Page 92 of A Manny for Christmas

‘But.’

He raises his eyebrows, waiting for me to continue.

I take a deep breath. ‘A lack of love was never the problem with us. We’ve always been crazy about each other, and it wasn’t enough. And I have two actual children now, who are my whole life.’

I stop, already frustrated that we’re about to start having the exact same conversation we had a million times over before we broke up.

‘Say it,’ he orders.

I sigh. ‘Neither of us was ever prepared to compromise on having kids. And quite right. It was too important. But I have them now, so it’s not just the two of us in this relationship, Max. There are four of us involved, and just like I would never have asked you to compromise then, I won’t now.’

He’s quiet for a long beat. He finds a lock of my hair and twists it around and around in his fingers as he processes a reply. He’s quiet so long, in fact, that I start mentally predicting the next words out of his beautiful mouth.

I know.

You’re right.

I love you, but it’s not enough.

Instead he says, so softly that I’m not sure if I’ve heard him correctly, ‘I want to try.’

I gape.‘What?’

‘I want to try,’ he says. ‘With Toby and Daisy. Obviously, I’m not proposing we go home and tell them you and I have made some long-term commitment around your family’s future. And I know it’s really early days for me and them.’ His fingers massage the skin on my hipbone, and it feels hypnotic, but the words coming out of his mouth are even more so. ‘But… I think they like me. They seem pretty fond of me. So, with your blessing, I’d like to see if I can build something with them. Something proper.’

I’m so shocked I raise myself onto one elbow and stare down at Max.

Is he suffering from concussion?

Did I hit him over the head in my sleep?

Because I’m pretty sure Max Rutherford, steadfast member of the No Kids Party, just proposed he build a relationship.

Not with me.

With mychildren.

My kids who idolise him and terrorise him and never give him a moment’s peace or a lie-in. Who ensure our cottage looks like a fucking bomb site at any given moment and always want a piece of us.

He can’t possibly mean what he’s saying. Unless…

‘Max.’

‘Yeah?’ His gaze flits from my face to my boobs and back again. Oh, and back to my boobs again.

‘Max. Eyes on my face.’

‘Sorry.’ His smile is sheepish and adorable in equal measure.

‘Sweetie, what you’re saying is incredibly generous.’ I pause to choose my next words carefully. ‘But I can’t ask you to commit to my kids just because you’re in love with me. I mean, it’s not only unfair on you, but I wouldn’t do that to them. Because they’re amazing. And they’ve had a really, really shitty time of it this year. And I could never bring a guy into our home and let him become their father figure by default, just because he loves their mum.’

I’m crying, I realise. I wipe my cheek with the back of my hand. It’s not just the emotion of what Max is proposing. It’s the rush of maternal love I have for my kids. I always felt Max would make an incredible father, but he never wanted it.

And I’m not about to let a man into our home permanently totoleratemy children so he he can get closer to me. Especially if he’s agnostic at best about them.

‘They deserve far, far more than that. They deserve a father who’ll love and adore them and choose them for themselves, rather than because they’re part of a package deal.’

He sits up in a hurry, his arm going around me. ‘Hey.Hey. Of course that’s what I meant. Jesus, Mol. Of course they deserve that; that’s why I’ve waited even this long. If it was just you in the picture, I would have jumped you the first night I got here. I was already sold on you, baby.

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