A Manny for Christmas: A Steamy Second Chance Romance with All the Festive Feels (Sorrel Farm Book 3) by Sara Madderson

Author:Sara Madderson [Madderson, Sara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-11-10T05:00:00+00:00

21

MOLLY

Walking away from Max after a conversation like that is a wrench. Leaving the gorgeous, festive warmth of the living room and heading alone to my bedroom, which is fucking freezing, feels symbolic of leaving the cosy glow of our conversation.

Closure, I think. We both got some closure there. And this existence we’re morphing into as we spend our days under the same roof is far more authentic than those early days of polite, relentless, mortifying awkwardness.

But still. Watching him poker the fire and put the fire-guard on before switching off the tree lights felt like such a quietly domestic experience.

‘I’ll pick up a timer switch during the week,’ he said as he straightened up from his crouch to hit the socket, inconveniently hidden behind the tree. ‘That’ll make life easier.’

As I thanked him, it occurred to me what a husband thing that was to do. To volunteer to run a small errand because he knew it would make my life easier.

These gestures are building up. Little ones like that, and larger ones. Like getting up at ridiculous-o’clock every weekday morning to de-ice my car. Or taking us tree shopping and managing the majority of the heavy lifting today (literally and figuratively).

These gestures are dangerous. Because they’re way too easy to get used to. And because they act as tiny, marshmallow-soft dams, plugging broken pieces of my heart. But his comments about his ex are a timely reminder that where Max and his non-existent desire to procreate are concerned, nothing has changed. I’d do well to remember that.

Now, I lie in bed. I can’t get warm, and I can’t stop my mind from racing. I’ve drunk enough champagne that sleep should come easily, but there’s far too much to think about. And all the things in my brain are either bad enough to make me spiral (like what Christmas will be like without Felix) or good enough to be dangerous (like the look in Max’s eyes when he gave me that innocuous kiss under the mistletoe).

Ugh. I brace myself and throw back the covers, my feet hitting the cold floor before I can locate and shuffle into my slippers. Hot water bottle it is. I grab one from a drawer and make my way downstairs. I leave the kitchen lights off. The room is adequately lit from the hallway.

As I wait for the kettle to boil, I stand and practically hug the AGA. The room is peaceful. Cosy. Maybe I should just bring my duvet down and lie on the floor in front of it.

There are footsteps on the kitchen stairs, and I jerk my head up in time to see Max’s bare feet appearing, followed by soft-looking, tartan pyjama bottoms.

Oh shit.

I stand there, gaping, as he treats me to a sight that suggests my guardian angel of gratuitous semi-nudity has indeed been listening to my prayers all this time. Because he’s topless.

Jesus fuck, the man is topless.

Suffice to say, he has not let himself go in the years we’ve been apart.

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