Page 80 of Faking It with Mr. Uptight

Molly chuckled. "Oh, come on. Thirty is a bit extreme. What about thirty-five?"

Hailey squealed in a laughing protest. "Molly, I thought you were on my side?"

"I am," Molly assured her, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "But boys are the worst," Molly said affecting a teenage girl voice.

Hailey crossed her arms, a playful scowl on her face. "Whatever. I'm not getting a boyfriend anyway."

I smirked. "That's the spirit. No dating till you're fifty."

Hailey groaned, her eyes rolling to the ceiling. “Better send me to an all-girls boarding school and college.”

"Of course not," I replied, indignantly.

"Yes, you are," Molly retorted. "In a convent."

Hailey giggled, and we shared a look, an understanding passing between us. We both adored this woman.

"Ok, ok," Hailey sighed. "So, can we get back to this now?"

"Sure," I shrugged, a smile tugging at my lips.

I finished up the changing table and moved onto the bookshelf. Hailey and Molly were nearly done with the crib.

When the last screw was in place, they high fived. I shook my head and smiled.

"Not too shabby," I said, admiring their handiwork.

"Told you we could do it," Molly replied, nudging me with her elbow.

"You did."

"Hey, what do you guys want to do for dinner? I can whip something up," Molly suggested.

"Or we could go out," I suggested, feeling like we had all done enough work for one day.

"Dinner out sounds fun," Hailey chimed in, her face lighting up.

"Dinner out it is." I clapped my hands together and led the charge out of the room.

Behind me, Molly said, "Thank god. I’m starving. I think I only offered to make dinner because the manual labor tricked me into thinking I needed to make a homemade dinner from scratch, like a pioneer woman or something. Like I don’t know how to mill flour or churn butter. What was I thinking?"

We all laughed.

As we stepped out of the house, a wave of nostalgia swept over me, memories of preparing for Hailey's arrival resurfacing like a distant dream. The anticipation, the excitement, the overwhelming love—it all came rushing back. I glanced at Molly, her eyes soft and her smile warm, and I couldn't help but wonder if she was feeling it too.

The thought of starting a family with Molly had never crossed my mind before, but standing there like a ready-made family, it felt like a possibility I couldn't ignore. The way she had embraced Hailey, the gentle care she showed, and the love that radiated from her every action—it made me see a future I had never dared to imagine.

I found myself picturing lazy Sundays with Molly, chasing after a little one with her eyes and my smile. I could almost hear the laughter echoing through the house, the pitter-patter of tiny feet, and the soft coos of a baby nestled in Molly's arms. Hailey leading her baby brother or sister by the hands on chubby little legs. It was a vision that filled my heart with a longing I hadn't known existed.

As we walked to the car, I looked a Molly trying to read in her expression if something similar danced through her mind. Did she see the same potential future unfolding before us? Did the idea of creating a family together make her heart flutter the way it did mine?

I knew it was still early, and we had so much to explore and discover about each other but in that moment, I couldn't shake the feeling that Molly had become more than just a part of my present. She had become an integral piece of my future, a future that held the promise of love, laughter, and perhaps, one day, the joy of welcoming a new life into our world.

We piled into my car and drove downtown. We parked on the street and made our way down the sidewalk to the town's only "proper restaurant" simply named "The Grill."

The air smelled of perfectly charred steak and hunger helped push away the baby fever that had overcome me. I held open the carved oak door for Molly and Hailey. We wound our way over the checkered tile floor to the glossy walnut hostess stand.

The cozy upscale restaurant had opened in our little town in 1952 and in the thirty plus years I lived here, this place hadn’t changed. Crisp white linen cloths and, flickering candles, still set the same mood. The only thing different was the menu selections that were heavily influenced by the need to cater to tourists.

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