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I offer to open up the bar while Ma has a shower, and my heart rate kicks up a notch at being alone and in charge for the first time.

Only the low hum of the refrigerators and the clatter of a rolling shutter cranking up next door keeps me company.

I flick the switch on the coffee machine, half-expecting it to blow up in my face, but it hisses and gurgles in the usual way and I let out a shaky breath.

Then, something unexpected catches my eye – a sleek, modern-looking air-conditioning unit installed near the ceiling.

I can’t believe I missed it; it’s so glaringly out of place.

But maybe the promise of cool air will entice more customers.

I find a remote control attached to a little plastic holder on the wall beneath it.

A silent, cool breeze blows out of the vents and I mentally pat myself on the back.

Surely Giulio should have thought about doing this?

With a new bounce in my step, I secure the door shutters to their hooks on the outside wall and find a white box with the logo of a local pasticceria on one of the outdoor tables.

The underside of the thin cardboard is still warm when I pick it up, the pastries fresh out of the oven and fragrant.

I know I’ve just had a bombolone , but. ..

‘Buongiorno .’

I’m barely back behind the counter when the first customer of the day walks in.

He’s wearing the unofficial uniform of retired Italian men: beige trousers, polo shirt, newspaper under one arm, and bushy white eyebrows in a tanned face.

At first, I think he’s just another regular – it’s hard to tell them apart – but his distinctive sideburns mark him as the man who asked Kenzi to translate that prescription.

He’s squinting at me, though I can’t say if he recognizes me – teenagers must be just as interchangeable to him – or if he’s wondering what I’m doing behind the counter. Maybe both.

He chooses a corner table next to the tall metal stand displaying crisps and snacks, and calls out his order. ‘ Un caffè e un cornetto, per favore.’

Phew. Coffee and croissant. Couldn’t be simpler. ‘ Sì, certo. Un momento solo.’

Cavolo , I should’ve stuck with a one-word answer, because he pauses in the act of opening his newspaper, his brows pulling together in one long fuzzy line. I try not to let it knock my confidence. I can’t get such a simple order wrong, can I?

I’m still asking myself that question when I open the pasticceria box and find at least eight different types of cornetto , none of them labelled.

The Nutella ones are oozing clues, as are the ones filled with berry jam.

..but the others? They’re sitting there, pretending to have no filling at all.

My hand hovers over the crescent-shaped pastries like I’m defusing a bomb but don’t know which wire to cut.

Sugar glaze? Sugar crystals? Egg wash? I decide to keep it simple and go for one that has no finish at all.

I’m just taking it over, pretending I haven’t had a mini meltdown over a box of pastries, when Giulio comes into the bar, looking surprised to find it already open.

I’m about to give him a smug smirk of my own – look at me, managing all by myself – when the man clears his throat.

‘Signorina? This is not my usual cornetto .’

Giulio peers at the pastry, then whisks it away and swaps it for a puffier one with an egg wash. ‘You’ll have to forgive our new barista, Enrico,’ he explains in a stage whisper. ‘She’s Scottish.’

‘Ahhh!’ Enrico’s eyes light up. ‘My wife and I spent our honeymoon there. Beautiful country.’ He bites into his pastry with a satisfied nod before adding, ‘Terrible weather.’

I wait for Giulio to point out that I can’t even get the classic Italian breakfast right, but instead he joins me behind the bar. ‘Enrico’s a bit resistant to change,’ he whispers. ‘The cornetto you gave him was vegan. Easy mistake to make, Scotland.’

‘Err...Thanks?’ I look at his face but, strangely, I don’t detect any smirk or sarcasm. Is it possible our brief encounter on the roof terrace shifted something between us? Even that stupid nickname he keeps using doesn’t carry its usual sting.

Ma bumps the connecting door open with her backside, hands holding the huge bowl of fruit salad waiting to be portioned out.

She’s wearing jeans and a simple cotton blouse that’s buttoned up slightly wrong, but it’s still a big improvement on the cat-hair joggers and T-shirt she usually wears.

‘ Buongiorno , you two...at it already, eh?’

I go deathly still, all too aware of what this scene must look like through Ma’s boyfriend-obsessed eyes – like I’m flustered by Giulio rather than another customer mishap.

‘If you mean already working, then yes, I am...but Giulio?’ I shoot him a cold glance, making sure Ma sees it too. ‘Shouldn’t you be setting up outside?’

Giulio gives me a mock salute. ‘ Subito , Livia.’

I ignore the sharp twinge in my stomach as he goes to open up the sun umbrellas, and that I’ve gone back to being Livia and not Scotland.

It’s not like I want us to be actual friends, I remind myself.

And being nice to him hasn’t got me any closer to finding out what he’s up to anyway.

But I still don’t feel as triumphant as I’d like to.

Enrico clears his throat loudly and I hurry to make his coffee, but as I set it in front of him, I notice he’s rubbing his neck, his teeth clenched in a grimace as he glares at the air-conditioning unit.

‘Oh!’ Ma must have been watching our exchange because she steps in, looking up in confusion. ‘ Chiedo scusa , that’s not supposed to be on.’ She makes a big deal of switching off the air conditioning and reassuring Enrico it will stay off.

He smiles, relieved, stretching his neck from side to side.

Ma grasps my elbow and steers me away from his table. ‘You’ll have the regulars coming in with neck braces if you switch that thing on.’

I shrink into myself, hating that she knows it was me...that it didn’t cross her mind for a second that Giulio might make a rookie error like that.

She strokes my cheek, finishing with a pat.

‘ Scusami, tesoro. It’s just...air conditioning is a big thing here.

The older generation think it can make them ill.

..or give them a stiff neck. We can’t afford to lose any customers.

’ Her eyes shine with sympathy and concern, but whether the concern is for me or the damage I’m doing to Nina’s business is less clear.

Giulio collects Enrico’s empty plate and cup and I hear them chatting and joking together. ‘It’s too hot for her here, she’s trying to feel more at home.’

The knot in my stomach tightens. Giulio thinks he’s so perfect, smoothing over the ripples I create with his confident charm. But Ma will soon see I’m not the only one slipping up. Forget waiting until I have proof, it’s time to tell her everything he’s been doing behind her back.