Page 21 of Someone to Hold
In addition to the muffins, I notice two dozen cupcakes cooling on a wire rack on the counter. It seems like I wasn’t theonly one not sleeping last night, but she was far more productive during her overnight hours.
I down a giant mug of coffee in a couple of swigs, then wash out the pot and leave it drying in the rack next to the sink. As chaotic as yesterday was, Molly appears to have this morning buttoned up.
I rip through feeding Fancy and mucking her stall before heading toward the greenhouse. Molly’s filling five-gallon buckets with tulips and daffodils, their yellow and purple blooms a bright welcome sign to the change of seasons. I may not know much about flowers, but I’m impressed by her operation, especially knowing she’s done it all herself.
“What can I do?”
She backs up a few inches on her scooter, her wariness making me want to straighten my shoulders and puff out my chest like I’m back in middle school trying to impress the prettiest girl in class.
Only the stakes feel higher because we’re not kids, and the intensity of her gaze has me fighting the urge to check if I’ve got something stuck in my teeth.
I blink and wait for her to speak, but when she continues to stare, I can’t take it any longer and ask, “Is there a problem?”
She shakes her head. “I know you’ve been through a lot with the accident, and I appreciate your willingness to help while Linda’s away. But I can’t have somebody who’s out of control near my children. Not…” She swallows hard, then adds, “...again.”
Her eyes glow like chips of jade, beautiful but sharp enough to cut glass. “I’m sure you know Teddy was typically the life of any party.” Her voice is flat. “That partying came with a price. I stayed because…well, I loved him, but he didn’t always make it easy. I’m not having that energy around my children again.”
“I don’t do drugs.” I hate that she’s assumed the worst even though she has no reason not to. “Unless you count an occasional ibuprofen. And I’m not a fan of hangovers. I might have a beer or two when I’m out with friends, but?—”
“Last night—” she begins.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat, realizing that I’ve offered more apologies to this woman in the past twenty-four hours than I have to anyone in years. The need for her to believe in me, to see me as someone worth trusting, burns in my chest like a brand. “I have trouble sleeping sometimes. Because of my no numbing agents rule, it was nearly three before I managed to fall asleep last night, and I overslept. It won’t happen again. You can trust me, Molly.” At least on that.
Her name is like honey on my tongue, sweet and addictive. I don’t realize I’m holding my breath waiting for her answer until she gives a slight nod, and something in me releases. Her tentative acceptance lifts an invisible weight from my shoulders.
I admire the hell out of her already. She’s running a business, raising kids, and still managing to look like every version of temptation I’ve ever encountered.
“The truck I use for deliveries is in the garage,” she says, and I’m happy as a pig in shit to be done with that conversation. “Keys are in the console. Could you back it up in front of the greenhouse so we can load the buckets?”
“Of course.” I turn and jog in the direction of the garage, grateful to be able to help in some meaningful way.
The truck is a beater with a bench seat that’s been re-covered in a thick cotton fabric in a floral pattern. It smells like Molly—a contrasting yet beguiling mix of lavender and sunshine. There are large vinyl stickers on both the driver and passenger doors with a simple but pretty logo for Meadow Blooms, which I assume is the official name of her business.
She’s filling the last bucket with water when I reenter the greenhouse. “If you want to stay at the house and rest your ankle, I can make the deliveries.”
“I’m fine,” she says, but I already hear a tinge of weariness in hervoice.
“Are you sure you aren’t doing too much?” I ask. “I’m guessing those muffins and cupcakes didn’t bake themselves?”
For a moment, it looks as though she’s going to give me another one-finger salute, but she settles for an exaggerated eye roll. “A small army of magical woodland creatures helped me.”
The corner of her mouth lifts, and that hint of a smile hits me like a sucker punch to the chest.
To be fair, if woodland creatures were going to pick somebody to help, it would be this woman, who seems to be as pure of heart as any damn fairy tale princess I can imagine.
“Good to know,” I tell her, not bothering to hide my smile. “I figured it was talking teacups and candlesticks.”
“What do you know about talking teacups?” She gives me a sidelong glance, and heat pools low in my belly. Yeah, she’s beautiful, but it’s more than that. I don’t know what the hell we’re doing here, but I want more of it.
“My sister was major-league into princesses as a kid,” I admit, rubbing a hand across my jaw. “Belle was her favorite.”
“I’m partial to Ariel,” Molly says quietly.
“Because you both have red hair, right?” I grab two buckets and secure them in the back of the truck.
“That was part of it, but I think it has more to do with wanting to belong and…” She shakes her head. “Forget it. No time for deep thoughts withThe Little Mermaid.”
I don’t argue, even though I want to. This glimpse into her thoughts feels significant, and so different from the surface-level conversations I’m used to on the circuit. Talking about ride times, beer brands, and which buckle bunny is causing drama.
