Chapter 14 #2
And there it was.
It wasn’t my problem, because they weren’t my kids. Thank fuck, I told myself. For all that childcare was physically draining, these past few days had strengthened my original case against procreation: it was the emotional stuff that really crucified you as a parent.
I’d done my duty. Fed my concerns into Molly. She was Toby’s mum; she’d deal with it. I could step back and stop interfering.
Our washing-up sessions had come a long way.
From foreplay to parenting discussions. Who the hell would have seen that coming?
And the most fucked-up part was that I felt grateful.
Grateful to even have a dialogue with Molly.
Grateful that, for the odd moment, it was as if we were in this thing together.
Molly disabuses me of any false sense of intimacy I’ve been feeling when she reminds me she has her date this evening.
I lark about in the TV room with Toby and Daisy while she gets herself ready upstairs.
I don’t mind doing it at all—even though Daisy is treating me like her own personal climbing frame—but I do mind the fact that she’s beautifying herself (completely unnecessarily, I might add) for another guy.
The doorbell rings, and I tickle Daisy under her tiny arms and throw her, shrieking, onto the sofa. I open the front door to find Jess standing there with a couple of teenagers. I haven’t seen Jess since I’ve been back. Last time I saw her was at Rose’s christening.
‘Hello, handsome,’ she says, pulling me in for a hug as the teenagers look on awkwardly.
‘These are my kids, Mike and Mia. They’ve come to hang out with Toby and Daisy this evening so Molly can go have some fun.
’ She winks conspiratorially as she releases me, like I’m supposed to be happy about the fact that some rich wanker is taking Molly out.
Like I’m supposed to join her in imagining all the ways he and Mol may have fun.
I don’t think so.
Hearing the doorbell, Molly comes running down the stairs.
I stand in the hallway and openly gape. She’s in skinny jeans that mould themselves to her gorgeous legs and a soft-looking sweater in palest pink.
Her hair hangs in two long plaits over her shoulders.
And, for someone who works godawful hours and is permanently exhausted, her skin is peaches and cream.
Luminous. I’m sure she’s put some makeup on—her eyes definitely look bluer and more striking than usual under those thick black lashes—but it doesn’t matter.
You can’t fake that kind of beauty.
If I tell you Claudia Schiffer was my type when I was growing up, then you get the idea. And let me tell you, Molly Carter is nailing the essence of my type just as much right now as she did when I first won a smile from her behind the bar at The Queen’s Head.
‘Bloody hell, Mol,’ Jess says. ‘You look absolutely gorgeous. Paul’s a lucky man.’
Paul can go fuck himself.
What kind of name is Paul, anyway? It doesn’t even go with Molly. Not like Max and Molly. Molly and Max. Now that just sounds right.
I raise an eyebrow disapprovingly. ‘Hair down?’
‘It’s not loose,’ she says defensively. ‘If I pin it up, it won’t fit under my hat.’
‘It’s perfect,’ Jess says, throwing an unimpressed look my way. ‘You’re every man’s Heidi fantasy come to life. Right, Max?’
She raises her voice at the end like a parent who’s badgering a petulant child to play ball. But she’s hit the nail on the head, because Molly looks like porno Heidi.
The things I could do with those plaits. The places I could tickle, on her body and mine. Tease.
Jesus Christ. Where did that come from?
I blink. ‘Yeah. You look lovely,’ is all I can manage.
‘Thanks, guys,’ Molly says, a self-conscious lilt to her tone.
Jess buggers off, thankfully, leaving me and Molly alone in the hallway. The kids sound happy to see Mike and Mia—the noise level in the TV room has increased substantially since they wandered through.
‘You really do look great,’ I tell her, a little guilty at behaving like an ass.
The rational part of my mind knows she deserves to be taken out.
Spoilt. That she deserves some attention given everything she does for her kids.
It’s just hard to have a front-row seat to her going on a date.
God knows what I would have been like if I’d ever had to meet her husband.
‘Thanks.’ She fiddles with the hair tie at the end of one golden plait.
‘Where’s he taking you? Somewhere nice, I hope?
