‘Francesco. It would be my honour and privilege to fall in friendship with you right back.’ She reached out to one of his lotion-covered hands and laced her fingers with his. ‘I’m very pleased to be spending time with you.’

‘Is that the stupidest thing you’ve ever heard? Falling in friendship?’ He held his free palm up in question. ‘Wait, don’t answer that. It’s lame city, I know.’

Penny closed her eyes again and smiled. ‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s not.’

Francesco didn’t say anything in response, he simply absorbed what she’d said. Penny moved so that instead of sitting at the opposite end of the sofa she was curled up beside him, her head on his chest. He wiped his hands on the cloth he’d thought to leave on the coffee table and then tenderly played with her hair. He watched the flame from the candles dance as they burned down. On the speaker the notes of an old Italian song he recognized from his childhood played – his parents had owned it on CD in the car. It was from a film called Senza Sapere Niente Di Lei – ‘Without Knowing Much About Her’. His parents had always been very happily married, and he’d always had the sense they loved each other, but that they worked to like each other, too. That’s what he wanted for himself.

He noticed Penny’s breathing had deepened. She was asleep. Francesco listened to the inhale and exhale noises she made. He let the rhythm of her breathing wash over him, becoming a meditation.

Him.

Her.

He felt peaceful, and protective.

Eventually, seeing the time on the big clock by her TV, Francesco moved Penny’s head over to a cushion and slipped away, covering her with the blanket. Tip-toeing, he cleared away their empty water glasses and put them in the sink, blew out the candles, and checked the back door to the small terrace was locked. He took out the key and put it soundlessly on the sideboard. Then he let himself out – but before he headed down the stairs he looked back to where she slept, committing the moment to memory.