A few minutes later, I finally managed to pull Oliver away from Pierre. Suddenly, all he could talk about was getting a pet monkey. We made our way to where I’d parked the car, and Oliver asked King to sit in the back with him so that they could talk. By the time we arrived at the house, he’d told him all about his friends at Montessori and how he was going to be starting at the big school in September.

Every once in a while my gaze would lock with King’s through the overhead mirror, and every time it happened, my skin tingled. He was here, in our lives, talking to our son like it was the most normal thing in the world. Feeling dizzy with happiness, I got out of the car and went around to let Oliver out. King exited from the other side and stood in our small garden, surveying the house in front of him.

“This is a nice place,” he said as I gestured for him to follow me inside.

“Thanks. It felt like it took me forever to save for the down payment. I’d put aside a bunch of money from my modelling work, but then when the agency took off, I could finally afford it.” I stopped talking when I realised I was rambling

“You like living here?” he asked.

“I love it,” I answered simply. “It’s home.”

Slipping my shoes off in the hallway, I padded barefoot into the kitchen and opened the fridge, pulling out the ingredients for dinner. I planned on making roast pork with potatoes and apple sauce. King took a stool by the counter and watched, while Oliver situated himself in the living room to play. He had this set of toy cars that he was currently obsessed with. All I’d hear was various renditions of vroom vroooom out of him for hours on end.

“It’s a good look for you,” King said randomly as I peeled potatoes.

“What is?”

“This place. I like how happy you seem here.”

“Well, like I said, I kind of have you to thank for it. You always used to big me up, tell me I could do whatever I wanted once I set my mind to it. And owning a home of my own has always been a big dream for me.”

His stare grew thoughtful. He didn’t say anything in response, and I suddenly felt awkward. It was probably because of the way he was looking at me so intently. I fingered the collar of my shirt, bashful, and his eyes wandered to the movement. His breath escaped him all at once before he blurted, “Is it strange to feel like I love him already, and I’ve only just met him?”

My heart gave a single hard thump, and I knew instantly he was talking about Oliver. His words caused my pulse to accelerate as I shook my head. “It’s not strange at all. I loved him from the moment I saw him.”

Now he frowned as he reached forward and clasped my hand. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for the birth. That’s not something you should have had to go through without me.”

I stared at him. “It is what it is. We can’t change the past. You’re here now, though. That’s all that matters.”

He squeezed my hand once before letting go, and I returned to preparing dinner. It was sort of disconcerting how he simply sat there and watched. Well, disconcerting and sexually frustrating, because the way he looked at me felt sensual. It always had. King had this intense way of studying people that was guaranteed to get any woman hot under the collar. Speaking of which, I was tugging on mine again, and he seemed to notice.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. It’s just a bit warm in here with the oven on. I think I’ll go upstairs and change into something lighter.”

King nodded. “Is it okay if I use your bathroom?”

“Sure, come and I’ll show you where it is.”

He followed me up the stairs, and I indicated the bathroom door on the right. Then I slipped inside my room and opened a drawer, searching for one of my light cotton T-shirts. Finding it, I slipped off my top and pulled the T-shirt on over my head. I heard the toilet flush, and a few moments later, King stepped out of the bathroom, the floor creaking under his step. The house felt so silent then, save for the low volume of the TV playing downstairs. My skin prickled to have him there, so close to my bed. I heard him pause on the landing, not making his way back downstairs yet.

“King?” I called softly.

As though my voice was an invitation, he stepped inside my room. His eyes travelled around the small space, wandering momentarily to my bed, where a couple of my things lay unsorted. Mostly underwear. It added a new tension to the moment, and I stood frozen to the spot, unsure how to act. Sad though it was to admit, I’d never had a man in this room before, and his presence made the place feel smaller.

He frowned and turned away. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I came in here.”

“You came in because I called you. Is everything all right?” I felt like I was always asking him this, but I couldn’t seem to help it. I constantly wanted to make sure he was feeling okay and not overwhelmed at all. He finally lifted his eyes to mine, and my tension ratcheted up a notch, a heavy thickness settling in my throat. The weight of the atmosphere between us was almost unbearable.

“You named him after me,” he whispered.

All I could do was nod, mouth falling open slightly, heart squeezing with so many different feelings all at once.

He breathed in and out, then took a step forward. I gripped the shirt I’d just taken off tightly in my hands and couldn’t help admiring his form. His T-shirt fit nicely around his broad shoulders, his hair hanging slightly forward to shield his face. Even before, I’d rarely seen him in jeans, but they hugged his slim waist attractively, accentuated by a simple brown leather belt. He looked so earthy and, well, just plain manly. It was hard to imagine a time when he’d donned designer suits and had his hair styled in a top London barber’s.