‘My bad …’ Penny stepped away from the machine, back around the counter, holding her hands up while giving a mocking roll of the eyes.

‘This is your café – you’re Penny?’ Francesco said, reappearing in the doorway and dropping down two smaller paper bags.

‘I am.’

He wiped a hand on his apron and held it out to her as he approached.

‘I’ve read about you.’

The warmth of his palm met hers.

They locked eyes.

His smile was broad – not just wide, but all-encompassing. It was disconcerting to look him in the eye, this stranger, not least because they were stood not even a body’s width apart, but Penny found that she couldn’t look away. She took him in – his sprinkling of stubble and the tangy smell of coffee on his breath.

‘I wish I could stay for breakfast,’ he said.

They were still shaking hands.

‘Leaving before breakfast and you didn’t even spend the night,’ Penny baited without thinking, shocking herself at how easily she’d let something so inappropriate slip out.

‘I’ve heard great things,’ smirked Francesco.

‘Well … I …’ Penny spluttered. She was embarrassed now. Why had she said that? Maybe this explained her perpetual singledom – she was a horrific flirt who, when it came down to it, didn’t actually know how to communicate with the opposite sex.

‘I meant about the breakfast.’ Francesco laughed.

‘Yes. Of course! Right. Yes, so did I.’

‘Uh-huh,’ he murmured, clearly enjoying her squirming.

They stood, touching, him grinning at her, looking at her, scanning her face like maybe he knew her, and Penny realized she was grinning just as widely back.

Something was happening.

Penny didn’t know what to say.

His eyes were like pools of black marble.

Deep.

Penetrating.

She could count on one hand the number of times she’d experienced that. Somebody looking not at her, but almost through to the essence of her. Piercing something. The last time she’d felt like this with a hot bloke was at culinary school, when she’d met her ex. She’d felt it when she’d told her uncle about being ill, when she was twenty-five, too. Her sister Clementine could look at her that way sometimes. There was no hiding. Jesus, I hope that wasn’t his girlfriend on the phone, Penny thought. He’s beautiful. Not that she was going to do anything about it. Obviously. She’d probably never see him again, for starters.

‘Well. I’ll … be back,’ Francesco said. ‘I’ve got more deliveries now.’

They were still holding hands. Still staring.

‘Do. Yes. We’ll … be here,’ Penny grinned, not entirely sure what that even meant. ‘I mean. Of course we’ll be here. Buildings don’t tend to move around. Ha.’ Her mouth was dry. Why was she so horribly incompetent with this? ‘You’re welcome any time.’ She felt ridiculous.