Page 4 of Wild For You

“Your day will come, you know,” Molly whispered, as if reading the wistfulness in my eyes.

“Perhaps,” I replied, my heart skipping a beat. “But for now, I'll keep collecting these little love stories—my vicarious adventures in romance.”

“Fair enough,” Molly chuckled, “but don't forget to write your own chapter someday.”

My lips curved upward, the promise of possibility tugging at the corners of my mind. I tucked away my phone and sipped my coffee. Today, I was a keeper of dreams, weaving happily-ever-afters through the viewfinder, one click at a time. Andtomorrow? Well, that remained an open page in the album of my life.

“Remember when we used to think thirty was ancient?” Molly asked.

I chuckled, a sound that mingled harmoniously with the soft clinking of spoons against mugs. “We were naive children of fifteen then.”

Molly leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table. “And look at us now—mere months away from hitting the big three-oh.”

A carousel of weddings spun in my mind, vows exchanged under archways of peonies and string lights, each couple stepping into a new chapter while I remained the observer, capturing freeze-frames of beginnings that weren't my own.

“Does it ever scare you? That life is just... speeding by?”

“Terrifies me,” Molly admitted with an exaggerated shudder, though her laugh betrayed no genuine fear. “But I figure, we've got good brakes and a decent sense of direction. We're not going to crash anytime soon.”

I played along, the corner of my mouth quirking up. “I suppose we're also experts at scenic detours.”

“Exactly!” Molly reached across the table, giving my hand an affectionate squeeze. Her gaze was earnest, piercing even as her lips curved into a playful grin. “Plus, who wants to rush through life without enjoying the journey? The views are too pretty.”

“Pretty views don't keep you warm at night.”

“Ah, but the memories do,” Molly countered, releasing my hand to gesture around the cozy bakery. “Like this moment right here. It's perfect, isn't it?”

My heart danced a complicated step. “Perfect.”

“See?” Molly said. “Life's got a way of unfolding just as it should. And you, my dear Josie, are right where you need to be.”

I nodded, the laughter returning like a ripple across still water. I hoped Molly was right.

The clink of porcelain on wood punctuated the air as I set my coffee cup down a touch too hard. My fingers traced the rim.

“Josie,” Molly began, her tone softening like butter left out on a warm day, “I’ve watched you hide behind that camera of yours, capturing everyone else's fairytales. When will you let it be your turn?”

My gaze flicked up, meeting the earnestness in Molly's blue eyes. I offered a half-hearted shrug, feeling the tightness in my shoulders betray the nonchalance I aimed for. “Maybe some people are just meant to tell the stories, not live them.”

“Baloney!” Molly exclaimed with a spirited laugh that seemed to stir the very sugar granules atop their pastries. “You're just scared, Joss. Scared to let someone see the woman behind the lens—the one who dreams of being swept off her feet.”

A blush crept up my neck, painting my cheeks the color of the peach preserves they often shared. “It's not about fear,” I protested, though my voice wobbled like a fawn on new legs. “It's... I don't want to lose myself in someone else's shadow.”

“Who says you have to?” Molly retorted, her hand reaching out to capture mine, a lifeline thrown across the chasm of uncertainty. “Josie Keller, you're a force all on your own. Any man worth his salt would stand beside you, not in front of you.”

I chewed on my lower lip, tasting the familiar blend of doubt and longing.

“Look at you,” Molly continued, gesturing to me with a flourish that sent a lock of blonde hair tumbling into view. “You've got this firework heart, ready to burst with color and light. Don't you think it's time to let someone light the fuse?”

My laughter escaped before I could catch it, bubbling up from a place of both mirth and melancholy. Molly's wordspainted pictures in my mind—vivid and vibrant, like my photographs—but I hesitated on the edge of the frame, unsure if I belonged within it.

“Sometimes I wonder if my spark's gone out,” I confessed, tracing the wood grain of the table with a fingertip, as if I could read my future in its whorls and knots.

“Impossible,” Molly declared. “Josie, you're the girl who believes in happy endings more than anyone I know. It's high time you crafted your own.”

My heart thrummed a hesitant beat, daring to dream of a love as sweet and satisfying as the pastries here.

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