‘Hey sis,’ Clementine’s voice came through the phone. ‘That was a superb voice note you sent – you continue to sound … I don’t know? Really dreamy? But like, in a good way. In a I’m not worried way. He just sounds like a real stand-up guy, and I know we don’t know many of those – well, many straight ones – but if you think he might be one of them, I am totally on board. Everything here is great, but I’m ready to come home for a bit. I’ll be back for two whole weeks on Saturday! Can you imagine? I don’t think I’ve had two weeks in my own bed all year yet. I’m excited for us all to get together for Eric’s birthday, too. Why don’t we go up there? We never go up there. And, when I’m back, I’d like to talk to you. I’ve got an idea. No – a suggestion. Just something I want to run by you. Also I am desperate to come and see the café and eat your food and be on your sofa and have you over for dinner. I’ve really missed you lately! More than usual. I just want my big sister. Okay, that’s all from me. Keep me up to date with this handsome Italian situation, please. Does he take bookings for the foot massages? Love you. Bye!’

Penny listened to the message right before the first breakfast order came through, and spent the next few hours wondering what Clementine’s ‘suggestion’ might be. Penny was the older sister but it was Clementine who acted like it. It hadn’t always been that way. As with almost everything in her life, most things changed with the cancer. Penny had been so full of life up until then. Ambitious, but without taking anything too seriously – she’d loved working in kitchens and learning about food and then playing hard, too, taking impromptu trips to new cities and staying up all night. She’d been a textbook twenty-something until she wasn’t. Life was divided into ‘Before I Got Ill’ and ‘After I Got Ill’, and in the after bit, Clementine definitely became the protector, and Penny had had no choice but to let her.

‘Pen, there’s a bloke out there who says he has to compliment the chef,’ Stuart said from the doorway of the kitchen, a tea towel in his hands, interrupting her last dishes of the day. ‘Says your heirloom carrots are the best he’s ever had, for a little café.’

‘You what?’ Penny replied. ‘He said that? For a little café?’

‘He’s a handsome bastard. Italian, I think.’

Penny smiled in understanding. ‘There’s ten minutes left of service. Let me just get this Panzanella out and then tell Francesco I’ll be right up.’

Stuart started to leave. He turned around and said, ‘Pen?’

Penny looked up.

‘I like him.’