I’m early to meet Andrea and as I walk towards the restaurant, I spot her getting out of a flashy Mercedes. She stops to kiss the well-dressed gentleman in the driver’s seat before striding towards me, her long chic coat billowing behind her.

She sees me and smirks. “Ha. Caught you, looking.”

“So, who was that then?” I inquire. “I see it pays off to turn up ten minutes early to see who drops you off!”

She’s still smirking as she slips her arm through mine and we stride towards the restaurant. “Well, I had an amazing afternoon of great sex! What did you do?” she says, throwing back her head and laughing.

“Same!” I giggle.

“We’re like Cheshire cats,” she says, pulling open the door with gusto and waving her hand for me to enter.

“Like the cats that got the cream,” I agree, smiling, as I walk past her. And then my hands shoot to my mouth in horror as I realize the unintended innuendo in my remark.

Andrea throws back her head and shrieks, unable to control her laughter.

People sitting at tables around us are staring and I just know I’ve turned a crimson red.”

“Classic, Lauren.” She shakes her head while draping her arm around my neck.

We select a table in the corner next to the window.

“I love to see the life of San Francisco, played out in front of me,” she mulls as I take my time to consider the menu, “And not being able to hear any of it is the best part.”

I look up to see what’s going on and we witness some kind of disagreement between a cyclist and a pedestrian.

“I’d like to be able to hear what’s going on at the moment,” I say, watching the man with the bike throw a final insult with the wave of his arm before jumping back on his cycle and riding away angrily.

“Oh, it’s far more interesting to make it up,” Andrea suggests with a wicked look in her eye. “I bet briefcase man had a sordid affair with bicycle man’s mistress.”

“Oh,” I say, sarcastically. “Not even the wife. The mistress! What a twist.” I roll my eyes. Andrea knows how I hate infidelity. “So, who were you fucking all afternoon then?” I ask her, arching my eyebrows. “Is he the guy you were talking about the other day? The one you might actually have an ounce of feelings for?”

“Maybe,” she says slowly. “

A waiter appears. “Can I take your drinks order ladies?”

We decide on a bottle of wine, because, it’s Saturday after all, and there’s no sunrise yoga class tomorrow. I’ve already promised to go to the next one. As well as, of course, the fact that we haven’t had a proper catch up just the two of us in such a long while. And, oh, just so many reasons for wine.

“How’s it going with this guy then?” I ask.

“Ricardo is extremely intellectual. And a health freak. And half-Italian,” she says, her mouth widening to a sly smile.

“Very nice,” I agree. “Do I want to know how old?”

“A mere 45,” she replies.

“A spring chicken,” I murmur.

“Don’t diss older men.” She sits up and wagging her finger knowingly. “They know what they’re doing in bed. And if they can’t get it up, they go down on you for hours. It’s a win-win situation.”

I can’t help but giggle. “Well, I’m glad you’ve found someone only twenty years your senior. Do you think it might be serious?”

“Serious, pah!” She makes a face. “We are very much on our own terms. But let’s just say if things continue as they are, he might get an invitation to our Friday night soiree one week.”

“Wow, that’s commitment,” I say, and we laugh.

“Enough about him, anyway. If I talk too much about him I’ll just get bored and ruin it. How’s your dashing Jackson?”

“I think I could happily talk about him forever and never get bored,” I gush.

“Ugh, please don’t. That would bore me.” Andrea grimaces. “I bet you guys have nicknames for each other already,” she says shaking her head.

I nod happily.

“Oh my god, you guys are too cute. So, what’s your nickname?”

“You’ll laugh.”

“Probably, but you’re not leaving this restaurant until you tell me,” she warns.

“All right. It started off as Appleton pie and now it’s little pie.”

First, her eyes widen, then she bursts out laughing. She laughs so hard, she starts cackling like a hyena.

The best part is I don’t feel silly or care. I love our names for each other. My heart flutters when I think of him.

She wipes her eyes with the napkin. “And where’s lover boy now? Did you wear him out this afternoon?”

“He’s having dinner with his parents,” I say primly. “We’re meeting up later.”

“Didn’t you want to do another dinner with the in-laws, then?”

“He invited me but I said I was hanging out with you.”

“Shucks. I’m honored.”

The waiter pours our drinks and we ask for another few mins before we order.

My phone pings and I see Jackson’s name pop up.

“Are they already done with dinner?” she asks.

I nod, smiling as I read the text that tells me he misses me. “Yep, seems like it.”

“Old people eat so early,” she says. “We’d better order then, so you can rush back to Jack Sausage.”

“Ha, ha, very funny.” I wave the waiter over. “I’m starving.”

“Me too!” She nods. “I guess we both built up a bit of an appetite this afternoon.”