Page 22 of Someone to Hold
Besides my sister, I don’t know women who think about the deeper meanings of princesses. I already know Molly is more than I thought, but I want to learn even more. I want to understand the thoughts and emotions that flicker behind those green eyes.
“I’ve met your sister at the elementary school. She’s a popular teacher.”
I nod. “Ada’s always been great with kids. She loves teaching.”
I hold up a hand when Molly starts to move forward on the scooter like she’s going to help load buckets. “She’s also mentioned your cupcake prowess, but isn’t a sprained ankle an excuse to lighten your load?”
She breathes out a soft laugh. “I offered to bring cupcakes before the accident. Luke and Laurel are in the same class this year, which doesn’t usually happen with twins. Their teacher’s going on maternity leave next week, so the other class mom and I are throwing her a baby shower this afternoon. I didn’t want to put more work on the other parents.”
“So even with an injury, you’re still taking care of everyone?” I lift another bucket into the truck bed.
She ignores my question and gestures to the crutches leaning against one of the benches. “Could you fit those in the back of the truck? They’re easier than dragging the scooter to town. I’ll need to come back after the deliveries to decorate the cupcakes and then head to the school this afternoon. I can text one of the other moms to pick me up so you don’t?—”
“I’ll drive you back and forth as many times as you need, Molly. That’s why I’m here. I can’t help decorate cupcakes, but I can carry them without a problem. Let’s not have a repeat of the pasta sauce from last night.”
I shut the truck bed and expect to find her glaring at me again for hinting that she couldn’t handle the cupcakes on her own, but to my surprise, she’s smiling outright. And damn if it doesn’t hit me straight in the feels.
“Thank you.”
Her gratitude throws me off balance worse than any pissed-off bull ever did. I know how to handle anger and push back against resistance. Both are familiar territory. But I’m entirely out of my depth with this woman saying thank you like giving her a ride is the equivalent of hanging the moon. And a part of me I don’t recognize wants to do that, too.
“Let’s get this show going then.” I clear my throat when the words come out more growly than I intend. “You need help getting in the truck?”
The passenger door is open, but she’s staring up at the high seat like she’s at the trailhead of a fourteener. Even with the running board, it might be a challenge to hoist herself up there with only one working leg.
“I can manage?—”
“Let me help.” Without waiting for an answer, I lift her into the truck, my hands spanning her waist as I guide her onto the seat. For a moment, she’s close enough that I can smell her shampoo, the scent one part floral, one part sweet and totally Molly. I force myself to step back before I do something stupid like bury my face in her hair.
“Thank you.” She sounds as breathless as I feel.
“You don’t have to keep thanking me. Helping you is why I’m here.”
“Right. Your debt to the McAllisters.” She gives me a funny look. “Are you going to tell me about that at some point?”
“Not planning on it,” I say as I shut the door.
“I guess everybody has secrets,” she murmurs through the open window.
Our eyes meet as I walk around the front of the truck, and for a heartbeat, neither of us looks away. There’s something vulnerable in her expression. Like she’s as surprised by this unexpected connection as I am.
I climb into the truck and head toward town, trying not to think about how much I want to know every one of Molly’s secrets.
8
MOLLY
“That cupcake isthe ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Chase gasps like I’ve deeply offended him. “It’s a work of art.”
“Her shower theme is baby farm animals, notSilence of the Lambs.”
We’re back at the house after making our rounds in town—the florist, two restaurants, the coffee shop, and a local boutique that uses my flowers for their displays. To my surprise, Chase did wonders for my self-esteem with how genuinely impressed he seemed by my popularity around town. The popularity of my flowers, anyway. His reaction was so encouraging, for a moment I completely forgot I was supposed to hate him and found myself inviting him in for a sandwich and to help prep my contribution to the baby shower.
I should have taken him at his word that he can’t decorate because he’s a terrible cupcake artist.
“You grew up on a farm.” He points a finger at me. “My version is more realistic than theCharlotte’s Webfairy tale.”
