Page 174 of Fighting the Forbidden

“You’re eighteen,” I say as gently as possible, even though the thought of losing Molly makes me want to carve my insides out.

She bites the inside of her cheek. “Nana and Grandpa were sixteen and twenty when they met. And she said she knew she wanted to marry him even then.”

The corners of my mouth turn up. “I know. He also wanted her to finish college before they got married.”

“I’m going to college.” She picks up the spatula and thrusts it into the enchiladas, scooping two and dropping them on a plate. She dishes out another one, grabs both plates and returns to the table.

I grab the silverware and join her. “That’s all I get?” I wave my fork at my dish. “Two?”

“You can have as many as you want.” She stabs her fork into her food and touches the tip of her tongue to a small amount. “It’s hot,” she cautions.

“You’re hot,” I mutter, digging into my own food.

Her lips quirk but she keeps her gaze focused on her plate.

The food’s so good, for the next few minutes, I just concentrate on shoving it in my mouth, then grab seconds.

“You can take the leftovers to work if you’ve got a microwave there,” Molly says.

“Leftovers?” I snort. “You better grab what you want now before I eat it all.”

“You like it?”

I wave my fork over my almost-clean-again plate. “Ya think?”

She coughs and waves her hand in front of her face. “I might’ve dumped too much Frank’s in it.”

“Never too much hot sauce.” I turn and open the fridge, then pull out a can of seltzer and a can of Coke.

“You keep black cherry seltzer here?” she asks.

I shrug. “I drink it from time to time.” Because it reminds me of her.

She pops the tab and takes a quick sip. “Thanks.”

When we’re finished, we stare at each other for a few beats.

Molly jumps up and grabs the dishes. “I don’t want to leave you with a mess.”

“Stop.” I stand and take the plates. “You brought the food and made it. I’ll take care of this.”

“I’m going to run to the bathroom, then.” She slips her sweatshirt off the back of her chair and shrugs it on.

By the time I finish clearing the table, she still hasn’t returned. I find her in the living room, pacing in front of my couch.

“What’s wrong?”

Her gaze snaps to mine. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you tell me about the show before. Will you tell me now?”

We’ll make it through this. She understands. “Yeah, Muffin. I’ll tell you what I know.”

A brief smile flickers over her lips.

I lead her to the couch, and she drops into the corner, turning her body to face me. Shit, some of this I’m really not supposed to tell anyone. “I had to sign a thing saying I wouldn’t disclose any details, so you can’t talk about it to your friends.”

Her eyes widen for a second, then she nods. “Okay.”

I explain everything I can from the moment Diane found me at Strike Back Studio to the trip I took to the city to sign some papers. I leave out the part about seeing Hope for a will, since I’m still not sure how I feel about it myself.

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