Page 8 of A Manny for Christmas

Her eyes widen, and her brows shoot up. She sits bolt upright on the sofa.

What the fuck?

She gives my brother a tight little shake of her head. ‘No. I don’t think that’s a good idea at all.’

‘What’s not a good idea?’ I ask, eyes flitting between the two conspirators. ‘What’s that pea-brain of yours hatching this time, mate?’

‘Nothing,’ Evelyn says. ‘It’s an awful idea. Horrible. You can’t do that to her.’

‘Who the hell isher?’

My brother drags himself away from her and leans forward, hands clasped on his knees. ‘You know Molly’s working here, correct?’

I blink at the sound of that name. At the power it holds over me, even now.

‘Molly? As in MollyCarter?’

‘She’s been Molly Stafford for quite some time now,’ he reminds me smoothly, and I roll my eyes. Of course she has. But she’ll always be Molly Carter to me. More importantly—

‘She’s workinghere? Nope. That you did not mention.’

‘Seriously?’ Evelyn gapes at him. ‘She’s been here, like, ten or eleven months. Do you guys actually communicate?’

‘We email,’ he says defensively. ‘But we usually stick to, you know. Farming practices. How the crops are doing. The bee count. We don’tgossip.’

‘I’m right there with you, pal,’ I say, ‘but even I think it would have been worth you mentioning how the fuck my ex ended up working here, of all places. I thought she was in London, or somewhere?’

‘She was. But her husband left her at the start of the year. She was in a bad spot. You know we kept in touch, at least?’

I did know that she still spoke to my brother, or at least was Facebook friends with him. I usually try not to think about her, to be honest. She wanted a clean break, so I did her the courtesy of giving her one. I let her go, and I left her alone. No point in raking up old pain.

I nod. ‘Yeah. But I didn’t know her husband left her. What happened?’

Angus twists his mouth as if he’s considering how much to tell me. ‘He’s a successful painter. As in, incredibly successful. He started to be in more and more demand for overseas commissions, and he wanted to take the kids out of school and live more of a nomadic life. Molly dug her heels in and he fucked off anyway. Said she was holding him back. Served her with divorce papers and sold the house.’

The sheer intensity of the pain in my chest takes me by surprise. I may, at one point in my life, when I was young and clueless and far too fucking stupid, have uttered a similar sentiment to her. A sentiment that was the death knell to our relationship. But at least I was honest about it up front. At least I didn’t pretend to be a family man.

At least I didn’t give her the fuckingchildrenshe wanted so badly and then walk away from them all.

Good God. The poor woman.

‘I’m very sorry to hear that,’ I mutter. ‘He sounds like a total twat.’

‘He definitely is,’ Angus agrees.

‘Is she doing all right?’

‘She is now. She’s got back on her feet. She and Toby and Daisy are living in my old cottage, and she’s the pastry chef here at the farm—she’s doing the most incredible job.’

I stare at Angus in disbelief. That sneaky motherfucker. He set my ex up in his own property and most likely hooked her up with a job here, and he didn’t mention a word of it to me.

Not a fucking word.

‘That was decent of you,’ I say gruffly. My head’s swimming, both with emotion and with the shock of having someone who I’ve tried to keep very firmly in my past show up in my present like this.

Mol is here. She has kids, which I knew but have consciously tried not to dwell on, and they’re here, at the farm.

Life is too fucking weird sometimes.

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