Darcy followed her, shutting the door behind him.

‘What’s all this?’ he said.

She flipped the pancakes. ‘I’m baking my feelings.’

Darcy sat on a stool. His movements were tentative, slow, as if he was worried about startling her. ‘Not a bad thing to do with your feelings, I guess.’

Rachel shrugged. She wasn’t so sure about that.

‘Listen, Rachel, I’m sorry about last night . . . I mean, if I’d known you weren’t feeling it, I wouldn’t have tried to –’

‘It’s not your fault. Really. It’s the classic case of it’s not you, it’s me.’

She stacked up the pancakes on a plate and covered them in berries and syrup. With Darcy here, she suddenly felt stuffed, so she pushed them in front of him. He picked up his cutlery, but made no move to eat.

‘Can I ask you something?’ she said, after several moments.

‘Sure.’

‘Why did you come back here today?’

He thought for a minute.

‘I came back because I was hoping you’d lain awake all night thinking about me and realised you couldn’t live without me.’ He thought for a minute. ‘Also I was hungry and fancied a pancake feast.’

Rachel tried to smile. ‘Something happened to me,’ she said. ‘When I was sixteen.’

Darcy’s expression changed.

‘I was out jogging. He jumped out of the bushes. Don’t . . . say anything. It’s fine. Well, it’s not fine, really. But that’s the reason. That’s why I don’t date. That’s why . . . well, that’s what happened last night.’

Darcy closed his eyes. ‘Rachel, I . . . I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry.’

‘It was a long time ago.’ She waved her hand with an airiness she didn’t feel.

‘And yet I imagine it’s not the kind of thing that ever really leaves you?’

Rachel shrugged. ‘I manage. Perhaps not in the healthiest of ways, but I do.’

Darcy put down his cutlery. His undivided attention did something to her. For the first time ever, she felt the inclination to share more. ‘I don’t think you’ll be surprised to learn that food is my drug of choice. I eat my feelings, Darcy. I bake my feelings. I order my feelings at restaurants and cafes, and through Uber Eats.’

‘Makes sense,’ Darcy said, nodding.

Rachel blinked. ‘What do you mean . . . makes sense?’

‘I mean . . . why not bake and eat your feelings? It’s not the worst thing to do with your feelings, is it?’

This stopped Rachel for a minute.

‘I mean, sure,’ Darcy allowed, ‘it’s not ideal if you eat a wedding cake hours before it’s due to be delivered. And you are a better judge of whether this is a problem or not in your life than I am. But—’

‘But what?’

‘From what I can see, you’ve done something incredible. You’ve not only learned to manage your feelings, you’ve also found a way to make a living out of it.’