Page 85 of A Manny for Christmas

I push on his shoulder so he’ll rear up slightly. I want to see those amber eyes of his while we have this conversation.

‘Max,’ I say. ‘I have no intention of dating him or anyone else. Whatever this is, you’ve ruined me. You honestly think I’d string someone else along when I’m letting you into my bed every night? You seriously think I’m going to eventhinkabout being with anyone else? If you haven’t noticed, I’m permanently orgasm-drunk at the moment. So forgive me if you’re the only man I’m interested in.’

I know we need to talk about thisa lotmore.

I know that acknowledging our mutual appetite for each other is by far the simplest part of the complex dynamic between us.

But as his tongue plunders my mouth at about the same time as he edges my legs apart with his knee, I figure that conversation can wait a bit longer.

31

MOLLY

Zoe’s been giving me fleeting, knowing looks in the kitchen all morning. Looks that, from anyone else, would be confusing, but coming from a woman who I know to have psychic abilities, are downright unsettling.

At least she seems happy. It can’t be that the end is nigh for me, then. There must be something nice in store for me.

Maybe I should buy a lottery ticket?

I’ve had a delightful morning in the shape of a meeting Sadie and Nora set up with a journalist fromBridesmagazine. Since the wedding of Theo’s brother Miles and his gorgeous wife Saoirse here a couple of months ago, interest in and demand for weddings at Sorrel Farm generally, as well as for my cakes in particular, has exploded. Apparently, the Montague wedding has been dubbed the society wedding of the year, a term I suspect both Miles and Saoirse would hate.

Since Evelyn poached Nora, wedding planner extraordinaire, to come in-house and run events for the farm, the latter has been on a mission to establish a full calendar of private events here. We host everything from cheese-and-wine tasting nights for members to huge charity galas, but weddings are our bread and butter. Not only that, but they offer the perfect chance to showcase Sorrel Farm’s charms to wedding guests who often return for romantic or family breaks on future occasions.

And now my savvy friends have persuaded the good people atBridesmagazine to run a special supplement on the farm as a wedding venue. We haven’t even had to pay for play, both because Sadie is so persuasive and because everything Sorrel Farm-related is hot content since the wedding. There’s to be a page on our in-house wedding cake producing capabilities, and yesterday I spent a heavenly few hours decorating four cakes with an assortment of fresh flowers and fruit. The article will include suggested aesthetics for a Sorrel Farm wedding in each of the four seasons.

There’s something about sticking your headphones on as you run buttercream icing around a luscious sponge cake with a palette knife. About listening to arias as you select the perfect blowsy rose for your summer topping, or dust icing sugar onto redcurrants for the winter alternative.

It’s steady, indulgent, creative work, and the flow state I’m in when I decorate cakes is my favourite emotional state. I’m in a constant state of inspiration, as though some greater, more creative force is working through me, using me as its willing instrument. It’s far healthier than the frenetic, adrenalin-fuelled pace of the early mornings, when we’re baking for the breakfast service while prepping for the rest of the day ahead.

This morning, we and the lucky journalist got to dig into the fruits of my labour, sampling the various flavours of cakes while Clara snapped away (between bites), and Sadie worked her PR magic, and Nora went long on detail. There’s a reason weddings at Sorrel Farm run like a Swiss watch, and that reason is Nora Wilder.

Now, though, the journalist has left, and my girls have scattered back to their jobs, and we’re prepping for lunch when I hear Max’s voice call to me through the open front of the kitchen.

My head jerks up in delighted surprise, and I scurry over to the entrance, wiping my hands on my apron.

‘Hi!’ I say. I’m a little breathless, a little overly eager. But come on. This man induces a similar reaction in every woman. I’m only human.

‘Hi, you.’ His eyes crinkle as he grins at me, drinking me in as if he didn’t see me off a few hours ago, after he’d de-iced my car.

‘What are you doing here?’

His grin widens into something smug. ‘Fetching you.’

‘Me? Why? Are the kids okay?’

‘The kids are great.’ He jerks his head at someone behind me. ‘Come here, Zoe. Tell her.’

I look over my shoulder as Zoe approaches. She puts her hands on my arms, smiling warmly.

‘You have the rest of the day off. Jess is picking Toby and Daisy up from school. She’ll see you back at your place later tonight. Go have fun with this nice man.’

My jaw drops.‘What?’

Max grins sexily. ‘We sorted it out between us. Zoe has your shift covered. Jess is on kids duty till later this evening, God bless her. And thanks to Evelyn, you and I have somewhere to be.’

Somewhere to beturns out to be one of Sorrel Farm’s charming, newly built accommodation blocks. I stare, slack-jawed, as Max releases me long enough to swipe a key-card over the lock. He opens the wreath-clad door with a flourish and steps aside to let me through.

I shoot him aseriously?look and he nods, grinning.

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