is going on, and I saw those things crawling across the counter. Oh my God!”
I laugh and smile lovingly up into Jax’s eyes. “Troublemaker.”
He smiles back down at me. “Good times.”
“Are you still a prankster in the dressing room?” Oliver asks.
“I like a good practical joke on occasion,” Jax says.
“Like the time you hit Marc Dupuis with a faceful of shaving cream while he was being interviewed on TV?” I ask.
Oliver laughs. “I saw that!”
“Captain Codger?” Mrs. MacDonald asks with amusement. “How did he take it?”
“He’s not as serious as he used to be,” Jax says.
“Jax always did like to have fun,” Mrs. MacDonald tells me. “And the girls followed him everywhere.”
“I don’t doubt it,” I say with a smirk.
I love how easily Jax fits in with these people and the fact that he’s kept in touch with a friend from his childhood. I’m not loving Abby’s aloof attitude toward me, but whatever.
We go out for dinner with Oliver and Sophia one night the next week, which is fun. They’re a nice couple. They’re excited about their first child, and Jax seems super happy for them, too, asking questions about how Sophia is feeling and how much time she’ll have off work. Apparently, she and Oliver are both accountants. When she says she’ll have a year off, I nearly fall off my chair.
“That’s amazing,” I say. I haven’t looked into maternity leave in detail, but I have friends and coworkers who have babies and they sure didn’t get a year off. We discuss mat leave in Canada compared to the United States.
That morphs into a discussion about politics, which could be a field of landmines, but luckily Jax and I have similar views to Oliver and Sophia, so it’s an amicable discussion. It’s fun talking about these things with likeminded people and also getting to know Jax’s opinions. We’ve never talked about this stuff, and my admiration for him grows.
I’ve always liked him. But now…I really like him.
Jax
Molly’s preparing dinner tonight. I can hear her moving around in the kitchen. My ears perk up at a muttered “fuck” and then “goddammit.” I consider going in there to see what’s happening, but hold off. I’m sure she’s got this. I grilled chicken breasts earlier that she’s going to use in some kind of salad.
I’m reading an advance copy of my mom’s new book she sent me. It’s fantastic, but I grew up with a lot of her ideas about how to stay humble as an elite athlete.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”
My eyebrows fly up at another expletive from the kitchen. Then I hear a loud thunk and a crash.
I jump up. Okay, now I need to check in.
I stride into the kitchen and find a disaster—an avocado has been thrown against the wall and a salad bowl sits upside down on the floor with greens scattered all around it. And Molly’s in tears.
“What’s going on?” I approach her. “What happened?”
“I had three avocadoes,” she sobs. “They were rotten when I cut them open. All of them.”
“Ah…” She’s crying about overripe avocadoes? “That’s okay. We’ll have the salad without them.”
“You can’t have a Cobb salad without avocado!” She sweeps a hand out. “And then I was so frustrated I threw an avocado and I knocked the salad bowl on the floor.” Another sob bursts from her lips and she swipes at the tears on her cheeks. “Now we have no dinner and a big mess to clean up and dinner is ruined.” She cries harder.
I take her in my arms and press her head to my shoulder, rocking her slightly, a little mystified. “Shhhh. It’s okay. It’s not that bad.”
“It is,” she moans against my shirt. “It’s a disaster. I just wanted to make a nice dinner.”
“We have other food.” I pat her back. “Or we can go out.”
“I can’t go out! I’m a mess.”
“I can go get us something.”
She nods and sniffles, not lifting her head. Okay, good. Maybe that calmed her down. What the hell?
“What would you like?” I ask.
After a short pause, she mumbles, “I could really go for a bacon double cheeseburger and fries. Large fries. And ice cream.”
“Okay. We can do that. I’ll pour you a glass of wine and you go sit on the deck and I’ll clean this up.”
“You’re so good,” she sobs, stepping back. Her face is red and blotchy, her nose pink, eyes swollen. She’s still gorgeous. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I hand her the glass of wine. When she’s outside, I survey the mess.