Penny nodded. She’d wondered if he might decide that. He’d made no attempts to make things right between them, or to even open up the space for Penny to try. He was furious, and did his job each shift and then left wordlessly. Every time Penny tried to make even light chit-chat, he’d shut her down. It made trying to move forward really hard, being met with an emotional brick wall that way.

‘I’m not happy about leaving,’ he said. ‘But I don’t know what else to do.’

‘Where will you go?’ Penny asked, after a beat. He wouldn’t look at her. He was looking at his shoes. Penny wanted to fix it, she wanted to take away his pain. But she knew she couldn’t. She’d messed this up, and her punishment was the look on Francesco’s face.

I can’t say that I love you, Penny thought. I just can’t.

‘My grandmother,’ he said. ‘She has a Pasticceria in Bologna. I’ll stay with her. Learn some new recipes. Decide what’s next …’

Penny felt sick at the thought of him leaving Havingley, let alone to another country.

‘Italy?’ she said. ‘Oh, Francesco. This is all my fault. I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you not to go. I wish I could undo Valentine’s Day, and everything that happened.’

‘Don’t,’ insisted Francesco. ‘Let’s not do this again. We’ve been here before. It shouldn’t be this hard. If it is, then …’

Penny swallowed. She knew she had no right to get emotional. Not really. She’d turned it over in her mind and she knew, deep down, she didn’t trust Francesco. How could he say he loved her when the whole time he’d been here he’d been dating other women? The goddess woman, the woman he’d met at The Boot – his words and his actions hadn’t lined up, so why should she think they were now, even if he’d said he loved her? What were words anyway?

She couldn’t trust him.

She couldn’t trust herself.

It was better if he went.

I can’t say that I love you.

She’d loved having him at the pub but it had all been pretend. They’d pretended to be friends, to be pals, to be buddies, but it was always going to end in tears, wasn’t it, exactly like it did that morning in Stoke Newington. It was a short-lived romance limping on, masquerading as something more and exhausting them both.

I can’t say that I love you.

‘When will you go?’ she asked.

‘Is two weeks’ notice okay?’

‘Sure,’ she replied. ‘Though I’m sure I can find somebody else before then, if you want.’

Penny said softly, ‘We really screwed this up, didn’t we?’ and it made him finally look her dead in the eye.