‘But how can you leave us when we’re just getting started?’ Alex is standing by the sink now, brandishing a bottle of Prosecco and some sort of pink liqueur. ‘I was going to make one of my signature cocktails.’ He rummages in the fridge. I can’t help but notice his nice arms again – I’ve always had a thing about nice arms, the kind that look like they’d wrap you up and make you feel safe. Oh, and the way that when he reaches up to get some orange juice from the top shelf his T-shirt rucks up, showing a strip of faintly tanned skin.

But I am absolutely not looking at any of this, because I am here to work, and he is my new housemate, and there will be none of that here. I blame the tequila for making my imagination run away with me.

But if I was looking . . .

‘Night, all.’ Emma picks up her phone and heads off. ‘Have a great holiday, Jess. See you in the New Year.’

‘You got any more ice, Becky?’ Alex asks as he looks in the freezer.

‘Nope.’

I know she’s told us not to clear up, but I’m absent-mindedly piling plates and tipping leftover salsa into the bin. It’s a distraction. The alternative is sitting with my chin in my hands staring with undisguised admiration at Alex, and that wouldn’t be a good look.

‘God I’m dying for some chocolate. I tell you what, I’ll go get some and grab some ice from Tesco Express while I’m at it.’

‘We’ll clean up.’ Alex stands up from the freezer and turns around. ‘And then I’ll make cocktails. You don’t think Rob will mind that we’ve borrowed his blender thing to crush ice?’

I pull a face. ‘I dunno. I think it’s knives chefs are funny about. Anyway, that thing’s a monster. As long as we clean it out, I’m sure he won’t object.’

Alex pokes an experimental finger at the huge behemoth of a blender standing on the worktop. It roars into life for a second and he steps backwards.

‘Bloody hell. That thing could take your arm off.’

‘Back in a sec,’ Becky says, wrapping a scarf around her face and pulling on a bobble hat.

‘Don’t freeze,’ I say, looking out the window. ‘Oh look, the rain’s turned to snow.’

‘Really?’ Alex and Becky join me, looking out. The snow is falling in flurries, swirling in the spotlight glow of the street lamp outside the front of our new home. It’s disappearing as soon as it hits the wet pavement, but it looks gorgeously Christmassy and romantic nonetheless. For a moment we all stand in silence, watching it, all lost in our own thoughts.

Michael Blooming Bublé is playing in the background again.

It only takes me and Alex a moment to clear up the table, shoving the rubbish and recycling in the bins, and loading up the ancient dishwasher.