Why couldn’t she have been wearing a skimpy lacy number?
Because skimpy lacy numbers were designed for sex and seduction, not sleep.
She was about to make an excuse and vanish into her bedroom when Max emerged from the kitchen, trailing dough behind him.
‘Did the postman bring something, Mum?’
‘No.’ Suddenly confronted by an issue far more serious than her choice of nightwear, Liv cleared her throat and tried to work out how best to explain the presence of a strange man in their hallway without upsetting Max.
She never brought men home.
But she didn’t have to explain because Stefano took over. ‘I work with your mother.’ He dropped to his haunches and smiled at the child. ‘Is that pizza dough you’re wearing?’
Max grinned. ‘It sort of just sticks everywhere.’
Stefano nodded with understanding. ‘You could try using a little less water.’
Max considered that advice for a moment and then looked at Liv. ‘You’re adding too much water, Mum.’
Liv smiled weakly. ‘That’s probably where I’m going wrong.’ She watched nervously as her son gave Stefano the once over.
‘Are you staying for breakfast?’ He peered at the box, his face brightening. ‘What is that? Is it a present?’
‘Max!’
But Stefano simply smiled and rose to his feet. ‘It is a present. An edible present.’ He handed the box to Liv. ‘I heard that your mother likes dessert.’
Max was jumping up and down, sending pizza dough flying everywhere. ‘She loves dessert but we don’t often have it because she says it makes her fat. Can I see? Is it chocolate?’
Liv held the box in front of her like armour. ‘I really need to get dressed,’ she began, but Max was tugging her towards the kitchen.
‘You look great, Mum,’ he said earnestly. ‘Why would you want to get changed? They’re my favourite pyjamas. They’re just so happy.’
Intercepting Stefano’s laughing gaze, Liv closed her eyes.
Great.
The sexiest man alive was standing in her tiny hallway and she was wearing ‘happy’ pyjamas.
Why was he doing this? Why was he here?
Didn’t he have anywhere better to be on a cold, sunny Saturday in December?
Max was giggling. ‘This is awesome. Mum won’t usually let me eat dessert unless I’ve finished my vegetables and I’ve never had dessert for breakfast before.’
They moved through to the tiny kitchen and Stefano instantly made himself at home, pulling out a chair and helping himself to a glass of orange juice.
Liv watched him out of the corner of her eye, wondering what he’d make of her tiny kitchen. But he didn’t appear interested in anything other than Max.
‘You need to cut the ribbon.’ Picking up a knife, he leaned forward and sliced through the ribbon. The box fell open to reveal a beautiful chocolate log, dusted with icing and decorated with a snowman.
Max sank onto his chair, speechless. ‘Wow. Have you seen it, Mum?’
‘I’ve seen it, sweetheart.’ And she didn’t even want to imagine how many calories would be in a single slice.
‘It’s amazing.’
‘I hope so.’ Stefano picked up the knife. ‘Would you like the piece from the end? There’s more chocolate on that piece.’ He sliced through the cake in a typically decisive fashion and Liv turned to put on the kettle, her mind working overtime.
Was he charming Max to get to her?
No, of course not. He wasn’t interested in her. Why would he be interested in her?
But he was in her flat on his day off.
Her head was full of questions, but she didn’t dare ask any of them while Max was there so she made a fresh pot of coffee and placed it in front of Stefano with an awkward smile.
‘It isn’t Italian. Cuban, I think.’
He leaned back in his chair and lifted an eyebrow. ‘What happened to the instant?’
‘Fresh coffee is my Saturday morning treat.’ Liv raked her fingers through her long hair and then wished she hadn’t because the gesture drew his gaze and she froze, sensing a shift in the mood and the atmosphere.
‘We’re going to play football in the park.’ Aware that the adults were distracted, Max slid his hand towards the cake and transferred another piece onto his plate. ‘Are you going to come?’
‘Max!’ Embarrassed and horrified, Liv dragged her gaze away from Stefano’s and poured coffee into two mugs. ‘Mr Lucarelli can’t—I mean, he’s very busy and he has to go in a minute and—’
‘No, I don’t. I’d love to play football.’ Stefano stretched his long legs out in front of him and winked at the boy. ‘As long as you are gentle with me. It’s a long time since I played.’
‘Do you like football?’
‘I’m Italian,’ Stefano pointed out. ‘All Italians are born loving pizza, football and fast cars.’
‘Perhaps I’m Italian.’ For a moment Max forgot about the chocolate cake. ‘Do you have a fast car?’
‘Very fast.’ Stefano smiled and Liv sat down opposite him, nursing her mug in her hands, watching as Max chatted.
‘Cool. I’d love to drive it but I’m not old enough yet. I’m trying to make it into the first team at school. Mum’s coaching me.’
‘I’m not sure I’d exactly describe it as coaching.’ Liv removed the remains of the chocolate log before Max was tempted to take a third slice. ‘That was delicious. Thank you, Stefano.’
‘Awesome.’ Max watched wistfully as she put the cake away. ‘Can we eat the rest later? After we’ve played football, we’re going to buy our Christmas tree.’
Liv watched her son, her heart in her mouth. He was so, so trusting and while that was lovely in a way, it also terrified her. Despite not having a father, his little life had been stable and secure. She’d made sure of it. He didn’t even remember Jack and he had no idea how much pain and anguish lurked out there in the world.
He had no idea what it felt like to be hurt.
Suddenly she felt a rush of protectiveness and for the first time since Stefano had knocked on her door, her voice was steady. ‘Max, go and get changed. And spend ten minutes tidying your room.’
‘But—’
‘Untidy room, no football.’
With an exaggerated groan, Max slid off the chair and huffed his way out of the kitchen.
Liv closed the door behind him and Stefano’s eyes narrowed.
‘I sense I’m in trouble,’ he said softly. ‘Was it the chocolate log?’
‘I need to know what you’re doing here.’ She stood with her back to the door, wishing she’d changed out of her pyjamas before she’d started this conversation. ‘And don’t tell me you were just bringing me dessert.’
‘You refused my dinner invitation.’
‘And you always bring breakfast round to women who