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Saturday morning in Primrose Hill.

Well, this is a reassuringly pleasant start to the weekend. The sun is shining, coffee beans are roasting and there may even be a whiff of romance in the air . . .

I smile to myself as the odd couple approach – long, slimline Ben and the hulking bulk of droopy-faced fur that is Nessa.

‘Wow! She’s massive!’ My face lights up as she lunges in my direction. ‘May I smoosh her?’

‘You may!’

I lean in and bury my face in her fur, feeling the great rucks of skin around her neck and then gazing into her steady brown eyes as I rumple her velvety ears. She takes it all in her stride, panting warm breath over me.

‘Is she too hot?’ I ask, squinting up at Ben. ‘Hello, by the way! I didn’t mean to ignore you.’

He smiles back at me. ‘That’s okay, I accept my role as her humble footman. I was going to get her some ice when we stop for coffee.’

‘Sounds like a plan,’ I say, getting to my feet but still unable to take my eyes off her. ‘The size of those paws! They’re like Yeti boots!’

‘You want to know what else is giant?’

I look back at him. ‘Oh no.’

‘Oh yes,’ he grimaces. ‘You virtually have to use a shopping bag to pick it up.’

‘Oh gosh, is she going to do that now?’

‘Lucky for you that’s already taken place, she’s like clockwork.’

‘That’s Swiss precision for you.’

‘Funny you should mention that . . .’ he says, directing me down a side street. ‘I always cut through here, it’s a little shadier. It turns out that the reason the owners are away is that they are scoping out a second home in Switzerland.’

‘Really?’

He nods. ‘The wife read this book about doggie DNA and now she feels Nessa will never reach her full potential unless she gets to romp a snowy mountain range at five thousand feet.’

‘Primrose Hill’s elevation just not cutting it?’

‘Exactly.’

‘I feel a Facebook video coming on – Nessa experiencing snow for the first time . . .’

‘Of course, it’s going to be sunshine and green meadows in the summer but she’ll love that fresh air.’

‘How glorious.’

‘Yeah, I can’t wait.’

I do a double take. ‘Are you going with her?’

‘Well, it’s just wishful thinking at this point. They’re talking about spending the summer in Europe using their new Swiss home as a base. Some places they can drive to – Lake Como is just four hours away, for example – but when they are in Capri or Monaco they’d need someone to stay with Nessa.’

‘And you’re volunteering?’

He nods. ‘If it was just me and Nessa and a mountain-view desk, I could make some progress with my script.’

‘Of course.’

I resist the urge to say I could come out and visit, because that’s the opposite of his plan for peace and solitude. I feel a little stung by the realisation that I’m not remotely a factor in his future planning. Which isn’t surprising since we just met, but also makes me question how we could progress romantically. I suppose all I can do is try and make the most of him while he’s here. We chat a little about how his writing is going and then I casually throw out an invite to my mum’s fancy dress party.

‘Though I completely understand if that is the opposite of appealing.’

‘No, of course not, why would it be?’

‘Well, a dementia nursing home isn’t everyone’s idea of a good time.’

‘When is it?’

‘Next Sunday afternoon – so you’re probably working?’ I give him an easy out.

‘I’ll see if I can switch shifts. You don’t suppose there’s any chance I could bring Nessa?’

I give an excited gasp. ‘We could say she’s a therapy dog!’ I look down at her. ‘How would you feel about that?’

‘I think she’d be a natural,’ Ben asserts. ‘A spirit-lifter by trade.’

‘And speaking of spirits . . . She could double as a waitress if we got her a barrel filled with party punch.’

‘You know, if you’re looking for any entertainment, I have a small repertoire of magic tricks!’

‘That would be great!’ I enthuse. ‘I know some of the old folks won’t be able to join in the dancing so perhaps you could do some armchair magic with them?’

‘You’re on.’

I feel a swell of anticipation. I’ve never had a boyfriend who was so game. Not that he’s my boyfriend but all the same, I love the fact that he’d actually think this would be fun. I thought Gareth was the only man who would humour me in this way. Of course, Jay will be coming too but that’s really because of the fancy dress element.

‘Woah!’ Nessa suddenly starts pulling ahead.

‘I take it we’re near the cafe?’

‘Yes, they give her treats so we don’t really have a choice where we go.’

‘It’s all fine with me,’ I say, though I do express mild disappointment that the chairs are metal-framed with wooden slats, as opposed to a cluster of ceramic toilets.

Ben gives a little wave through the window to let the waitress know we’re taking a table.

‘Everyone is so dressed up around here,’ I say, noting that even the staff seem catwalk ready.

‘Apparently Michael B Jordan came here last week so everyone has been upping their game ever since.’

‘Really?’ I give my sloppy Joe sweater a self-conscious tug.

He shrugs. ‘The coffee tastes the same whatever you wear.’

I smile back at him. ‘Actually, I feel we should have hot chocolate in honour of Nessa and your potential Swiss trip.’

‘Nice!’ he beams.

‘Are you going to sit for me, Nessa?’ the slender blonde waitress asks as she approaches our table. Nessa’s bottom slams down onto the pavement, pink tongue lolling in anticipation. The waitress witholds her foie gras dog biscuit a little too long and a globule of drool splats onto her shoe. ‘Oh, gross!’ She jumps back.

I bite back a smile.

Ben simply offers one napkin to the waitress and uses the other to mop Nessa’s chops. ‘My apologies!’

‘Oh, it’s totally fine, we love our dog customers!’ She forces a smile. ‘What can I get you?’

