I watch as he uncorks the wine. His movements are fluid and relaxed, and time slows, fractionally, as though we’re astronauts floating in altered gravity.

‘Casey’s such a special girl.’

He nods. ‘She is. I hate it when she’s upset. If you hadn’t been here, she’d still be in her room and I’d be googling how to talk to your daughter.’

I haven’t told him why Casey was so scared of her dreams coming true: it’s her decision whether to confide in him. ‘You should trust yourself more. The two of you are getting closer, you just need to be patient.’

He hands me my glass and raises his. As we toast, our fingers brush against each other and now I wish time would stop altogether.

‘To Gemma, who came into my life at precisely the right time,’ he says.

I smile. ‘To Dan and to Casey, who came into my life at precisely the wrong one.’

We sip our wine – oh, it’s every bit as delicious as I hoped it would be. Although everything’s heightened after the brief touch we just shared.

He’s frowning. ‘About the bad timing . . . So I know this – us – whatever it is has come out of the blue, but is it really such terrible timing? You’re still grieving and I’m learning to be a dad, but what if that makes this the best time? When I’m with you, I feel . . . how can I explain it? Full of possibilities.’

I want to say: Yes. That is how it is for me too. But he’s still talking.

‘And it’s more than that. Before Casey came down here, I thought I had nothing to offer her except a place to stay. But that started to change from the very first time we bumped into each other.’

‘How?’ I want more, greedy to discover what we share, and why.

‘I’ve been trying to work it out. I reckon it’s because you give off this intense kindness. I do know lots of good people. My mates, my colleagues. But most of us have learned to be wary. You’re different. You’re open, despite all the sadness you’ve been through. Maybe because of it. And whether it’s the kids you volunteer with, or some random, ratty stranger who’s got lost, you don’t hesitate to do what you can.’

His intensity embarrasses me. ‘That makes me sound like an insufferable do-gooder.’

‘Not at all. You’ve got this glow about you. And it’s made me want to try harder, to be better myself. I’ve never felt like this before,’ Dan whispers. ‘When I’m not with you, I can be rational about the reasons not to get involved. But as soon as I see you, that flies out of the window and I start coming out with all this stuff I’ve never told anyone before.’

Shouldn’t I trust him too? Do it now. Cards on the table. And this – ‘us’ – might still work. Tonight I’ve seen Dan embracing being a father to a child he’s never met before. What if that same laid-back approach means he’s willing to welcome a baby too?