His heart squeezed at her obvious determination to battle through her problems. ‘I love spreadsheets,’ he heard himself saying. ‘Why don’t you bring your laptop round after the kids have gone to bed? You can tell me what you need and I’ll do the magic.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Really?’ she croaked. The wintry dusk had fallen as they’d talked and her face was illuminated by her screen. ‘I’d love help, thank—’ Her words caught and she swallowed hard.

He patted her shoulder, pushing aside any concerns about whether spending time with a woman he should stay away from would be good for his emotional health. ‘I’m a non-working man, remember. Happy to help.’

Hannah arrived at Honeybun’s kitchen door at nine-thirty. Freezing fog had eerily blanketed the village and moisture beaded the coat she hung up. Along with a blast of chill winter air, she brought in her backpack, her laptop, paperwork, a bottle of white wine and a packet of Oreo biscuits. ‘You bought a table,’ she observed, straightening a soft blue jumper that clung. She glanced at the English farmhouse units and brass handles. ‘It’s not scrubbed pine or pippy oak but I like its clean lines.’ She patted the black table top.

‘My Swedishness came out. Try it for size.’ He took down two wine glasses and a plate for the Oreos to keep his gaze from what her jumper clung to while she set out her things.

Though she accepted a glass of wine she plunged into her record-keeping needs, outlining what was being handed over to tenants and what remained the responsibility of the landlord. It was easy stuff. He created templates while she edged her chair nearer and watched him changing formats and introducing colour coding.

‘You actually like doing this?’ she asked, chin on hand.

He was creating the final sheet. The first glass of wine had gone down and he was almost used to her being so close he could smell whatever she’d used on her hair. ‘I do.’ His tapping fingers didn’t pause on the keyboard. ‘Though if I’m going to sit at a computer for fun I prefer to play with images.’

She sat up straighter. ‘Like …’ She drummed her fingers in an elaborate pantomime of thinking. ‘Like graphics for ads?’ She looked at him hopefully.

He grinned, saving the spreadsheet template. ‘Like that. Give me a minute to check on the girls.’ He ran upstairs, silently popped his head into the room, counted two kids sleeping peacefully in the street light shining in through the as-yet uncurtained windows and ran down again.

Hannah hadn’t moved from her seat but had taken down her hair. He liked it down. At Rob’s wedding it had brushed his hands as they’d danced.