Page 46 of A Manny for Christmas

‘Jesus, no. I think I’d rather talk about my ex-wife.’

Now it’s my turn to laugh.

‘Let’s see,’ he says, cocking his head in a manner I find quite charming, though I find myself wondering if it’s his intention to be charming, or whether it’s an unconscious gesture. ‘Well, we got divorced the summer before last. We separated a year before that. And before you ask, no one did anything naughty.’

I grin.

‘We just’—he shrugs helplessly—‘drifted apart. It sounds like the worst cliche in the world and the lamest excuse. But we met during our training contract when we were both twenty-one, and let’s just say the physical side of things lapsed. For both of us. We ignored it for a long time, told ourselves it didn’t matter, and in the end I was the one to suggest that marriage may not be the best format for our relationship anymore.’

I exhale. ‘That sounds pretty brave, if nothing was massively wrong on the surface.’

‘Exactly,’ he says. ‘And both sets of parents were devastated. They couldn’t understand how we could turn our backs on what was basically a happy marriage. They were of the generation where you stuck your heels in and got on with it. But we’d both just turned forty, and we came around to the idea that it was better to take a leap into the unknown rather than live out the second half of our lives or more in a marriage that was just fine.’

‘Wow,’ I say. ‘How disgustingly mature of you both.’

He laughs, and I decide Ireallylike his laugh. ‘I know, right?’

‘And have you dated much since then?’ I venture.

His face turns serious as he gazes at me.

‘No. I haven’t.’

‘Oh,’ I squeak. ‘Why is that? I mean, you must get lots of offers.’

He flashes his dimples at me. ‘It’s not about that. It’s more about guarding my time. Lizzie and I share custody of the girls, and work is full-on. I’d rather spend more time with my kids, or just enjoying my down-time, than on lots of average dates.’

‘Of course,’ I murmur, chastised.

‘Molly,’ he says.

I look up.

He shakes his head. ‘This is not one of those average dates,’ he tells me, and my breath hitches. ‘I’ve been waiting quite some time for you to agree to go out with me.’

‘I know,’ I stammer, ‘and I’m sorry it’s taken so long—’

‘Hey,’ he says. ‘You should absolutely not apologise. I’m just honoured you finally said yes. Shall we go for a wander?’

He slings an arm loosely around my shoulder. ‘Is this okay?’

I smile up at him. ‘Sure.’ It feels good, actually, to have the weight of a man’s arm around me. Anchoring me to him. Especially a man who looks and smells as good as Paul. It’s weird and thrilling in equal measure to think that to the casual passer-by we look like an actual couple.

We set off at a gentle pace, meandering around the market and taking in the sights and sounds. While we’ve been eating, the recorded music has given way to a small choir who will sing every Friday and Saturday night for the next few weeks.

As the solemn notes of the music ring out around us, and the food and wine sit pleasantly in my belly, I allow myself to relax enough to really enjoy the moment. This is a seriously good date. Paul has lavished me with attention without coming on too strong. He insists on buying me the most beautiful hand-blown glass bauble in vivid ruby red for my tree at home (when I get around to putting it up, that is), and he fetches me another cup ofvin chaudbefore we wander over to the small crowd gathered in front of the choir.

‘I’m not trying to get you drunk, I promise,’ he says with a cheeky grin that’s undeniably charming. I grin back at him. The wine has taken the edge off everything, and I find myself wondering,could I kiss him?It’s such a weird thought, but not an unpleasant one.

Until our little bubble is unceremoniously popped.

Because, standing just to the left of us, is Max.

16

MOLLY

Oh, shit.

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