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Tears spring to my eyes, and I look away, trying not to let them show. It’s been such a long day, I’m dangerously emotional, and the thought of how things might have been different for me if we’d been able to—

Ridiculous.

“Did I say something wrong?” he asks.

“Not at all.” I take a breath.

He rises. “The mosquitoes will be out soon. Shall we eat?”

“Perfect.”

I wander in with him and take off my shoes at the door to spare the beautiful floor the scraping flap of my sandals. The wood is cool on the soles of my feet, and, as ever, the temperature drops the second the sun goes down. I should have brought a sweater. “Can I help?”

“Not at all. I only need to stir it all together.” He gestures. “Have a seat.”

A table, Arts and Crafts style, is set with three places. I gather one and take it away, which is my restaurant training, and he smiles.

Jonah serves his pasta in a big bowl, along with the bread I brought, warmed in the oven. He slices it expertly with a serrated knife. “Well done,” I say.

“I am good in the kitchen,” he says. “It’s my hobby.”

“I hope you’re not a snob about it.”

He laughs. “Probably I am. But not always.”

The wine has eased my nervousness enough that I lean forward comfortably. “Now tell me about you, Jonah. Do you have children?”

“No.” He does not quite meet my eyes. “I have spent my time on travel and debauchery.” He raises his fork and looks at the food. “And learning to cook.”

“Ah, so that’s where that aura of world-weariness comes from.” I smile and take a bite of the pasta. My mouth is filled with a dozen flavors and cues, tomato and cream and the texture of the penne, the saltiness of the prosciutto. I widen my eyes and look at him, putting my fingers lightly against my lips as my tongue and teeth release more and more of the flavors—there, cracked pepper, and then the elegance of asparagus. Jonah watches me, a small smile turning up the corners of his lips.

When I swallow, I put down my fork. “I’m almost afraid to take another bite. It couldn’t possibly be that good.”

He laughs, and the sound is as sexy as the music, as the food, as his dark hair falling down on his forehead. “I think you’ll find it holds up.”

And then there is only eating. My bread with Irish butter, and his magnificently orchestrated pasta, and the wine, so velvety and rich. I eat more than I should and, sitting there with my empty plate, I put my hand on my tummy. “I wish I had two stomachs,” I say, and laugh. “I’m eyeing that little bit of sauce there and all I want to do is bow my head and lick it up.”

His face is faintly flushed. He laughs, too. “Thank you. It’s a pleasure to cook for someone who appreciates it so much.”

“Did your wife like your cooking?”

“I hadn’t become serious about it then, but she was an actress. She had to stay very thin.”

I grin. “Are you implying something, sir?”

His eyes sweep over my body. “No way.” He stands and collects the plates. “Would you like coffee or something?”

“No, thank you. I suppose I’ll need to get back soon, check on Katie. She hasn’t been here long, and that house can be kind of creepy at night.”

“Sure? Maybe a round of backgammon?”

I smile. “No, thank you. Really.” I feel fizzy and relaxed, aroused and wary. “I’ve had a very good time, Jonah.”

“So have I.”

His phone rings on the counter, spinning in a circle. “Sorry,” he says. “I forgot to turn it down.” He looks at it for a moment, hands loose, as if he knows who it is. I wonder with a stab if it is a woman. Maybe that’s why he’s so formal with me, keeping his distance in a way I can’t quite name.

“Well,” I say. “Thanks for everything.”

He walks me to the door. “Sure you don’t want to stay for another glass of wine?”

I nod with regret.

I’m aware of my skin, aware of the ginger-and-peaches smell of him, aware of the darkness and crickets beyond the door. A shiver rushes up my spine, and I want to kiss him more than I have wanted anything in years.

I bend to put on my sandals, and when I straighten, I realize he’s been admiring