Page 110 of Someone to Have
“Molly.”
She groans. “Another screw-up. I’m sorry, Taylor. Blame it on my lack of sleep. Or you can smack me if you want. Either way works.”
Before I can answer, an older couple approaches, matching red scarves, hands clasped together like they were always meant to be. I try not to feel jealous.The man hands a glass of punch to his wife, then takes a cookie for each of them.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” I say.
They beam back at us.
“You two are the prettiest things behind a punch bowl,” the woman says.
“Thanks for making the event so festive,” the man adds, giving Molly a small wink before they head to a nearby table.
Molly continues to smile but doesn’t move, and I can feel the pressure building like she’s barely holding herself together.
I grab my friend’s wrist when she starts to turn away. “You werenotresponsible for your husband’s death.”
“I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“But you did.”
She exhales sharply. “His death was...”
“An accident.”
I know the story of her late husband’s tragic death. We all do. Teddy McAllister was an expert rafting guide. He’d run that stretch of river a hundred times. But that spring, after a major runoff, the water was too high—too fast. Conditions weren’t safe. He wasn’t wearing a life jacket. The raft capsized, and he hit his head on a rock. It took the search and rescue team three days to recover his body.
“Molly.” I squeeze her wrist but release her when she tugs out of my grasp.
She reaches for a vase of dried flowers on the table, adjusting the blooms, but her fingers tremble and several of the stems snap in two.
“Seriously, it’s the sleep deprivation.” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Or having the twins sick while I was prepping for tonight.” Her hands clench into tight fists. “Or maybe it’s because dearest mother-in-law has convinced herself—and me—that Teddy would have left Colorado for some far-flung locale if it wasn’t for me and the kids holding him back. She’s so sure that having a family stifled his adventurous spirit and led him to take unnecessary risks.”
I hate seeing Molly like this. She’s the glass-half-full member of our book club. The first to offer a hug and remember your favorite snack. She’s the kind of friend you don’t expect to become your ride-or-die until one day she is.
After losing Teddy two years ago, she moved in with her mother-in-law because she didn’t have anyone else. She’s been clawing her way forward ever since. Making her dream ofa flower farm a success while trying to prove she can take care of her kids without relying on anyone else.
I step closer, lowering my voice. “You’re doing an amazing job, Molly. Seriously. You created this entire event. You’ve kept your head above water when a lesser woman would have drowned. And the twins? They’re thriving because they have you.”
Her chin trembles, and she blinks fast. Then, finally, she nods and pulls me into a tight hug, her arms wrapping around me with a strength I wasn’t expecting.
“I don’t want to talk about my late husband tonight,” she says firmly as she steps back and straightens her shoulders. “But I do want to know whether you’ve seen Eric.”
I shake my head, wiping a hand under my eye as discreetly as possible. My heart is still quivering after everything she just shared. “Only in passing. He’s spending most of his time fixing up the house he bought for his sister. Also avoiding me, not that I blame him.”
We pause in our conversation to hand out a few more glasses of punch, and I imagine we’re both grateful for the buzz of the crowd and the band playing another ballad.
“You need to talk to him, Taylor. Explain what happened in that prop room. That Bryan kissed you but you told him no.”
I think about the shocked look in Eric’s eyes when our gazes met after I pulled away. Disbelief, hurt, and a flash of something more he couldn’t hide.
“Why?” I ask softly. “I’ll just make a bigger fool of myself. He’s leaving. He made it clear I was convenient. Who needs love anyway?”
“Only saps and country singers,” a deep voice says.
I turn toward the voice, and Molly lets out a sharp yelp beside me.
“This is a first.” The man reaching for a cookie tips his wide-brimmed hat, a crooked grin tugging at the edge of his mouth. “Not sure I’ve ever caused a woman to shriek. Not the kind of sound you just let out, anyway.”
