Ooh, it’s hard to open my eyes this morning.

I’m on my way to work, but my brain thinks it’s still tucked up in bed. Not even the warm air and morning sunshine can clear my head. It’s definitely time for a coffee.

I’m rummaging in my bag for my purse, when I remember the voucher I’d been given just a few days ago – a voucher for a freebie espresso in the coffee bar next door. Perfect.

More than ready for my caffeine fix, I breeze into the bar to claim my spoils. The barista (no, not the Sexy Barista) is about to set the coffee machine in motion, when his colleague says to him, in Italian,

“Has she filled it in?”

Now, if you don’t speak Italian, you might not know that ‘she’ is also the polite form of ‘you’. So his question could mean, “Has she filled it in?” or, “Have you filled it in?”

Even though it’s quite clear that he was addressing his colleague, not me, his question was quite brusquely phrased, so Barista No. 2 blushes when I reply – in Italian – that no, I haven’t filled it in… and what exactly was I supposed to be filling in, anyway?

“Ah … um … sorry! I didn’t mean you … I was talking to him,” he stammers. “You have to fill in your name and email address on the back of the voucher.”

I turn my voucher over. It’s completely blank.

Smiling apologetically, he hands me another voucher, which has neat little boxes for my details, and a pen.

“Sorry,” he says again. “I didn’t have you down as Italian.”

“No,” I reply. “That’s because I’m not.”

He looks confused for a moment, then recovers his composure and slips into flirt mode: oh, but I speak Italian so well – how come? Where am I from? Where in Italy did I live? For how long? What took me to Italy? How marvellously I speak Italian!

I can’t help but smile.

I answer all his questions as I sip my coffee, then thank them both and wish them a good day.

“Wait! Wait!” he says, as I head towards the door. “Let me give you another voucher then you’ll come again tomorrow.”

He hands it over, in flirt overdrive now, and bids me goodbye.

Thanking him, I saunter elegantly off, praying that my killer heels, the highly polished floor and my ever-ready Aura of Disaster let me get out of the door without any major mishaps. But for once, my luck holds and I make it out unscathed.

As I set off for work again my phone pings, announcing the arrival of a text message. It’s from Uni Boy, and it contains just three words:

“See you tonight?”

Suddenly I’m wide awake and there’s a spring in my step, not to mention a big, stupid grin on my face. If I were in a cartoon, there’s be songbirds around my shoulders and small, soft animals nuzzling my hand.

But, of course, this state of affairs can’t last; there has to be a fly in the ointment.

The fun and frolics with Uni Boy are on a timer that’s counting down all too quickly to a point in the very near future. Yes, in just a few short weeks, Uni Boy’s work will take him overseas, where he’ll remain for goodness knows how long.

But I refuse to think about that yet. For now, the sun’s out, my heart’s happy and my soul’s full of joy … I’m luxuriating in his company and I’m flipping well going to enjoy it, however long or little it lasts.