Chapter 33 - Molly
Molly
Isurface.
I’m lying on my side, my body curled up against Max’s, my face nestled into my favourite place. His chest. As I stir, he grazes idle fingers down my spine. I blink into the dimness before lifting my head. The room is darker than it was, but there’s still some daylight.
‘It’s only three,’ he says before I can twist around to find a clock.
I flop my head back down onto the pillow and bury my face in his chest again. ‘Thank God. I thought I’d missed our whole date.’
‘No.’ His voice is so gentle. This bed is so warm. ‘But we were out for a couple of hours. We needed it, you especially.’
I make a sleepy noise of agreement and stretch in his arms. Three o’clock.
Six more hours with Max in this room. Sheer heaven.
My body is rested from its nap and loose from its two orgasms. But more than that, there’s a warm glow in my heart that has nothing to do with the warmth of the bed and everything to do with the man I’m snuggled up against. The man whose arm is wrapped around my waist. The scent of whose skin sends me into paroxysms of pleasure.
And whose choice of words when he was buried deep inside me was fascinating, if not totally trustworthy.
Not if, like most women, you’ve completed the Don’t Believe What Guys Say When They’re Inside You module of the School of Life, anyway.
‘I need food,’ I grumble. We orgasmed and slept our way through lunch, and I’m ravenous.
‘I’ll feed you in a sec. I’m just enjoying waking up naked in a bed with you, for once. Your job and your kids aren’t exactly conducive to lie-ins.’
‘Mmm,’ I say in agreement. He’s right. I’m up hours before dawn during the week, and it’s too risky letting Max sleep in my bed at the weekend, lest the kids wake before us (which is, unfortunately, a given).
Waking up curled into his warm, hard, gorgeous body is a hell of a luxury.
I trail my knuckles over his happy trail.
‘Hey, Mol?’ he says softly, and I pull my head out of his glorious pecs so I can meet his eyes. His face is sleepy, and a little crumpled, and a lot contented. I scratch my fingers over his stubble, and he shifts his mouth so he can kiss them.
‘Yeah?’ I ask.
He swallows, amber eyes burning bright. ‘I meant what I said. When I was—inside you. I love you, sweetheart.’
That warm glow in my heart swells. Takes form. I stare at him in incredulity. I was expecting him to ignore what he said. Or perhaps apologise. Sheepishly brush it under the carpet.
I was not expecting a declaration of love.
I open my mouth to say something. Probably are you serious? But he puts a finger to my lips.
‘Wait. I know it’s fast. And I’m not expecting you to say it back.
It’s just—it’s not fast, really, because I don’t think I fell out of love with you.
And let’s just say that became pretty clear, pretty quickly, when I came to stay.
I’ve fallen back in love with you so fast it’s scary.
Which is probably why I acted like a total psycho when that guy took you out on a date.
I knew I’d fucked up.’ His other hand brushes my hip, and his brow creases.
‘Shit. When I ran through this in my head, I wasn’t expecting you to look quite so panicked. ’
‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘No. It’s not that. It’s—’
I’m not sure how I’m expected to formulate actual words and phrases when I don’t even know how to formulate my thoughts.
My feelings. I open my mouth, hesitate, and then decide I should just start talking and let my thoughts organise themselves as I do.
Not ideal, but possibly better than the effect my deer-in-the-headlights look is having on Max right now.
‘I love you too,’ is what I end up opening with. I shrug in his arms and give him a goofy smile. ‘Of course I do. God, I’m in so deep with you I have no idea which way is up—I’m a total mess.’
‘Good,’ he says smugly, his self-assurance restored, and kisses me. I let my eyelids drift closed, and his hands roam over my skin, and his mouth and tongue show me he means what he just said. But when he pulls away, I sigh.
‘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 my children.
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 to tolerate my children so 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.
‘But your kids…’ He sighs and squeezes my waist. ‘I feel awkward saying this—I’m a lot more nervous than I was just now, when I told you I loved you, because that’s, well, obvious.
But I adore your kids, and the past few weeks have been about getting to know them and seeing if I can actually look after them properly.
Seeing if I’m up to the job. If I deserve them. ’
I twist my head so I can look him in the eye.
Gape at him, more accurately.
‘But… surely you weren’t thinking any of this when you first arrived?’
He laughs and shakes his head. ‘No. God, no. Although I did spend most of my time trying not to think about you. About the pull I still felt towards you. With your kids, it was more about survival at first. About helping you out and not letting you down. And then it was about mucking around with them. Purely at face value, with no ulterior motive, I found myself enjoying their company.’
‘You’re good with them,’ I tell him, trying to keep that sharp, bright light of hope that’s unfurling in my heart under control. ‘You know how to have fun with them—it seems to come naturally to you.’
‘Probably because my maturity levels are closer to theirs than yours are.’ He plants a tender kiss on my shoulder before rubbing his nose and mouth over the skin there.
I nudge him. ‘Don’t sell yourself short. You’re a natural. I’m so busy processing them all the time that I don’t allow enough time to actually enjoy it.’
‘Said every mother ever, I suspect,’ he says into my skin.
He raises his face, leaning his chin on my shoulder, and I turn and rub my nose with his.
‘And don’t forget how hard you work, Mol.
It’s not that you’re “failing to allow” yourself enough time to have fun with them, it’s that you have no bloody time.
’ His voice grows soft. Low. ‘I’d like to help with that.
I’d like to be there to do some of the heavy lifting so you get more time with them.
They’re great kids. You’ve done an incredible job with them. ’