Page 49 of A Manny for Christmas

‘And you know I’ve had a shitty year. So why don’t you want me to be happy?’ I gaze up at him as I say it. His mouth is so close. If I stood on my tiptoes, I could reach it. Press a kiss to those full, firm lips.

That’s the worst idea in the world.

My body’s responding to his ridiculous alpha-male display at the farm, and I’m disgusted with myself. Disgusted with my biological reaction.

‘I don’t know,’ he says. ‘I mean, of course I want you to be happy. In theory. I just don’t want to see you with a guy like that.’

‘Newsflash. He’s perfect. He’s handsome, and kind, and humble, and he treated me so well tonight. He made me feel special. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt that way. And he’s a dad. He gets it.’

I throw that last part out specifically to hurt Max, and I can see it’s landed, because he flinches. And all of a sudden, I hate myself.

He pushes away from me, not meeting my eyes. ‘You’re right, of course. I’m sorry. Who you date these days is none of my business.’ He grabs his car keys from the table. ‘Go and get some rest, and have a lie-in tomorrow. I told the kids earlier I’d make them pancakes in the morning if they came and woke me up instead of you. You need to catch up on your sleep.’

‘Thanks,’ I mutter. ‘That’s so decent of you.’ It’s pretty much the nicest thing he could have done, actually. The way my life is currently, there’s no better gift than the gift of sleep. The thought of rolling over and dozing for an extra couple of hours tomorrow is utterly blissful.

‘Not a problem,’ he grits out. He looks down at the keys, which he’s moving from hand to hand, and then back up at me. ‘You looked so fucking beautiful tonight, by the way, Mol. I hope he knows how lucky he is.’

And with that, he’s gone.

17

MAX

Ihad no business behaving like that last night.

I know that.

I feel simultaneously sick with shame and giddy with relief that Molly didn’t kiss the dickhead who whisked her off in his Aston Martin and had his hands all over her when I saw them together. I hope he went home feeling as frustrated as I do.

Even if a tiny part of me, somewhere deep inside, suspects he’s not actually a dickhead, but a nice enough guy who happens to have spectacular taste in women.

And even if that same, well-hidden part of me knows I should be grateful to this man who wants to treat her like a queen.

Fuck, I want to be the one who gets to treat her like a queen. I’m under no illusions about the strength of the feelings that have resurfaced these past few days. And I’m equally clear that she’s in a different headspace from me. Yes, I sense there’s still an attraction at her end, but she’s at a point in her life where the stakes are sky high.

Her husband abandoned her and her children. If she can find it within her to take a leap of faith on another guy and let him into her heart, let him get close to Tobes and Daze, then she presumably needs to be insanely attracted to him and trust him with her life. It’s a tall order. And, not surprisingly, not a role she’d even consider me for, given my past form.

So if I want to treat her like a queen, I’ll have to be content to do so in a way that actually makes her life better, not worse. Less cockblocking, more showing up and helping. Like this morning.

Something shifted for me last night. If I’m honest, I don’t just want to help her. I want to see if this is something I can do. If I can dig deep and be the man to give her what’s she’s always wanted from me. Because I’m under no illusions. If I can’t, I don’t stand a chance with her. And I don’t think I can bear to walk away from her again.

Molly may seem like an eminently sensible person, and in most ways, she is. She lives a traditional lifestyle. I’m the one who buggered off to Africa and has ostensibly been living a life of adventure. But, of the two of us, she’s never been scared of big emotions. Of allowing herself to feel.

She chose to walk away from the certainty of our love, of our happiness, into the unknown, and all so she could give herself the possibility of experiencing the kind of terrifying, life-altering experiences that come with parenthood. She chose not to sell herself short. Her heart is huge, and her whole life, she’s chosen to fill that heart up with as much love as she can.

And all the while, I was playing it safe. I met Mol and felt like I’d won the lottery. Why would I fuck that up? Why would I gamble with our relationship?

Turns out the joke was on me, because I lost her anyway. My approach to keeping things safe and manageable didn’t work. The man I was wasn’t enough for her.

Now’s the time to put my money where my mouth is, and get outside of my emotional comfort zone, and see if I can be the man she always hoped I’d become. The man she needed me to be.

I just hope it’s not too little, too late.

* * *

The kids honourour agreement this morning and come to wake me. I’m already awake, lying in bed thinking about blue eyes and rosebud mouths and golden plaits when I hear two sets of uneven treads on the kitchen stairs and two conspiratorial giggles. I smile to myself and turn to face the door, closing my eyes and snoring theatrically. I may have left the door slightly ajar, as the knob can be a bit tricky.

I hear and sense them drawing closer. I still my breathing and, just as I sense they reach the bed, I let out an enormous snort of a snore that has Daisy shrieking and Toby giggling.

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