‘Two hot chocolates, please.’

‘Whipped cream?’

‘The works,’ I confirm. ‘And a bowl of iced Evian for Nessa.’

‘Ooh, she’s getting spoiled today.’

I smooth her head and then run my hands down the wavy fur of her back. ‘Do you know what part of Switzerland they’re looking at?’ I ask, as if I am intimately familiar with the country’s geography, as opposed to planning to google the location and fantasise about being invited out for a fireside fondue.

‘Verbier,’ he replies. ‘They stayed at Richard Branson’s chalet one ski season and fell in love with it. It does look pretty idyllic. Plus, it’s less than an hour from the Saint Bernard Pass monastery where these dogs were first bred, so Nessa can be with her own tribe.’

‘That’s so cool.’

I want to go more than ever now.

We chat about skiing – neither of us have ever felt the inclination to go hurtling down a mountain but both of us like the idea of winching up in a ski lift.

‘Do you know there’s a restaurant at one of the Italian ski resorts where you have dinner at the top of this mountain and then go hurtling back down to town on a toboggan in pitch-black darkness with only a headlamp to light the way?’ I marvel. ‘Who would do that?’

‘I would!’

‘Nooooo!’ I gasp.

It’s pleasant conversation but I’m feeling an underlying frustration knowing how little time we have and that, once again, this doesn’t feel like it is leading to anything amorous. I definitely need to wangle an after-dark date or we’re going to end up squarely in the friend zone.

‘Can I get you anything else?’ The waitress returns to clear our table, carefully sidestepping Nessa.

‘Just the bill, please,’ I say.

Ben reaches for his wallet.

‘Allow me.’ I hold up my hand. ‘You brought the dog, the least I can do is get the drinks.’

‘Well, if you’re sure?’

‘I am.’

And so we amble back to where we met.

‘Well, that was a lovely way to start the day,’ I sigh.

‘It was indeed. Thank you for treating us.’

‘You’re welcome,’ I smile, loitering expectantly. Now would be the perfect time for him to make a move.

Instead, he leans in and gives me a casual half-body hug. ‘Come on then, Ness, let’s get you home.’

‘Um, Ben?’

‘Yes?’ He turns back.

‘Do you mind if I ask you a weird question?’

‘I love weird,’ he grins. ‘Go ahead!’

I move over to the side of the pavement, as if that affords any degree of privacy to our conversation. ‘When we were in the kitchen at the wedding . . . ’ – I give him what I hope is a beguiling smile – ‘what is the last thing you remember?’

He tilts his head. ‘Well, we were in the middle of seeing how many petit fours we could fit in our mouths in one go—’

‘What? No – we did that?’

He nods. ‘You came into the kitchen and said you were hungry and was there anything left over . . .’

I think for a moment, attempting to picture the little squares of frosted sponge. I do have a vague recollection of the red velvet ones, now he comes to mention it . . .

‘Just out of interest, how many did I . . .?’

‘Five.’

‘Really?’ I gulp. ‘That must have been attractive.’

He smiles. ‘You told me that petit four means “little oven” in French.’

‘With my mouth full?’

He bursts out laughing. ‘Maybe.’

‘What I’m trying to say is . . .’ I shuffle closer to him. ‘When we kissed, did I seem to have a particular reaction or say anything unusual, or even mention a premonition?’

‘Well,’ he begins. ‘First of all, we didn’t kiss—’

‘What?’ I startle. ‘What do you mean?’

‘We’ve never kissed.’

‘But—’

‘I feel like if a woman is swaying as though she’s on the deck of a ship, it’s best to wait for calmer seas. Plus, you know, I was working. We were in the middle of polishing off the petit fours when my boss came in and said it was time to start clearing the tables.’

I hang my head.

‘Nothing wrong with being drunk at a wedding,’ he assures me. ‘I’m not being judgemental.’

‘No, no, I know you’re not – I just . . . I thought . . .’

He waits patiently for me to process the bombshell. It wasn’t him. And if it wasn’t him, it means it was someone else and now I’m back to square one. Unless . . . If we haven’t kissed, then he’s not ruled out. There could still be a dreamy premonition waiting on those lips. All I have to do is make contact . . .

‘So, if we didn’t kiss, then . . .’ I hook a playful finger in his belt loop but instantly feel him tense up. Oh, the utter mortification. I quickly withdraw my hand.

His shoulders lower and he smiles kindly. ‘Amy . . .’

‘Oh god,’ I say, backing away, flustered. This is the worst! I could just die. ‘Sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking!’

‘It’s okay. It’s just . . . There’s a good chance I’m going to be leaving and I don’t think it’s wise to form any ties.’

I hate to be thought of as any kind of tie or obligation and find myself reaching for Nessa’s fur like it’s a security blanket. ‘Quite right, I understand.’

‘I’m sorry, Amy, I hope I haven’t misled you?’ he continues.

‘No, no, it’s fine. You’re right. There’s no point, really.’

He nods.

‘Anyway!’ I rally. ‘I really need to get going – I have to get ready for a Mexican street party. Frida Kahlo eyebrows don’t connect themselves.’

He gives a little chuckle and then says, ‘Okay, I’ll see you for your mum’s party next week!’

‘What?’ My jaw gapes. I wasn’t expecting that.

‘If I’m still invited?’

‘Yes, yes, of course!’ I brazen. ‘See you then. Gotta run!’

I turn and stride off, trying to walk normally while my face contorts and scrunches up as if I’ve just taken a sip from a super-sour margarita. They say the course of true love never did run smooth but really?