Molly - Sarah Monzon Page 0,46

the countertop. “You know.”

Drew leaned against the opposite counter like he didn’t have a care in the world. Must be nice.

“Four years, Ben. Laura would have wanted you to find happiness again.”

“I am happy. Chloe’s all I need. My plate is too full for anything else.”

“First of all, I’m going to nip this little plate analogy in the bud before it even gets started, otherwise we’ll start talking about side dishes, and that’s just poor taste.” He moved to sit in one of the stools pushed up under the island. “Second, your busyness is real, but you’re using it as an excuse.”

Wasn’t the only factor. “She’s in my employ, Drew.”

Something in my tone must have triggered him because he leaned forward and studied me, gaze pinning me like an entomologist preparing a bug display. “You like her.”

Like might have been enough for a relationship to work in middle school, but lives of adults—of parents—were a lot more complex.

“She kissed me.” Why had I admitted that to him? Now I’d never hear the end of it.

“Did you kiss her back?” He waggled his eyebrows.

I pulled a hand across the back of my neck. “Chloe walked in. I…I don’t know what I’d have done otherwise.”

“Interesting.” Drew articulated each syllable as if inspecting me under a microscope.

My gaze narrowed. “I think the word you’re looking for is complicated.”

He held up his palms. “She likes you, you like her—what’s so complicated about that?”

“She works for me and takes care of Chloe. I can’t jeopardize that. Besides, say for arguments sake that I did”—I swallowed, pushing out the words—“see where this thing went. There’s more on the table than just me. I have to think about Chloe. If Molly and I pursued anything and it didn’t work out, that could break Chloe’s heart. I can’t do that to her, man.” My thoughts snowballed. “And I can’t do it to Molly either. Chloe and I, we’re a packaged deal. Molly is twenty-four years old with her whole life in front of her. She doesn’t need to get weighed down by a ready-made family and the baggage that comes with all that.”

Drew seemed to consider my rationale. “So what are you going to do?”

The million-dollar question. “I guess I have to talk to her, right? We’re both adults. Once I lay everything out, I’m sure she’ll see my point of view.”

Drew shook his head slowly. “I don’t know, man. From what little I know about women, I don’t think they see things from a guy’s perspective very often.”

But Molly wasn’t like other women. She could be reasoned with, couldn’t she?

13

Molly

“Jocelyn!” The front door banged shut behind me as I yelled for my roommate. Past the foyer and through the living room. “Please be home,” I whispered under my breath before yelling her name again. “Jocelyn!”

She emerged from her bedroom, face pinched. She lowered her work tablet onto the narrow console between her room and mine, the circular flounce of her sleeve fluttering with her movement. “What’s with all the caterwauling?”

“I did something stupid. So, so stupid.” My whole body shook. “You know if anyone has made a working time machine? I need to back up the last thirty minutes so I can undo my stupid thing.”

Jocelyn wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me toward her. “Slow down. You aren’t making any sense. I’m sure whatever you did isn’t so bad.”

“It’s bad. So, so bad.”

She guided me to the sofa, and we plopped onto the springy cushions together. “Breathe,” she commanded.

What did she think I was doing? Sure my breaths came in short, sharp spurts, but I was still breathing. “I’m such a Lane,” I groaned.

Her perfectly sculpted brows folded inward. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I plowed ahead, my mind refusing to slow to pick up any passengers. “And you’re my Rory.” I squeezed her hand. “You’ll be my Rory, won’t you, Jocelyn?”

Her head tilted back, confusion written all over her face. “Is this a Gilmore Girls thing? Because if it is, I think we need to call in reinforcements. You know I’m more of a Fresh Prince of Bel Air kind of girl.”

Train wrecks do not stop for reinforcements. And the mess I’d made in Ben’s kitchen had been nothing less than twisted metal and mushroom clouds of smoke.

“Except this is so much worse than Rick Bloomenfeld’s hair.” My words tumbled from my mouth. “At least with Lane she only obsessed over and touched Rick’s hair. I mean, if I’d stayed with