I don’t think that I could play it cool, even if I’d wanted to.Which, with her in my lap looking amazing, I don’t really want to. “Dinner was good,” I insist again, though it’s already a memory long past. Where do I put my hands? Why am I so nervous? My only relief is that if I’m nervous, maybe she is too?

I’m overthinking things, I realise, resting my hands on her waist, fingers splayed over the bare skin. I look up and meet her eyes, smiling at her. “This is better than dinner.”