‘We’re going to the farm’s Christmas market,’ she says. ‘Are you off out tonight?’
‘I’m meeting some of Angus’ team down there, actually,’ I lie. ‘Maybe I’ll see you there.’
I’ve been thinking about dragging my brother out for a drink, if he and Evelyn didn’t have plans, but, as of five seconds ago, I intend to go to the market and keep an eye on Molly and her date from a distance.
‘Oh.’ She looks anything but happy with this revelation. ‘Maybe you will.’
‘You meeting him down there?’
‘No. He’s, er, coming here.’
‘That’s nice of him,’ I say, trying and failing to keep the snark out of my tone.
She glares at me. ‘Yes. It’s very nice of him.’
I say nothing, just stand there and enjoy the view. That soft sweater curves over her breasts perfectly. I have a sudden, powerful urge to grab the ends of those plaits and pull her to me, fastening my mouth over hers as I wind the golden ropes around my fists.
My expression must be communicating some of these unsuitable thoughts, because her lips part slightly before she blinks and turns away, bending over to tug on her long, shearling-lined boots.
Her position gives me an excellent view of her arse in those tight, tight jeans, and I enjoy it unashamedly.
‘That sweater looks so soft,’ I say, like a total fucking muppet.
She looks back at me. ‘Yeah, it’s got some cashmere in it.’
The doorbell goes again, and we both make a move towards it, but she’s still zipping up her second boot and I get there first. Triumph zings through my bloodstream. I’d guess that Molly wants me anywhere but right here as her date comes to pick her up.
I square my shoulders and swing the door open, planting my feet in a wide stance. The vibe I’m going for is overprotective dad meets rampant male sexuality, if that’s a thing.
Bottom line, I can’t help the sense of perversion that makes me want to send this guy running for the hills.
For fuck’s sake. Even I can tell he’s good-looking.
Fair-haired, with those classical, regular features chicks seem to love.
He’d also scream money even if there wasn’t an Aston Martin behind him in the driveway.
He looks taken aback to see me, but he recovers quickly, shooting me a far-too-friendly grin and pulling off his leather glove before extending a hand. His shake is firm. Manly.
Mine’s manlier.
I squeeze a little harder before releasing.
‘I’m here to see Molly,’ he says. I can practically see his mental gymnastics as he attempts to work out who I am and why I’m answering Molly’s door. ‘I’m Paul—’
‘Hi, Paul!’ A flustered Molly gets her second boot up and pushes past me, leaving me no choice but to stand back. I don’t miss the very fucking approving look in his eyes as he checks her out before leaning in to give her a chaste kiss on each cheek.
That’s all you’re getting tonight, mate.
‘Sorry,’ she continues. ‘This is Max. He’s an old… friend. He’s helping me out with some childcare at the moment.’
‘Ah.’ His face clears as he nods at me. ‘Good to meet you, Max.’
‘Hi.’ My expression remains impassive, even as Molly glares at me.
‘Come in, come in,’ she says. ‘I’ve just got to say bye to the kids, okay?’
‘Of course,’ he says easily. ‘No rush.’
She retreats in the direction of the noise, and Paul and I size each other up in the hallway.
‘So,’ he says. ‘Are you staying here, then?’
‘Yeah. Just for a few weeks.’ I decide to throw him a little bone, purely for Molly’s sake. I have no interest in getting to know this guy, but she doesn’t deserve for me to make things awkward. ‘I’m doing the school drop-off, since Mol has to be in so early.’
‘Makes sense.’ He nods.
‘You local?’
‘Yeah. Hildenborough—it’s not far.’
‘Excellent,’ I say blandly, though really I want to pummel him with questions and orders. Are you divorced? Any kids? What are your intentions towards Molly? And keep your greasy hands to yourself. Okay, mate? Tonight and ever after.
Jesus Christ. The thought of him with her turns my stomach. Holding her hand. Slinging an arm around her shoulders in a casual but unmistakable mark of ownership.
Trying for a kiss, for fuck’s sake.
It’s not happening.
Not on my watch, at least.
I’ll check that the little ones are doing all right with their babysitters, and then I’m off to play cockblocker.