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‘I’ve only recently started working at the bistro. I was looking after my grandmother before that.’ It’s not much, but it’s a start.

‘Oh, did she die?’ he asks, looking uncomfortable.

‘No,’ I laugh. ‘She’s far from dead, trust me.’

Luke laughs, too. ‘That’s a relief. For a moment there I thought I’d put my foot in it. Why were you looking after her?’

This question isn’t so easy to answer and the truth too complicated. ‘She was unwell for a while, that’s all.’ I’m ashamed of myself, but at least I’ve shared a little piece of me.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. She’s fine now,’ I say, thinking Nan would love to hear me admit that.

‘So what do you do for fun?’

My hesitance is obvious. I do nothing, in truth. I don’t have an army of girlfriends, I don’t socialise, I don’t have any hobbies, and because I’ve never put myself in a situation where someone might want to know, I’ve never considered how utterly cut off and isolated I actually am. I always knew it – God, I aimed for it, but now, when I want to come across as an interesting person, I’m stumped. I have nothing to offer this conversation. I have nothing to offer a friendship or a relationship.

I panic. ‘I go to the gym, go out with my friends.’

‘Oh, I do the gym at least three times a week. Which one do you go to?’

It’s getting worse. My lies are leading to further questioning, which means further lies. This is not the best way to start a friendship. I take my wine and raise it to my lips, a desperate tactic to buy me more time while I frantically search my mind for a local gym. I can think of none. ‘The one in Mayfair.’

‘Virgin?’

The relief of Luke answering my question for me is obvious. ‘Yes, Virgin.’

‘I go there! I’ve never seen you.’

I’m in physical pain. ‘I tend to go pretty early.’ I need to divert this conversation quickly before I tell any more lies. ‘What about you? What do you do?’

He accepts my request for information and dives right in with a detailed report of him and his life. Over the next half-hour, I learn so much about Luke. He has a lot to tell, and I don’t doubt that all he’s saying is the truth and is as interesting as it seems, unlike my poor attempt to express me and my life. He’s a stockbroker and lives with his mate, Charlie, after splitting with his girlfriend of four years, but he’s in the process of buying his own place. He’s twenty-five, far closer to me in age, and genuinely a nice, stable, sensible bloke. I like him.

‘So no ex-boyfriend I should be wary of?’ he asks, finishing his pint.

I’m enjoying listening to him. I’m engrossed, contributing the odd opinion or thought, but it’s mainly Luke talking, and I’m happy with that.

Until now.

‘No.’ I shake my head and take a tiny sip of my wine.

‘There must be someone,’ he laughs. ‘A girl who looks like you.’

‘I was looking after my grandmother. I didn’t have time for dating.’

He slumps back in his chair. ‘Wow! I’m stunned.’

My relaxed state has been shifted back to uncomfortable now the conversation has reverted to me. ‘Don’t be,’ I say quietly, fiddling with my glass.

The look on his face tells me he’s curious, but he doesn’t press further. ‘Okay.’ He smiles. ‘I’ll get another drink. Same again?’

‘Yes, thanks.’

He nods thoughtfully, probably wondering what the hell he’s doing wasting his time on a guarded, ambiguous waitress, and makes his way to the bar, shifting through the crowd to get to the front. Letting out an aggravated sigh, I flop back on my chair and twirl my glass, scolding myself for . . . everything. My life approach, focus and direction need some serious rethinking. But I don’t know where to start.

I jump a mile when I feel hot breath in my ear and a firm grip of my nape. ‘Come with me.’

I stiffen under his hold, my eyes darting to the bar to see where Luke is. I can’t see him, but that’s not to say he can’t see me.

‘Get up, Livy.’

‘What are you doing?’ I ask, ignoring the heat that’s being injected into the flesh of my neck from his touch.

He takes a grip of my upper arm with his free hand and pulls me to my feet, then starts pushing me to the back of the bar. ‘I haven’t a f**king clue what I’m doing, but I can’t seem to stop myself from doing it.’

‘Miller, please.’

‘Please what?’

‘Please stop doing this.’ I’m begging quietly when I should be fighting him off and slapping his face. ‘I’m on a date.’

‘Don’t say that.’ He grinds the words out and I’m sure if I could see his face, it would look pissed off. But I can’t see his face because he’s behind me and his grip on my nape is preventing me from turning. He pushes on, leaving me no choice but to scuttle to keep up with his long, determined strides.

The fire exit door is pushed open and kicked closed, and I’m spun around and pressed gently up against the wall, his hard body pushing into me. ‘Are you going to sleep with him?’ His lips are straight, his eyes piercing. He’s still mad.

Of course I’m not, but that has nothing to do with him. ‘That’s none of your business.’ I raise my chin in a little act of defiance, fully aware that I’m provoking him. I could’ve said no, but I’m too curious about what he’s going to do. I’m not falling to my knees to please him, to tell him what he wants to hear.