The Father of Her Son. Kathleen Pickering

      She frowned. “You never told me you were an only child.”

      “Really? How did we never get to that topic?”

      She chuckled. “Because you always have your nose in my business.”

      He gestured to the table beneath a huge framed mirror. “You can put your bag here if you’d like.”

      He could sense that she was starting to calm when she lifted her face and inhaled. “I smell spaghetti sauce.”

      “My boss’s family recipe. I’m hopeful this Irishman meets Steve’s Italian standards.”

      “I’m sure Matt told you spaghetti is his favorite meal.”

      “That and ice-cream cake. This newsman listens.” He tapped his ear to punctuate his promise.

      Matt charged back toward them from somewhere in the open expanse, his face animated with delight. “Mom! Evan has a basketball hoop. Inside!”

      Kelly appraised Evan’s home. He liked the way she smiled as she took in the mahogany entrance, the sprawling floors reflecting the same deep, polished timber as the door.

      Her gaze rested on the huge, deep blue jewel-toned Oriental rug that delineated the living room. There were overstuffed caramel-colored couches, matching ottomans and inlaid antique tables with carved wooden elephants flanking the couches.

      “Your home certainly is welcoming, Evan.”

      He enjoyed his home. He’d taken pains to ensure that despite its modern decor, his home offered warmth and comfort—from the art-deco reading lights perched on each table to the “floating” mahogany wall unit that divided the living room from the open kitchen. The unit was stacked with books, unusual pottery and knickknacks from his travels. He’d placed the dining room by the floor-to-ceiling windows to give the effect of bringing outdoors inside.

      He’d set a table on the balcony with place settings for three. Potted trees along the balustrade brought the park in the distance up to Evan’s living space. Candles dotted the table, though they had yet to be lit in the waning light. He felt a surge of pride as Kelly appraised his home. What struck him more was that he liked the way she looked in his place. Kelly against the backdrop of his belongings sent his senses thrumming.

      Kelly frowned. “I don’t see a basketball hoop, Matt. For goodness’ sake, were you snooping?”

      Evan pointed to an area blocked by another floating wall. Over its top, she would be able to see that the ceiling rose to a second level.

      “It’s over there,” he said. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

      Kelly followed him around the wall. A large open game area held a regulation pool table, an antique table with two chairs set for a chess game, a Ping-Pong table and yes, the rest of the room was laid out to accommodate a half court, regulation-height basketball hoop.

      At the far end of the room, a detached staircase led up to a loft that housed his master bedroom suite backlit with more windows. Evan gestured toward the stairs.

      “The stairs lead to my room. That hallway at the foot of the stairs goes to guest bedrooms. Would you like a tour?”

      Kelly’s jaw dropped. “You live here? Alone?”

      He shrugged. “I bought it when I took the home job. Do you like it?”

      She smiled. “It’s wonderful. You’re a lucky man.”

      Matt tugged on Evan’s hand. “What’s that?” He pointed to the pinball machine.

      “Wow,” Kelly said.

      Evan grinned. “That is an original Flash Gordon pinball machine. Ever play one?”

      Matt’s wide-eyed look held awe. “I don’t know what it is.”

      Evan crossed the distance to the pinball machine in a few strides. “Come on, Matt-man. I’ll set you up. The sounds are great. You can play while I finish making your birthday supper.”

      Evan pinched a handful of quarters from a bowl on the table next to another overstuffed lounge chair. He tugged the ottoman over to the machine.

      Matt scrambled onto the ottoman, looking into the pinball machine as if he’d discovered a secret world. “Wow! What does it do?”

      Evan dropped a quarter into the slot. The machine lit up. Bells sounded and a dastardly but hilarious, “Ah, ha, ha!” resounded.

      Matt yelled with delight. “How do you play?”

      Evan showed Matt how to launch the silver ball and manipulate the flippers on the sides of the table. The machine dinged and pinged with lights flashing every time the ball hit a bumper beneath the glass. It didn’t take long for Matt to become completely absorbed with the game—especially with that large bowl of quarters on hand. The boy was grinning from ear to ear.

      “Oh, man. This is the best birthday, ever!”

      Satisfied that Matt was entertained for the moment, Evan gestured toward the kitchen, where a pot of water boiled on the stove. “Kelly, would you like a glass of wine?”

      With a longing look at the pinball machine, she said, “I’ve never played.”

      Chuckling, he led her to a chair at the black granite counter. “I’ll make sure you get a turn.” He circled to the work side of the counter. He poured a glass of Cabernet to match his. “Anything for you, Kelly. When are you going to figure that out?”

      He regretted his words the moment they left his mouth. Kelly stiffened in her seat, her glass stopping in midair.

      She pointed a finger at him. “Now, Sir Smooth, save the suave words for your lady friends.”

      Oh, well. Now he had to save face. He held up a stopping hand. “Sorry. I can’t help myself with your hair down like that.”

      She lowered her voice to a whisper. “If it wasn’t Matt’s birthday, we would not be here. Now behave!”

      He tapped his glass to hers. “Mea culpa.”

      Well, he’d pay in spades. Just watching her lift the glass to those luscious lips was payback enough. Damn. He’d love to be that glass.

      Before taking another sip she gave him her sternest look. “No tomfoolery here now, Evan McKenna. You promised.”

      He sipped his wine if only to do something with his mouth other than try to kiss her, and nearly groaned when she let the flavor of her wine swirl on her tongue before swallowing.

      “Mmm. This is delicious.”

      I’ll bet you are. If he was going to make this night a success he had to get his head out of the bedroom, or the living room floor, or the dining room table. He held up the bottle. “It’s a good year.”

      “Oh, yes? And which year is that?”

      “The year we met.”

      She almost choked.

      He reached over to pat her back. “Did I have that bad an effect on you?”

      She held a hand to her throat. “That year was rather awful for me. I’d say the following year was a better time.”

      “Why do you say that?”

      She frowned. “Well, it doesn’t matter. That year began a prestigious career for you. So I’m happy to toast to a fine year.” She lifted her glass.

      He studied her from across the counter. There she was dodging information, one more time. “Yes, there was that.”

      She smiled sweetly. “Is there anything I can do to help with the meal?”

      She looked uncomfortable again and it pained him that she felt she had to be so protective. He shook his head. “You serve folks every day. I want you to relax and enjoy yourself.”

      Behind