I can’t remember what Henry looks like. I only ever saw that one quick photo on Penny’s phone. Calm down. Yes I can. Brown hair, notable eyebrows. Brown hair, notable eyebrows.

I text him to say I’m at a corner table.

A few minutes later, a brown-haired guy with thick eyebrows approaches the table. He’s in jeans and a black T-shirt, and maybe it’s Henry. He’s walking towards me with confidence and looking friendly, looking like a guy who plays the flute, and so I smile, and he smiles back. Yes, it’s Henry, it’s definitely Henry.

‘Hi,’ I say brightly, and then I stand up, I’m not sure why, because I think maybe we’re going to hug, although I have no idea why I think that, but now the thought is in my head. I’m going to hug him hello.

‘Hi,’ he says, looking at me.

‘How are you?’ I say, in my warmest voice, leaning forward a little, hoping he’ll go in for a hug first.

‘Good?’ he says, looking hesitant and confused. Maybe he’s wondering why I’m standing up, or if we’re going to hug. Be confident, be the one in charge. I’m already standing, I need to follow through. I reach forward and give him a quick ‘nice to meet you’ hug and a cheek kiss. It feels very Melbourne, very adult, very ‘I’m experienced at dating’, very ‘my life is sexy and interesting and I am too’. I have transcended my small-town self.

He hugs me back, kind of, but he still seems hesitant.

I sit down, and he remains standing. Oh god, he’s going to leave. The photo Penny sent was too nice, and in the light of day, the reality is starkly different. I should have sat somewhere with more flattering light. God, he’s not even going to give me a chance to impress him with my personality. My pithy texts—do they count for nothing?

‘So, um, can I get you anything?’ he asks.

‘Oh I think they do table service here,’ I say.

‘Yes we do,’ he says, nodding at me, and then I see he has pulled out a notepad and pen. The reality of what is happening is dawning on me, at first slowly, then all at once, like a bucket of icy water, a few drops, then the whole thing poured straight over my head.

That’s not Henry. That is the waiter.

I hugged the waiter.

I hugged and cheek kissed the waiter.

I grip the edge of the table and try to stay calm.

‘Um, just, I, I’m waiting for someone?’ My voice is so high that it’s almost not discernible. I’m talking at a pitch maybe only dogs can hear.

‘Right,’ he says. ‘I’ll come back.’