Kit: A Story from the collection, I Am Heathcliff. Juno Dawson

flatly, not done talking about Dane. ‘When he looks like that, who cares?’ I sat in my seat and switched my computer on. The familiar, stomach-deep dread at opening my inbox awoke along with the monitor. ‘Although he is only a barista.’ I stopped, knowing it sounded both snobbish and a little unhinged to be mentally planning our future. Why did it even matter what he did?

      ‘Actually he’s not,’ Nelly said.

      ‘Not what?’

      ‘Not just a barista. He’s a pretty well-known photographer too. His brother owns the Roaster chain – he just helps out I think.’

      Well that changed everything. A photographer, an artist. That explained his bad mood. He’d rather be off, I thought, taking pictures of despondent Londoners, not being one. When I was at school I was briefly interested in photography, but my friend Bella told me I was being a hipster try-hard so I soon gave up the hobby. ‘Oh, OK. Interesting. Do you know how old he is? Does he have a girlfriend? Is he straight?’

      Nelly laughed. ‘Oh Jesus. Stalker much? I dunno, babes. Erm, definitely straight. I think. No idea about the rest.’

      There was only one thing for it. I counted down turgid minutes all through a hugely tedious brand meeting with a client before heading back to Roaster for lunch. Nelly reliably informed me they did delicious organic superfood salad boxes.

      As I tried to decide between kale or quinoa, I saw an opportunity and took it. He was clearing the table just next to the chiller cabinet. ‘Which do you think?’ I asked. ‘Kale or quinoa?’

      At first, I thought he was either ignoring me or had simply zoned out. After a terrible silence where I feared he might just walk away, he realised I was waiting for a reply. ‘Oh. Erm … personally I’d get the bacon-and-egg roll.’ He offered a half-smile, a curl in the right edge of his lip.

      I returned the smile. ‘Kale it is.’

      ‘Don’t say you weren’t warned. Rabbit food.’

      I carried the little box of salad to the counter. It was almost two. I guessed the lunchtime rush was over. Sure enough, the waitress was sitting having her lunch, a Tupperware box filled with last night’s chow mein, at the corner table. ‘I’ll have that and a skinny chai latte please,’ I said.