‘I’m just going to check on the kids, if you’ll pardon me,’ Sharon said, picking up her phone and taking her chance to leave them alone. ‘I won’t be a minute.’ She reached out a hand towards Penny as she stood, squeezing it once and letting Penny squeeze it right back – their special code for ‘Yup. I’m fine.’ Penny turned back to Francesco and smiled again. He held his whisky in his hand, swirling it in his glass. Not knowing what else to do or say, Penny pressed the plunger of the cafetière on her table, releasing the aroma of coffee.

‘Dofi said you two have known each other a long time,’ Francesco said.

Penny’s heart beat faster. ‘Would you like any?’ she said by way of reply, motioning to the coffee cups.

Francesco nodded. ‘I would. Black, please.’

Penny filled the cup meant for Sharon and handed it to him. As he took it she said, ‘You asked Dofi about me.’ It wasn’t a question.

Francesco shrugged lightly. ‘I asked about you, yes.’

‘Any other breaking news?’

Francesco pretended to think about it. ‘You trained together,’ he said. ‘You opened Bridges two years ago, you don’t post much on Facebook. Let’s see. What else? Oh, yes. You’re a terrible tipper, kick puppies, eat children for breakfast … have poor dental hygiene … and you have one of those funny heart-shaped signs in your living room that says “This home runs on love, laughter, and very cold gin”.’

Penny giggled. ‘What a torrid accusation!’

‘Nothing a bit of mouthwash wouldn’t fix.’

‘I meant the sign. Did she say it was written in cursive?’

‘Hey, don’t diss them. I actually really like those signs. My parents have loads of them. So does my grandmother.’

‘I think my mum used to have one, too,’ Penny beamed. ‘Anything else that Dofi scandalously revealed?’

Francesco stroked his chin in thought. ‘She said you’re a brilliant chef but don’t push yourself – don’t make that face, she said it kindly, like a proud but frustrated parent – and she said she thinks you’re single, but let the record show I didn’t ask the question directly. She volunteered that information of her own accord.’

‘I should have texted you,’ Penny said, guiltily. ‘I am single. I’m sorry if I seemed rude.’

Francesco smiled. ‘I’m a big boy. I’ll manage. It’s the name of the game, isn’t it?’

‘What, “Big Boy”?’ Penny said. Francesco raised his eyebrows. She added: ‘The name of the game, I mean.’ What was it about him that made her say the cringiest things? Big Boy, for crying out loud. Maybe she should go to one of those flirting classes in West London, the ones that taught women how to be coquettish and cool. Penny definitely needed help.

‘I can’t tell if you’re flirting with me,’ he said.

Penny smiled. ‘Neither can I.’