“Adonis was a strange name for a milkman. An e-milkman. He was at her front door right now, having knocked politely three times - not-too-loud, not-too-soft. He offered her a brochure. And while she opened it to read, he slid a business card into the big sloppy pocket of her cardigan. Her fingers instinctively followed his into the dark woolen hollow. To get the card, she thought. But she found something else.

Out of sight, their hands met. Skin touched skin. A synaptic frenzy spread up her forearm, spiking tiny fair hairs to attention. She hadn't had sex since the last time she became pregnant, hadn't kissed a male over the age of three in 15 months. Just the prospect of flirting was so unaccustomed it felt like a sky-dive.”