which he would be paid but not required to show up. He didn’t put up a fight. Francesco found a house for rent in the village, and started that day.

‘I’m Bib Gourmand-level good, you know,’ said Francesco, once it was official. ‘And I know that you’re Bib Gourmand good, too. And the atmosphere here, the décor, the service? It’s going to happen, you know.’

‘Don’t,’ said Penny. ‘That’s not the objective!’ She broke into a smirk. ‘Well, unless it happens, in which case it was in the plan all along. I wish we got alerted if they were coming, or told in advance. It’s so maddening that there’s no way to prepare. Apparently you only know they’ve been if you get a letter after to say they want to give you the award and include you in the guide.’

‘Evening pasta date to celebrate always being ready?’ Francesco said. ‘After service?’

‘You’re cooking, or I am?’ Penny said.

He looked at her. ‘My friend,’ he said. ‘I am, of course.’

‘Just checking you still like me enough to feed me.’ She grinned at him. ‘But … could we do tomorrow? I have a date tonight.’

‘Oh, I see,’ Francesco said, teasing. ‘Lining us all up back to back, are you?’

Penny rolled her eyes. ‘I can cook my own pasta, you know.’

‘No, no,’ insisted Francesco. ‘I can be your second choice. You. Me. Tagliatelle. Tomorrow after service.’

‘It’s a date,’ she said. ‘Well. A non-date.’

Francesco beamed. ‘Penny, it’s cool. I’m just pushing your buttons,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow is fine.’

‘This is beautiful,’ Penny said to Priyesh over the last of their wine at a local country hotel bar. ‘I had no idea this was here.’