We order a bottle of red and look at the menu. The waiters are just the right level of helpful and take our order of a few sharing plates. For some reason, I don’t feel nervous or butterflies-ish, and we chat about work, and Soph – laughing about the fact that she’s such a super-organised perfectionist – and he tells me about growing up in Yorkshire. He’s got a lovely accent.

‘Here we are,’ says the waiter, bringing a tray of assorted dishes and setting them on the table in front of us. It looks amazing.

‘I don’t know where to start,’ James says, picking up the bottle and pouring some more into our glasses.

‘These are amazing.’ I pass him a tiny little piece of sausage wrapped in pieces of dried tomato.

‘Try this.’ He offers a little arancini ball, and our fingers touch as he passes it to me before I put it in my mouth. It’s weird. I don’t feel that nervous buzz I’ve experienced with Alex, but it’s nice being with him. It’s easy, and relaxed.

When I go to the bathroom, I check my messages and both Gen and Sophie have been in touch, dying to know how I’m getting on.

I like him, I say, standing by the mirrors.

EXCELLENT news, Sophie types. I bet she’s planning a new side hustle as a dating service as we speak.

‘We’ve finished this wine, somehow,’ James says when I return, lifting up the bottle and shaking it from side to side. We’ve eaten all the food, too.

‘We could get cocktails,’ I say, spying a list on a board by the bar. ‘Unless you want to get back?’

He shakes his head and looks at me directly with his nice, kind brown eyes. ‘I’m not in any rush, are you?’

‘Not at all.’ I smile at him, and we order two negronis.

And then we drink another three, and as I stand up from the table – he’s paid the bill, and refused to take my share – I realise I feel more than a little bit fuzzy round the edges. Outside it’s not quite dark, the sky hazed a pale-around-the-edges blue, the moon a perfect half-circle.

‘Thanks for a lovely night,’ I say.

‘D’you want to call a cab?’ James looks down the street, scanning for black cabs.

‘I’ll just get the bus.’

He offers to walk me to the bus stop. We wander along, side by side, arms occasionally brushing. It’s still warm, the heat of the day radiating from the pavement and the walls of the buildings.

‘I love London at this time of night,’ he says.

‘I love London full stop.’

‘I think when you’re not from here, you really appreciate what an amazing place it is to live.’