Page 13 of A Manny for Christmas

He even has his arms around beautiful children with breathtaking grins, who are ecstatic with the new wells and loos at their schools. I mean, come on! The man who hated kids now devotes his life to giving the world’s poorest children the gift of sanitation.

Seriously?

It’s nauseating. The guy appears to be the love child of Mother Teresa and Magic Mike.

Fuck’s sake.

That’swhy I’m trowelling on the makeup.

‘Where the fuck is my iridescent primer?’ I mutter to myself. Anything that reflects light away from my actual face seems greatly necessary at this moment.

Once the patching up job is done, I look at my reflection properly.

I wonder what he’ll see.

A woman he once loved. Desired. Couldn’t get enough of. Now a little faded around the edges. Crow’s feet at my eyes, put there by my children and my ex-husband. My skin dull and pinched thanks to that disastrous recent combination of too little sleep and too much compensatory wine. Makeup can only conceal so much. You can’t fake a healthy lifestyle.

At least my hair, my crowning glory (literally) is still blonde and lustrous and in impeccable condition, if I do say so myself.

I don’t know why I care, anyway. It’s not like I’m trying to attract him. I suppose I just don’t want him turning up and thinking what a lucky escape he had all those years ago.

It’s been twelve years since I walked away from him, and in those twelve years I’ve grown two humans. Two incredible humans whose existence, however exhausting, vindicates my decision to leave over and over.

Two humans I wouldn’t have had if I’d stayed and bowed to his vision for our future.

Just the two of us. Just you and me, Mol.

I shake my head. Everything that’s happened in my life, or rather, everything I’vemadehappen in my life, has led me to this point, where I’m a mother. Even marrying my total nob of an ex-husband was the right move, because he gave me Tobes and Daisy. I created my own future. I made tough decisions that I stand by today.

And seeing Max Rutherford’s pretty face and come-to-bed smile again won’t change any of that.

* * *

Max’spretty face and come-to-bed smile may notchangeanything for me, but they’ll sure as hell make my life that little bit tougher these next few weeks, because the man himself has just sauntered through the doors of the Oast House, and my stomach has just plummeted like I’ve jumped out of a plane. Mark my words, within minutes there will be a hormonal charge among the female-heavy staff. I can practically smell it in the air already, hovering just above the fragrant scent of freshly baked banana bread.

Here’s the thing.

The last time I saw him, we were a couple. Sure, I was devastated and broken and terrified that I was making the biggest mistake of my life. ButIwalked out onhim. On our relationship. So I’m not used to seeing him and him not beingmine. Not since those heady days when I’d finished catering college and was pulling pints at The Queen’s Head.

Those days, my tummy would flutter whenever he walked through the door with his brothers, becauseGodwere those Rutherford boys known around the entire Chatsworth area for their looks and their charms, andGodwas I fixated on the youngest and most delicious of all of them. I knew he’d make a beeline for me over the other servers. Knew there was no way a simple pint of lager could be the reason for the sheer perfection of the smile he’d throw my way.

Right this moment, the fluttering is back, and not in a good way. I have the most surreal, unpalatable sensation of watching him as if through a veil. Watching him like any random member of the public would. Anyone with no claim on him.

He’s a stranger to me now. And that’s exactly as it should be.

I squint a little more from the depths of the open-fronted kitchen before tugging off my chef’s hat and patting my hair, a move that’s more nervous than practical.

‘He’s here,’ I mutter to Zoe, who, in her infinite wisdom, understands exactly how I’m feeling. Although I never met her when Max and I were together—she was back in France by that point—there’s something about knowing she goes back so far with the Rutherford family that calms me. Makes me feel less alone in this whole mess. Because, as lovely as Angus is, he’ll never understand fully how this feels.

Zoe, on the other hand, does. I think she understands everything. She’s a true empath.

‘Good luck,’ she whispers. ‘I’ll come say hello in a bit, but I’ll leave you both to it for now.’

I nod and make my way out front, smoothing my hands over my apron and hoping my makeup looks as good in the harsh winter daylight flooding through the huge windows as it did in the soft glow of the bathroom.

He hasn’t spotted me yet. He weaves his way through the tables, his stance as erect as ever, his gait as fluid. Then his eyes lock with mine, and he halts for a second, and in that same second I realise he, too, is nervous.

Good. Because I don’t want to be the only one who finds this entire situation utterly horrifying.

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