Page 69 of Manhattan Kiss

My face flushes with heat. Never has any interaction between Deacon and me been so chaste, but I feel like I’ve been caught dry humping him on the street.

“It’s a beautiful snow globe, isn’t it?” Deacon asks, ignoring her comment about his kiss.

She holds out her hands, ready to be given the snow globe.

“Finish your dinner, then run and wash your hands and then you can hold it, if you’re very careful.”

She nods and starts shoveling food into her mouth. I try not to burst out laughing. She’s going to make herself sick.

“I’m finished, Daddy,” she says.

The nanny comes over and clears her plate straightaway. I wonder if it’s weird for Deacon to have the nanny here all the time. He seems to be so hands-on. The nanny then leads Willow into the back, presumably to wash her hands.

“Have you had your nanny long?” I ask.

“Lucia’s been with us since Willow was born.”

“Wow. That’s so nice. Does she work the entire week, so Willow’s mother has her help as well?” I deliberately say “Willow’s mother” and not “your ex,” as that’s how he always refers to her. I’m not sure if it’s because he doesn’t consider her an ex or because he wants to remind himself that she’s his daughter’s mother.

“Absolutely. We have a different woman at weekends. But I wanted Willow to have that consistency.”

“You’re a good dad,” I say.

“I do the best I can.”

Gently, I touch the back of his arm. I want him to know he’s incredible.

Willow returns, her arms outstretched. “Can I have a turn, Daddy?”

“Sit down and keep a firm grip.”

Willow slides back onto the bench, her face fixed with an expression of determination. She takes the snow globe in both hands and turns it upside down.

“Okay, put it on the table now,” Deacon says.

Willow places it down in front of her, the white flecks of snow falling over the skyline. It looks magical. Just like our date together.

Deacon turns to me. “It’s lovely.”

My chest warms. He’s thinking about that perfect night. No one will ever top a date like that. When I go back home to Chilternshire, there are plenty of nice views, but they’re of rolling countryside and trees. I don’t think there’s a rooftop restaurant in the entire county.

Not that I’d want anyone to try to recreate it. It could only come up short. I’d be forced to compare and that wouldn’t be fair.

When the snow finally settles, Willow reaches for the snow globe again and turns it upside down.

“Last time,” Deacon says. “Then it’s bedtime.”

“I need my hair in a braid,” she says. “And you need the practice.”

“I meant to book into that course,” Deacon mumbles.

“A course?” I ask.

“I’m not very good at doing Willow’s hair. There’s a course in Midtown that teaches hair plaiting. I keep meaning to sign up, but…”

He pulls out his phone and voice notes someone, presumably his assistant, asking them to find a space in his diary.

“Braiding,” Willow corrects him. “You’re in America. You can’t call it plaiting.”