Alex knelt, then stood. The seat and knees of his trousers felt damp. Probably grass-stained, as well. The elbows of his jacket were trashed. The dog had left golden hairs and saliva on his clothing.

Dena’s home, glowing in the night, beckoned him to its warmth.

Alex looked disheveled, a state in which Dena had never seen him at any time during his marriage to Tamara.

“Alex, use the little bathroom here to clean up. Dinner’s in five, okay?” Dena held the front door open for him. “Kids, help me set the table.”

If I cared about Alex, I’d be really worried about him, Dena thought as she led the twins and the dog to the kitchen. Despite herself, her heart went out to the poor guy. He’s devastated by losing Tamara. Dena knew a dose of the twins would lift his spirits. Jack and Miri could test the patience of several saints, but they were sweet children who adored Alex.

Dena had worked hard to make her kitchen a cozy, homey place. A white-tiled counter separated the work space from the breakfast nook, where her family ate most meals at a big, wood farmhouse table. The twins’ artwork decorated her refrigerator. Her daughter seemed to prefer flowers, butterflies and turtles, while Jack consistently drew houses with three-person families outside the front door. He even tried to include Goldie, though without much success.

Miri went to the low, whitewashed cupboard that housed the silverware and plates. “One, two, three.” She counted blue-and-white gingham place mats. “Four, ’cuz Unka Alex is here, huh?” She put them on the table.

“That’s right, darling.” Dena turned to the refrigerator. She removed salad makings and put them on the wooden counter next to a bowl.

As Jack clattered flatware onto the table, Alex emerged from the hall. He’d washed and taken off his jacket, loosened his tie. He’d even rolled up his starched shirtsleeves, baring tanned, brawny forearms sprinkled with tiny blond hairs. They caught the light, glittering gold.

Dena’s heartbeat quickened before she looked away, reminding herself that she had no business noticing Alex’s arms. She had a legal contract with the husband of her deceased half sister. Period.

Alex sniffed. “Something smells good. Chicken?”

“Yeah.” Dena opened the lid of her Crock-Pot, releasing a steamy, aromatic cloud. She poked the contents with a knife to make sure the fowl had cooked through.

He hovered behind her, too darn close. She scented a faint whiff of his aftershave, a fresh lime fragrance, tinctured by the grass that probably still clung to his pants. His nearness was simultaneously seductive and irritating. She didn’t enjoy being crowded, but ignored her discomfort.

Peeking over her shoulder, he said, “How long did that cook?” His breath puffed on her neck.

The little hairs at her nape prickled and lifted. With a nervous gulp, she managed to focus on his question. “I started it before I left this morning. You just put everything in and it cooks all day. It’s really easy. Do you have a Crock-Pot, Alex?” She replaced the lid.

He shook his head. “Before I met Tamara, I was the fast-food king. She cooked, but made it clear I wasn’t welcome in the kitchen.”

Dena could understand that. “Your condo’s kitchen is pretty small.” He was making her crazy, his masculine presence somehow taking up all the room in her large work space.

“Can I do anything to help?”

She tried hard to overlook his engaging smile. This is Alex, Dena. You don’t like Alex, remember? “Sure. Why don’t you take care of the salad? All you need to do is rinse the vegetables and cut them into bite-size pieces.”

“Dena, I’m not a complete moron.” Chuckling, he leaned against the counter. “I can make a salad.”

She grinned. “You said you were the fast-food king. I took you literally. When did you eat your last home-cooked meal?”

“At Irina’s after the funeral.” He tore apart a lettuce.

“That was more than six months ago, for heaven’s sake. You’re overdue. Alex, I’m sorry. We should have asked you over sooner, but—”

He stopped her with an upraised hand. “It’s all right. The time just slipped away from us. Plus, I’ve been making an effort to stay busy.”

Dena tried to suck air into her suddenly tight chest.

“Oh, God, Alex, I still miss her so much.” Shaky, she braced herself against the counter.

He moved in to hug her, and amazingly, his closeness wasn’t oppressive, but just right. “Hey, none of that,” he whispered into her ear. The small hairs at her temple shifted with his breath, tickling pleasantly. “If you start, then I’ll start, and that can’t be right for the kids.”

She hugged him back, surprised by his warmth and affection. “I know.” On the other hand, she didn’t want to give her children the wrong impression of her relationship with their uncle Alex. After gently freeing herself, she walked to the table to supervise the twins, who’d watched, big-eyed.

“Miri, get the plates,” Dena said, putting a casual note in her voice. “Jack, we’re having soup tonight, so fetch me bowls, okay?” Returning to the kitchen, she unplugged the Crock-Pot and poured off the broth that had cooked with the chicken and vegetables.

Jack walked behind Alex, carrying four bowls to Dena.

“Good job, Jack.” She stroked his dark, silky hair. “You did that with both hands. That was smart.”

“What are you doing now?” Alex asked. The man was as curious as several cats. Opening a package of peeled baby carrots, he added half to the salad.

“Serving the soup. The twins like theirs lukewarm, though getting Miriam to eat it rather than bathe in it is always a chore.” Dena scrutinized her daughter. Miriam now sat at her place at the table, hands folded, doing a “perfect child” imitation.

Dena knew better. Giving Miri a hard stare, Dena set bowls of soup at each place.

“Can I pretend that it’s Japanese soup?” Jack asked. He stood on a chair to peer into his mother’s face.

She looked into her son’s round brown eyes, so like Steve’s, but his open expression belonged only to Jack.

“I want you to try to use the spoon rather than pick up the bowl, okay?” Dena ruffled his hair, then checked the table, moving a couple of misplaced forks to their proper locations. “Sit down, please.”

Alex chopped a tomato. “How soon is dinner? I’m ravenous.”

“I bet, especially since you haven’t had a decent meal for a long time. Did you also quit running?” Dena tried to check out the bod under Alex’s fitted vest, shirt and trousers. He looked as though he was still in pretty good shape, despite his unhealthy diet. Wide shoulders tapering to slim hips and tight buns. Yum.

What was she thinking? She returned her attention on her children, where it belonged.

“Um, well, I’ve been concentrating on my work lately. I should probably start to jog again.” He put the salad bowl on the table and sat in one of the empty chairs.

“That’s Mommy’s place,” the twins chorused.

“Sit there.” Miriam pointed an imperious finger.

Alex obeyed.

Dena drew in a breath. Unwittingly, Miriam had seated Alex at the head of the table, the spot Steve had occupied. Alex looked great in her husband’s place, as though he belonged in it.

Dena swallowed. “Work. Right. Are you using work to, um, escape?”

He picked up his plate, examining it. “Kind of. You know, I like this Beatrix Potter china.”

Dena noticed he’d quickly changed the subject.

“You gave it to us, Unka Alex. When we was three.” Miri tapped her spoon against her plate.

“Were three,” Alex said.

“Were three,” Miriam repeated obediently. She must have liked the ringing noise, because she whacked harder.

Dena took the spoon away. “No.”

Miri pushed out her lower lip.

“Miri, you’ll get the spoon back if you eat your soup like a good girl.”