a workday, even for children’s librarians. He should have called first.
But if he called, he might wake her. He could take a gamble, he thought, and hope she was still up and at the tiki bar—though what would she be doing there this late on a Sunday night?
He went through the lobby and out into the courtyard and instantly regretted it.
“Hello again, sexy policeman!” The tourist from before was in the hot tub—even though it was close to seventy-five degrees outside—and she was still drinking. How was that even possible? By rights she should have passed out by now from dehydration.
But no—she had a plastic cup shaped like a coconut in her hand, accompanied by a pink paper umbrella. She was staying well hydrated on something.
“Hello,” John replied, just to be polite.
“Are you looking for Molly again?” the woman asked. There were several other people in the hot tub with her, none of whom, unfortunately, was Molly.
“Well,” John said, trying to figure out the best reply. If he said yes, it might not look good. But if he said no, it would be a lie. “I, er—”
“He’s looking for Molly,” the woman assured her friends, and they all cackled in a friendly but decidedly knowing way.
Feeling foolish standing there with his pie, John began to back away. “Maybe I’ll just come back another—”
“Oh, no, don’t do that,” the woman said. “Is that for her?” She was eyeing the insulated bag in his hands.
“Um,” he said. “Yes, it is.”
“What is it?”
“It’s, um.” John could not remember ever feeling so stupid. “It’s a pie.”
“A pie?”
“A key lime pie.”
The women in the hot tub exchanged glances. John couldn’t read them, exactly, since it was dark in the courtyard except for the light from the pool and the party lights strung across the tiki hut. But he thought they were smiling.
“Don’t worry, hon,” one of the women said, finally. “We’ll get her for you.” Then, to John’s utter mortification, the women began to scream, “Molly! Molly!”
“Wait,” he said. “You don’t have to—”
But it was too late. He heard a door being opened somewhere above his head, and turned to see Molly on the second-floor balcony, wearing only an overlarge Denver Broncos T-shirt and what appeared to be men’s boxer briefs. Even more startlingly, she had on a large pair of glasses in tortoiseshell frames.
It had never occurred to him before that Molly wore glasses, but evidently, she did. Possibly she wore contacts during the day. This would at least partly account for why her eyes always seemed so large and dark.
“What is it, Mrs. Filmore?” she called down to the women in a slightly irritated voice, then noticed John.
“Oh,” she said, in an entirely different tone. “It’s you.”
Their gazes met, and it was as if the rest of the world melted away. The only thing that existed was her, and the smell of the night-blooming jasmine.
At least until the woman in the hot tub behind him shouted, “He brought you pie!”
John wished the earth would open and swallow him whole.
He heard Molly laugh in confusion. “What?”
He raised the insulated bag. “Key lime pie,” he said. “By way of apology. Can I—may I—come up?”
It was a bold move, asking to be let into her room, especially with that bubbling vat of tourists behind him, remarking on every little thing he did. Regardless of her answer, there were going to be comments, possibly even catcalls.
“Sure,” Molly said. “Come on up.”
The ladies in the hot tub were quick with their “Ooooohs” and “Yeah, babys,” but John did his best to ignore them, mounting the stairs two at a time and feeling glad that the darkness would—hopefully—hide the burning he felt in his cheeks.
When he reached Molly, he saw that she was grinning.
“Sorry about the Greek chorus down there,” she whispered, gesturing toward the hot tub below. “They’ve been in there since happy hour. I switched them over to plain tonic water a while ago for their own good, but I don’t think they’ve noticed—or that they care.”
John nodded. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone look as beautiful in glasses as Molly did. Behind the lenses of her glasses, her eyes seemed larger and darker than ever.
“I’m sorry about earlier.” He thrust the pie at her. “I acted like an idiot.”
Molly looked down at the object in her hands. It was difficult for him to read her exact expression because with her head lowered, her dark hair cast her face in shadow, and the only light source