came and went in a heartbeat. He was left with a sense of sorrow, as if she had something she regretted.
Of course she did, he told himself. Everyone did. Regrets were a part of life. But for the first time in a long time, he wanted to ask another person what was wrong. He wanted to learn more about her, to understand what she was thinking. He wanted to connect.
His interest was more than sexual and that scared the crap out of him. Feeling—getting involved—would be a disaster.
He told himself to get out of there right now. To leave before he got trapped. Before it was too late. But even knowing it was wrong to stay, he couldn’t seem to force himself to stand and walk away.
It was just a couple of hours, he told himself. What could it possibly hurt?
Chapter Four
Nash stayed through dinner. Stephanie had no idea why, nor could she decide if it was a good thing or a bad thing. The man was nice enough, the twins already adored him even though Brett remained standoffish. She appreciated the opportunity to converse with an adult for a chance. So the situation should have been a big plus.
Except she didn’t know what was in it for him. Why would a good-looking, intelligent man want to hang out with her and her kids? She opened the refrigerator and put the milk and butter back in the door, then frowned. That didn’t sound exactly right. Nash’s appearance and mental state didn’t have anything to do with her confusion. Why would any man not be running for the hills? Weren’t guys supposed to hate other men’s children in a relationship? Not that he had any designs on her. Despite the fact that he made her long for satin sheets and champagne, she doubted he saw her as much more than an efficient hostess. After all, her luck just plain wasn’t good enough to hope for more.
So why had he stayed? Why hadn’t he retreated to the quiet and privacy of his room or gone out somewhere for dinner?
You could ask, a small voice in her head whispered.
Stephanie nearly laughed out loud. Sure she could, but that was so not her style.
“We’re done,” Brett said.
She turned around and saw that the table was indeed cleared, the dishes scraped and neatly stacked by the sink and the table wiped off.
“Very nice job,” she said. “Everyone finished his homework, right?”
Three heads nodded earnestly.
She smiled. “Then I guess this is a TV night.”
“All right!”
Brett pumped the air with his fist. The twins tore out of the kitchen. She heard their footsteps on the hardwood floor and was able to guess their destination.
“Stop right there,” she yelled after them. “We have a guest. Use the TV upstairs.”
“Why?” Nash asked from where he leaned against the counter.
She turned toward him, ignoring the continual sexual impact of his presence. Not only did she not want to make a fool of herself, but there was still a minor in the room. “The downstairs TV is for our guests.”
He gave her a slow, sexy smile that could have melted the polar ice cap. “I’m not much of a TV watcher. It won’t bother me if it won’t bother you.”
Stephanie figured she wasn’t going to fight the point. If the man wanted to be generous, her kids would be thrilled. She smiled at Brett. “Looks like this is your lucky day. Go tell your brothers, and keep the volume down.”
Brett grinned and raced down the hall. “We can stay down here,” he yelled.
“Simple pleasures,” she said as she turned toward the sink. “If only life stayed that easy.”
“Complicated comes with growing up,” Nash said as he also approached the sink. He was closer so he got there first.
As she watched, he turned on the water and began rinsing dishes. Just like that. He even used the sponge to clean off the worst bits.
Stephanie wanted to pinch herself to see if she was dreaming. He was helping again. Helping. Without being asked, without complaining. Just doing it.
Some of her confusion must have shown on his face because he looked at her and asked, “What’s wrong?”
She wiggled her fingers toward the dishes. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I don’t mind.”
He didn’t mind. Wow. Every time she had asked Marty to help, he’d howled like a wet cat, then had a list of fifty reasons why he couldn’t. However hard she pushed, he pushed back harder. He threatened, cajoled, or had a temper tantrum to rival a three-year-old’s. His goal had been to make the experience so miserable that she would stop asking. Eventually it had worked.
“So who trained you?” she asked. “I happen to know that most men aren’t born being so handy around the kitchen.”
He finished rinsing the dishes, then opened the dishwasher and began placing them inside. “I was married for a while, but most of my ‘training’ as you call it, came from being raised by a single mom. She worked a lot of hours and came home beat. I pitched in to help.”
Wow times two. “You give me hope,” she said.
He straightened. “In what way?”
For once her reaction wasn’t about sex. “You seem like a great guy. Successful, articulate, not a serial killer—at least not as far as I can tell. You didn’t have a father around, either. So maybe my boys will turn out okay, too.”
He gave her another slow smile. “They’re going to be great. You’re doing a terrific job with them.”
“I try.”
“It shows.”
The compliment left her feeling flustered and fluttery. She had to clear her throat before she could speak again. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened in your marriage?”
He put the last three glasses into the dishwasher. “Tina passed away a couple of years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
The words were automatic. She figured Nash was in his early thirties, which meant his wife would have been around the same age. What would have taken such a young woman? Cancer? A drunk driver?
“What brought you to Glenwood?” he asked. “Or are you a native?”
The not-so-subtle change in subject ended any thought she had of actually asking her questions.
“Dumb luck,” she said.
Nash picked up the dishcloth and rinsed it, then started to wipe off the counters. She was nearly dumbstruck. Rather than stand around with her mouth open, she forced herself to get the detergent out from under the sink and pour some into the dishwasher.
“We always moved around a lot,” she said, trying
