‘Message received. I’ll deal with it.’
‘Unless—you don’t want tosavehim, do you? I knowyou, Saoirse. You’re a softie. Miles is a lovely-looking guy whose wife abandoned him and their daughter. It’s a sob story if I ever I heard one, and you wouldn’t be the first woman to fall for a broken man. Especially one who looks like that.’
‘I don’t want to save him.’ It’s true. I wouldn’t presume to believe I could ever fill the hole Bea’s mum left in their lives. That would be laughable. Practically blasphemous. Especially now I’ve seen the photos of them together, and heard from Sandra how much Allegra complemented Miles, and how widely adored she was. ‘I just want to jump him,’ I add flippantly.
Keeley rubs my back as she crosses the kitchen. ‘You should probably forget about doing either. I don’t want you to get hurt.’
Keeley’s right.
I need to get a grip on these feelings I have for Miles: not just the lust, which is about as straightforward and frustrating as a scratch that needs to be itched. But I need to put aside the pangs I get when he pours me a cup of tea in the morning, when I acknowledge that The Montague blend is indeed delicious and he smiles with pleasure, when his dimples flash and he gets out of his own way enough to tease me.
I need to stop letting Miles Montague get under my skin.
‘I won’t get hurt. But he did invite me to a thing with him and Bea on Friday night. He said he wants me to go along as their friend, not their nanny.’
Keeley’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘What kind of thing? Where?’
‘Sorrel Farm? He said it’s about an hour outside of London.’
‘Oh, I’ve heard of it. It’s supposed to be amazing. It’s in Kent, I think. Do you know what the format is?’
‘I’m pretty sure he said it’s a family Christmas thing… late afternoon into evening? It won’t be a late one if Bea’s with us.’
Keeley pulls her phone out of her back pocket and types.
‘Here you go. It’s really a gorgeous place.’
I take the phone. Wow. Wow. Sorrel Farm looks like heaven. The carousel on the homepage scrolls to show beautiful barns, endless fields, and chic interiors shots. I want to crawl into the place in the photos and never leave. Suddenly the feeling of unease and yearning and disappointment that’s been crawling over me since I got home subsides.
This is going to be the best non-date ever.
CHAPTER 18
Saoirse: Thursday 16 December
Whatever tiny shift I might have imagined as having taken place between me and Miles over drinks, he seems oblivious when I show up the next morning. It’s Groundhog Day. He greets me curtly, pours out my tea and does his best to disengage from my conversation with Bea.
Only when I grill him on this Sorrel Farm party does he warm up.
‘What’s the party for?’
‘It’s a Christmas celebration for friends of the farm—guests and members and people they know. They had to cancel it last year, but we went a couple of years ago. They put on a great show.’
Bea pipes up. ‘Did I go?’
‘Yes, we went with Mummy.’
With Mummy.I swallow.
‘Will Father Christmas be there?’
‘I’m not sure, baby, but they’ll have a choir, I think. And some fun games. And lots of yummy food. Zoe, their founder and chef, is amazing.’ He turns to me. ‘And my friend, Evelyn,who’s their Commercial Director, is the ex-wife of Seb Macleod. Know him?’
I let out a laugh. He’s kidding, right? ‘Er, yeah, he made it to Ireland.’ My mum has all of Seb Macleod’s cook books. I didn’t click that Miles’ friend Evelyn is EvelynMacleod, Seb’s beautiful ex-wife. The scandal made it to Ireland, too. Seb coming out as gay in the tabloids a few years ago, and them getting divorced. I eye Miles. I would have guessed he’d run in some swanky circles, but this is beyond exciting.
‘Seb should be there, and his husband, Gino. It’s a good laugh.’
For Miles to describe anything asa good laugh, it must be bloody amazing.
