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‘You don’t have to.’

‘Honestly, I like the non-alcoholic stuff,’ I said. ‘And at least I won’t have a headache tomorrow.’

‘Well, that’s fair enough.’ He smiled and poured us both a glass of sparkling not-wine then sat down opposite me. ‘Please, eat,’ he said, waving a hand at the plate in front of me.

I picked up my fork and hesitantly took a mouthful of food, hoping it wouldn’t be too bad because the last thing I wanted to do was offend him, and when it comes to food, I’m not that good an actress.

My eyes widened in delight. ‘Oh my word!’ I hastily covered my mouth with my hand. ‘Sorry, but this is yummy!’

He looked thrilled. ‘Really? I’ve never made it before, but I found the recipe online and thought it looked fairly simple, even for me.’

‘Great job,’ I said. ‘You’re a man of many talents.’

He gave an embarrassed laugh and took a gulp from his glass.

We tucked into our food and, although it really was delicious, there was no denying it was an awkward meal.

The only conversation we made was general stuff about recipes and cooking techniques.

It was friendly enough, but not really the sort of chat you want to have over an intimate dinner for two with a man who almost kissed you.

But then I remembered the photos of Nina in the other room and thought, maybe this was as good as it was going to get.

And I really didn’t blame him. It was fine.

We could be friends. It was probably better that way.

In fact, when I told him what I’d promised Dad, I’d be lucky to even have friendship.

‘You must let me wash up,’ I told him as he cleared away the plates.

He looked shocked. ‘Certainly not! Anyway, we have dessert now.’

‘Dessert?’ Unexpected bonus. ‘Ooh, fab.’

‘I hope you enjoy it,’ he said, ‘It’s a k?sekuchen . I’m afraid I fell back on an old favourite as I spent all day clearing the living room for your arrival.’

Clearing the living room! Bloody hell, what had it been like before? Was he some sort of hoarder or something? I’d seen documentaries about people who couldn’t throw anything away and could barely get inside their houses. I wasn’t so sure about him any longer…

Then he placed a plate bearing a yummy-looking baked cheesecake in front of me, and all my doubts flew out of the French doors.

‘Well,’ I joked, ‘that’s me sorted. What are you having?’

He laughed. ‘I hope you like it,’ he said, and brought two shallow bowls over. We cut large slices of cheesecake and tucked in.

‘This is absolutely gorgeous,’ I told him, meaning it. ‘How have you managed not to crack it on the top? I’ve made baked cheesecakes before, and they’ve ended up looking as if they needed grouting.’

‘The secret to a good k?sekuchen is to let it cool in the oven,’ he explained. ‘It can take a couple of hours but it’s the only way I’ve found to ensure it doesn’t crack much. And you should always serve it at room temperature, never straight from the fridge.’

I decided I was in love. I mean, not only could this man make the most heavenly cheesecake, but he didn’t bat an eyelid when I requested seconds. He even joined me. Why weren’t all men this much of a catch?

I remembered Luke’s disapproval when he caught me eating. Not particularly desserts and chocolate or anything like that. I mean when he caught me eating, full stop. It was if he believed women over a size ten should starve themselves as punishment.

Well, I hadn’t been a size ten since I’d got pregnant with Christie, and to be totally honest, I’d only been a size ten before that because I was so besotted with Luke, I could barely eat.

Once Christie arrived and he showed his true colours, food seemed like a whole lot more fun than he did, and when he left me “to get some space”, flapjack became the new love of my life.

Without Luke to police my eating habits, I’d gone a little crazy for a while.

But Max didn’t seem to mind what I ate. I remembered what he’d said about there being nothing more attractive than a woman who was confident in herself.

I must stay confident , I thought, and stop thinking about Nina and how she really didn’t look like the sort of woman who’d eat two portions of baked cheesecake after scoffing a big bowl of pasta.

‘It’s so light and airy,’ I said, sighing with pleasure. ‘And it has such a fresh, tangy taste, and the pastry is divine.’

‘We make the filling with Quark rather than cream cheese,’ he explained. ‘The pastry is mürbeteig. A shortcrust pastry. I’m so glad you like it.’

‘Fancy you being able to bake,’ I said, wide-eyed. ‘I never would have believed it.’

‘It was when Rissa was a little girl and I was at home with her all day,’ he explained. ‘I wanted to use the time to learn a new skill, and baking was something I’d enjoyed when I was a boy and visited Oma – my grandmother. As Rissa got a bit older, it became something we did together.’

‘Is Oma your grandmother’s name then? It’s very pretty,’ I said.

He grinned. ‘No. Oma is an informal word for grandmother. Her name was Bettina.’

