Chapter 4
Molly
‘Absolutely not.’
I stare at Angus in utter horror. He’s sought me out at the Oast House and pulled me out of the kitchen to a table by the window for what he pitched as ‘the perfect solution to my childcare needs.’
The guy must be smoking crack.
He tries again. ‘I think it could work—’
‘There is not a single level on which this could work, Angus. I don’t know anyone less paternal than Max. He hates kids.’
‘He doesn’t hate them. He just didn’t see himself as a father.’
‘He broke my heart.’
‘You broke his, too, when you walked away without a backwards glance.’
‘Backwards glances make everything far more painful,’ I mutter. ‘He broke mine first by not wanting a family with me. Dumb fucker.’
Angus presses his lips together. ‘You both wanted very different things. I wish it could have worked out for you both. But, for whatever reason, he has the chance to come back into your life again, and I think you can help each other.’
‘I wouldn’t call giving him a bed and leaving my innocent children in the care of a man who openly despises them helping anyone. Why is he sniffing around here, anyway? Why didn’t he just go to Derbyshire?’
He leans forward. ‘I get the impression he’s at a bit of a loose end.
Not sure what’s going on, but I suspect he didn’t fancy hanging out with Julian for the next few weeks, so he thought he’d annoy me and Evelyn.
He didn’t know the house was a building site.
And he wouldn’t despise your kids, Molly.
Think about the life he’s been leading these past few years.
A bit of normality, of a regular home life, could do him good. ’
I shake my head. I will not be swayed by Angus’ charm and caring manner.
Not even after everything the guy has done for us this year.
Nor will I allow Max Rutherford to darken my doorstep after the years of work I put into getting over him.
Years that, in the depth of the night when I’m all too alone with my thoughts, I can admit overlapped the beginning of my relationship with Felix. My marriage, even.
And I certainly won’t let him anywhere near my children.
‘Look.’ I gesture tiredly. I really am burning the candle at both ends at the moment.
‘I just need a nice local girl with a car who can come and stay for a few weeks and process the kids in the morning. That’s what I’m looking for.
’ Not a six-foot-three troublemaker whose body was my kryptonite and whose smile alone used to make my ovaries flip.
Stupid ovaries.
Their potential co-procreator radar was bloody useless.
‘My brother is many things,’ Angus says, ‘but he’s far from incompetent.
And while I get what you’re saying, at the end of the day, he’d never hurt a hair on your or Toby or Daisy’s heads.
You can trust him with your life. That’s more than you can say for some complete stranger you hire at haste and regret at leisure when you find her chatting online while she’s supposed to be looking after the kids. ’
That’s so unfair. He’s using my concern for my children to manipulate me into accepting Max as our kind-of au pair out of sheer desperation. Max, the last person on the planet I could imagine being responsible for my kids.
‘There’s always a risk with childcare,’ I tell him. ‘Believe me, I’ll do my homework before I hire anyone.’
‘When does Sylvie leave?’ he asks.
I huff out a breath. ‘Friday.’
He’s silent. That’s two days away. And right now I have zero plan for how I’m going to get the kids to school on Monday morning while also overseeing the baking fest that is mornings at the Oast House. I can’t take holiday—I need to keep that for when the kids have broken up for Christmas.
I am well and truly fucked.
‘Look,’ Angus says. ‘I know how ridiculous the whole thing sounds. Believe me, the idea of my brother looking after your children after everything that’s gone down between you two is laughable.
But let him help you out of this sticky situation.
He’ll be great with the kids—they’ll have a ball with him.
And maybe they’ll put him through his paces, which I can’t imagine you or I would have a problem with. ’
My mouth twitches. Daisy could take Max Rutherford down without breaking a sweat.
‘You make a fair point,’ I concede.
‘You’d be helping me out, too,’ Angus continues.
‘I have no clue what to do with him. There’s no way he can sleep on the sofa for more than a night or two—he’d drive Evelyn round the bend.
I promise you, I’ll give him a talking to.
Make sure he’s on his best behaviour. You can stick him in the room over the kitchen.
You’ll hardly even have to see him. Besides.
Don’t take this the wrong way, but it might be nice for you to have another pair of adult hands around the place.
You can make him do the dirty work. Take out the bins, pick up some wood for the fire. You know.’
‘You mean “men’s jobs”?’ I tease, to cover the fact that Angus’ offer has started to look slightly less objectionable since his mention of the ‘dirty work’ I could offload. It’s exhausting running a household and a family while holding down a big job that involves being on my feet all day.
‘You know that’s not what I mean,’ he says. ‘Just chuck the stuff you hate doing at him. It’s winter. Everyone’s knackered and run-down. I know things are crazy at the Oast House. Why not just see Max as an unexpected but timely convenience?’
‘Ugh.’ I bury my head in my hands as I attempt to process this enormous head fuck.
I cannot conceive I’ve got myself to a place in my life where Max Rutherford waltzes back in and shares a home with me, even temporarily.
It’s like the grossest parody of what we once had.
I wonder if he still has a tendency to wander around the place half-naked?
Yet another reason not to allow him over the threshold.
I peer at Angus through my fingers. ‘Has your brother’s ability to remain fully dressed while in the house got any better, do you know?’
He grins, like he knows I’m softening up. ‘I’ll add that to the pep talk. He did say he couldn’t believe how cold and miserable it was in the UK, so I suspect he’ll stay wrapped up. But I’ll tell him gratuitous nudity is off the table.’
‘It’s not like I care or anything,’ I grumble. ‘I just don’t want the kids being creeped out by a scary half-naked man.’
It’s not like the sight of Max’s naked torso, with its golden skin covering hard muscle, could tip me over the edge at all after almost a year of no sex. God, I hope he’s got really fat building those wells. I hope he has a pronounced beer belly. I hope the years have been most cruel to him.
‘Got it,’ Angus promises.
Here’s the thing. Realistically, there is no option but to say yes.
I’m royally screwed, and try as I may to deny it, an able-bodied adult who’s in need of a bed and is remotely willing to deal with my kids in the mornings is most likely a gift from heaven, even if he’s as sinful-looking as the devil himself.
Who knew the good Lord had such a sense of humour?