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of wine and then poured a second glass for him before returning to the kitchen with the glasses. ‘I, um, thought you might like this.’

      ‘Thank you. I would.’ He smiled at her.

      The spinach was wilting into the onions and the kettle was boiling, ready for the pasta. ‘Sorry, I’m out of flour, or I’d make us some flatbread to go with it.’

      And she’d just bet he made his bread by hand, not with a machine. Lewis Gallagher was turning out to be so much more domesticated than she’d thought. And the fact he’d noticed that she couldn’t eat the food and guessed why… There was more to him than just the shallow party boy. Much more.

      Which made him dangerous to her peace of mind.

      She should back away, right now.

      But then he started talking to her about food and bread, putting her at her ease, and she found herself relaxing with him. Ten minutes later, she carried her own plate through to the living room: pasta with a simple garlic, spinach and mascarpone sauce.

      ‘This is really good,’ she said after the first mouthful. ‘Thank you.’

      He inclined his head. ‘I’m only sorry that I didn’t ask you earlier if you were veggie. Dani would have my hide for that.’

      ‘Dani?’

      ‘The oldest of my girls. She’s vegetarian.’

      Which explained why he’d been able to whip up something without a fuss. And not pasta with the usual jar of tomato sauce with a handful of grated cheese dumped onto it, which in her experience most people seemed to think passed for good vegetarian food.

      ‘So your sisters are all younger than you?’ she asked.

      He nodded. ‘Dani’s an actuary, Manda’s a drama teacher, and Ronnie—short for Veronica—is a librarian.’

      ‘Do they all live in London?’

      ‘Dani does. Ronnie’s in Manchester and Manda’s in Cambridge. Which I guess is near enough to London for me to see her and Louise reasonably often.’

      ‘Louise being the baby?’ she guessed.

      ‘My niece. Goddaughter.’ He grinned. ‘Manda named her after me, though I hope Louise is a bit better behaved than I am when she grows up.’

      Abigail smiled back at him. ‘Since you’re the oldest, I’m surprised none of them were tempted to follow you into medicine.’

      It wasn’t that surprising. Lewis had been the one to follow them to university. Because how could he have just gone off at eighteen to follow his own dreams, leaving the girls to deal with their mother and fend for themselves? So he’d stayed. He’d waited until Ronnie was eighteen and ready to fly the nest, before applying to read medicine and explaining at the interview why his so-called gap year had actually lasted for six.

      ‘No,’ he said lightly. ‘What about you? Brothers or sisters?’

      She looked away. ‘Neither. Just me.’

      ‘That explains the ice princess. Daddy’s girl,’ he said.

      Daddy’s girl.

      Did he know?

      Had he made the connection with ‘Cinnamon Baby’, the little girl with ringlets who’d been the paparazzi’s darling, smiling for the cameras on her father’s shoulders? She really hoped not. Abigail didn’t use her first name any more, and it had been years since the paparazzi had followed her about. Even so, the times when her identity had been leaked in the past had made her paranoid about it happening again.

      And there was no guile in Lewis’s face. Abigail had already leaped to a few wrong conclusions about him, and she knew she wasn’t being fair to him.

      ‘I suppose I am, a bit,’ she said.

      ‘Is your dad a doctor?’ he asked.

      ‘No. What about your parents?’

      He shook his head, and for a moment she was sure she saw sadness in his eyes, though when she blinked it had gone. Maybe she’d imagined it.

      Pudding turned out to be strawberries and very posh vanilla ice cream.

      ‘Do I take it you make your own ice cream?’ Abigail asked.

      Lewis laughed. ‘No. There’s an Italian deli around the corner that sells the nicest ice cream in the world, so there’s no need to make my own—though I would love an ice-cream maker.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘But my girls say I already have far too many gadgets.’

      ‘Boys and their toys,’ she said lightly.

      ‘Cooking relaxes me.’ He grinned. ‘But I admit I like gadgets as well. As long as they’re useful, otherwise they’re just clutter and a waste of space.’

      Abigail glanced at her watch and was surprised to discover how late it was. ‘I’d better get that taxi.’

      ‘Absolutely not. I’m driving you home. And I only had one glass of wine, so I’m under the limit.’

      It was easier not to protest. Though, with the roof up, his car seemed much more intimate. Just the two of them in an enclosed space.

      He insisted on seeing her to her door.

      ‘Would you like to come in for coffee?’ she asked.

      He shook his head. ‘You’re on an early shift tomorrow, so it wouldn’t be fair. But thank you for the offer.’

      ‘Thank you for today, Lewis. I really enjoyed it.’

      ‘Me, too,’ he said.

      And this was where she unlocked the door, closed it behind her and ended everything.

      Except her mouth had other ideas.

      ‘Um, those concert tickets I bid for at the fundraiser. It’s on Friday night. It probably isn’t your thing, but if you’d like to, um, go with me, you’re very welcome.’

      He looked at her and gave her a slow smile that made her toes curl. ‘Thank you. I’d like that very much.’

      ‘Not as a date,’ she added hastily, ‘just because I have a spare ticket.’ She didn’t want him thinking she was chasing him. Because she wasn’t.

      Was she?

      Right at that moment, she didn’t have a clue what she was doing. Lewis Gallagher rattled her composure, big time. And, if she was honest with herself, she’d been lonely since she’d started her new job. Lewis was the first of her colleagues who’d really made an effort with her, and part of her wanted to make the effort back.

      ‘As friends,’ he said. ‘That works for me. See you tomorrow, Abby.’ He touched her cheek briefly with the backs of his fingers. ‘Sleep well.’

      Despite the fresh air and the exercise, Abigail didn’t think she would—because her skin was tingling where Lewis had touched her. And the knowledge that he could affect her like that totally threw her. ‘You, too. Goodnight,’ she mumbled, and fled into the safety of her flat.

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