‘Lovely,’ I said, then realised Bettina may have been Gerhard’s wife and I really didn’t want to get Max onto that subject. ‘So can you bake other cakes then, or is this the only thing you’re good at and you’re deliberately misleading me into thinking you’re a talented baker?’

‘I’m not bad,’ he said with a modest shrug. ‘The trouble is, I love to bake but I also love to eat. I give a lot of my cakes away now or I’d be enormous. I have some very happy neighbours and work colleagues.’

‘I’ll bet you do,’ I said with a sigh, as I spooned up another creamy mouthful from the bowl.

‘Would you like another slice?’ Max asked eventually.

Wouldn’t I just! I shook my head. ‘No, thanks. I couldn’t eat another thing,’ I lied. I wondered if he’d send me home with some so it wouldn’t go to waste.

He put the remaining cheesecake in the fridge and set to stacking the dishwasher. He wouldn’t let me help no matter how much I insisted it was only fair.

‘Pour us both another glass of that stuff,’ he said, nodding at the bottle, ‘and we’ll go through to the living room.’

To be honest, I’d have been more comfortable in the kitchen, despite it looking more sterile than a dental surgery.

At least there were no photographs in here.

The thought of sitting on that sofa, trying to hold a decent conversation with Nina’s husband while she stared down at us was disconcerting, to say the least.

I carried two glasses of not-wine into the living room, wondering as I did so if Nina’s ghost was around. That would be sooo awkward! But then I remembered she hadn’t died in this house. They’d been living in London at the time of her death.

I sat down and stared across at the photo. She beamed back at me.

‘Sorry,’ I muttered. ‘He didn’t kiss me, honestly he didn’t.’

But he might have done, if not for that waiter.

Was that my voice in my head, or hers?

I sighed and took a long, long drink of not-wine as Max entered the room.

‘Wow,’ he said, ‘good job I brought another bottle.’

I’d drained my glass! I blushed fiercely. ‘Sorry. I was thirsty.’

‘It’s no problem. Would you like some water?’

‘No, no. I’m fine with this stuff,’ I insisted, nodding at the bottle.

He topped up my glass and we sat side by side on the sofa in amiable silence for a few moments.

I thought about Aunt Polly and Dad, and I knew I had to tell him something. Something he wasn’t going to like.

‘Max,’ I said hesitantly.

‘Yes?’

Oh heck, I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.

‘I like your house,’ I said feebly. ‘It’s very, er, modern.’

He glanced around the living room and shrugged. ‘I bought it new about five and a half years ago. Our old house was Victorian and very different. Very large.’ He grinned. ‘As you can probably tell from the size and quantity of the furniture that’s squashed in here.’

Oh, thank goodness! At least he recognised the fact and wasn’t totally oblivious to it. Maybe there was hope after all.

‘I thought that was what I wanted,’ he explained.

‘The complete opposite to what I’d had before.

A fresh start. When it came to it, though, I couldn’t bring myself to part with our belongings.

Leaving the house was hard enough. As you can see, that presented me with a bit of a problem. You should see upstairs.’

We both blushed as we realised what he’d said.

‘Er, the kitchen’s not like this, though,’ I said hastily.

‘The kitchen isn’t only where I do my baking. It’s where I do my best thinking. I can’t be surrounded by clutter in there. Besides, you have no idea how long it takes me to dust in here. I can’t deal with that in the kitchen, too. Hygiene! Oma would have a fit.’

He gave a low chuckle at the thought, and I tried to imagine him as a little boy, learning to bake alongside the grandmother he’d clearly been very close to.

The thought of it made me put down my glass and squeeze his hand. Don’t ask me why. I couldn’t even blame alcohol since I was drinking not-wine.

He looked down at my hand on his and said, ‘Shona, I think we need to talk.’

‘So you said on the phone,’ I told him, immediately removing my hand in case I’d overstepped the mark. ‘If it’s about your grandfather, I?—’

‘No. No.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘Not tonight. I think we have other things to discuss, don’t you?’

‘We do?’ I gulped. ‘Like what?’

‘I think that things have taken an unexpected turn between us,’ he said, almost shyly. ‘Something I could never have predicted when I arrived in Rowan Vale. Last week, in The Quicken Tree, you and I?—’

He broke off and I stared at him, hardly able to believe he was actually going there. And with Nina looking down on us, too!

‘I didn’t imagine it, did I?’ he asked at last, sounding thoroughly confused by the situation. ‘You do know what I’m talking about?’

‘We nearly kissed,’ I said.

He looked relieved. ‘We did. Yes.’

‘But that waiter interrupted us,’ I added. ‘Bloody nuisance.’

Max’s eyes crinkled with amusement. ‘You think?’