Page 44 of A Manny for Christmas

In the few minutes it’s taken us to drive here, Paul’s already put me at ease with good-natured conversation about his daughters and a few questions about Toby and Daisy. My pre-date googling informed me he’s divorced, his ex-wife is exceedingly pretty, his net worth is high enough to make me sweat with nerves, he’s a highly respected businessman in the field of real estate, and he does a lot of charity work.

I mean, basically, the guy seems perfect. On paper, anyway. And just as perfect in close proximity, too. I can confirm this as I glance over at his perfectly stubbled jaw. He even has dimples. Dimples!

As I step out of the car, I will myself to get out of my own way and enjoy a fun evening with a spectacularly handsome man. I’m seriously flattered that he’s taken the trouble to pursue me. A divorcé like Paul Lancaster must get mobbed by women. I can’t even imagine.

Ten months of being separated and then divorced have shown me how cut-throat the world of divorced women in this part of the world is. It’s bloody terrifying out there. And I haven’t even had to go through the pain of dating apps and dick pics and God knows what other nightmares. Paul has wooed me and persuaded me to let him take me out for an evening.

It’s going to be fabulous.

And good for me.

I just wish my feelings towards him were a bit more obviously… carnal.

I know what’s going on. I haven’t had sex with anyone since Felix left, so it’s deeply weird, and pretty horrifying, to imagine putting out in any way with someone I barely know. Especially since I’ve tried hard not to ignore those needs over the past few months. I slide my gloved hand through the crook of Paul’s arm as he extends it to me in invitation and sneak another glimpse at his profile.

I mean, he’s ridiculously hot. Of course I look at him and think he’s gorgeous. His looks are not the Marmite kind. They’re of the universal lady-pleasing variety. His mouth is firm and shapely, his lips just the right amount of plump. I bet they’d be soft to kiss. Michelangelo would approve of his nose. It’s straighter than Max’s nose.

So, yeah. He’s a catch. Or, as Sadie so eloquently put it the other night, he’s highly fuckable. Not that I’ve seen much of his body. But from what Ihaveseen in the Oast House, he’s in good shape. Great forearms. Excellent posture. Flat stomach.

In other words, he’s the real deal.

He’s just not quite giving me the shivers that Max gives me. My lady parts don’t shoutsex, please!when I look at him. But that’s understandable, right? I’ve had sex with Max. Lots and lots of it, in every conceivable position. So when I see him, my body has a Pavlovian response. Whereas my body wouldn’t know what to expect from Paul. It hasn’t been primed. I have no idea how big he is. How dirty. How kinky, even. He looks squeaky clean, but you never know. So, even if Sadie swears he’d be amazing in bed (based on God knows what instincts), I don’t yet know what I’m missing.

With Max, I knowexactlywhat I’m missing.

I know how he’d pin me down by the wrists.

Tug my legs over his shoulders.

I know how turned on he’d get going down on me.

How much dirty talk he’s capable of while he’s doing it (that tongue can multi-task like no one’s business).

I know how he’d flip me over.

How fucking perfect the weight of his body would feel against my back as he consumed me.

Pulled me under.

‘Hot chocolate?’ Paul asks. ‘Or something stronger?’

Whew. I shake myself clear of memories that have no business rearing their dangerous heads during this delightful soiree with a gorgeous man. ‘Something stronger, definitely.’

‘Excellent.’ He smiles at me. ‘You okay?’

‘Yes. Of course. I’m fine.’ I steer him towards the drinks stall. ‘I happen to know they go heavy on the Cointreau in thevin chaudhere. Consider yourself warned.’

‘You have a designated driver tonight.’ He grins. ‘So enjoy.’

I’ve wandered around the Christmas market a couple of times in the past week or two, but this is the first time I’ve experienced it at night, and it’s magical. I’ll have to bring the kids here one evening. They’d love it.

There are wooden Alpine kiosks selling all kinds of Christmas trinkets as well as the kinds of food and drink you’d expect from a Christmas market. But, given this is Sorrel Farm, there’s no processed crap here. Instead, Zoe’s team has personally signed off on only the highest quality, most authentic vendors.

There’s the aforementionedvin chaudstand, a hot chocolate booth, a sizeable bar doing a roaring trade in steins of beer, and enough food to warm up the coldest visitor. Tartiflette and pulled pork baps and rare-breed wurst. Venison burgers and a sit-down fondue bar. Yule logs andKaiserschmarrn. As the pastry chef, I was involved in signing up theKaiserschmarrnvendor, and let me tell you, ‘scrambled pancakes’ with rum-soaked fruit should be the eighth wonder of the world.

Paul must clock my ravenous glances. ‘You hungry?’ he says, handing me a cup ofvin chaud. The steam wafting off it is deliciously scented with all manner of spices, and yes, Cointreau.

‘I didn’t realise I was until I got here,’ I say, and he laughs.

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