‘Oh, don’t be so dramatic,’ I say as I take a sip of sparkling water. ‘He was just a nice guy, no need to stalk him.’

‘This isn’t stalking,’ says Lottie, looking up at me, her large amber eyes sparkling in the half-light. ‘This is trying before you buy.’

‘Oh God, Lottie, that’s terrible,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘How the hell did people manage before social media?’

‘Er, they got big surprises,’ she says, raising her voice above the Ed Sheeran song that has just started up. ‘Like, “Ooh, I had no idea Colin used to be morbidly obese. He never had any old photos lying about.”’

‘You’re evil,’ I say, laughing, as she thrusts the phone at me.

‘Here we are,’ she says as Connor’s Insta profile looms in front of me. ‘Connor Dawkins. Art Director @TurnerMathersPR. Foodie. Runner.’ His profile photo shows him standing against a tiled doorway. It looks like Spain or Portugal. He’s tanned and wearing sunglasses and a crisp white shirt.

‘Right, let’s see his dirty secrets,’ says Lottie, scrolling further down the page. ‘God, it’s all work stuff. Drawings of sports people and banners. Ooh, hang on, what have we here?’

She passes me the phone. There’s a photo of Connor, with shorter hair, wearing a navy suit and holding hands with a slim, blonde-haired woman. She’s wearing a tight-fitting, shimmery pink dress and is holding a glass of champagne. It looks like they’re at a wedding as she’s got what must be an order of service in her hand. I barely know this man yet I get a twisted feeling in my stomach looking at him holding hands with a woman.

‘Well, he definitely has a type,’ says Lottie, taking the phone from me. ‘Blonde, blue-eyed, slim. Let’s see when this was taken. Ah, January of this year. And no other photos of women since. Looks like he’s single, at least. Now, what about Facebook.’

‘That’s enough, Lottie,’ I say as the waiter arrives with our food: Spaghetti Carbonara for Lottie, Penne Arrabiata for me. Our usual. ‘I feel awful stalking the poor guy like this.’

‘Try before you buy,’ she says, raising her glass of water at me. ‘It’s the only way.’

Later, when we’ve paid the bill, Lottie heads to the loo. I’m just getting my coat on when my phone vibrates. It’s a text.

I was going to play it cool and wait a few days but then I thought, sod it, I’ve never been cool. Would you like to have brunch with me tomorrow at 11? At the cafe in Battersea Park? Do tell me to piss off if you want, Connor

My stomach does a little fluttery dance as I type out my reply.

Ha! I’ve never been cool either. Brunch sounds perfect. See you then.