Page 13 of Molly

Once we’ve finished, and it’s time for both of us to get back to work, she offers to walk me out. When we step onto the sidewalk, I know if I don’t make a move, she’ll close back up on me as soon as she gets back inside and has time to think things through. I need more time.

I lean in so our faces are close enough for me to whisper against the side of her head. “Please go on a proper date with me. I know I made a bad first impression, but I like you, Molly. Give me a shot? I promise I won’t let you down.”

She looks up at me, her eyes searching mine, trying to tell if I’m being genuine. She stands on her toes and kisses my cheek, pulling back far enough to whisper, “I’ll think about it. See you tomorrow.”

Challenge accepted.

6

MOLLY

I’m standing at the front door, trying to work up the courage to knock. It’s been over a week since our first date, and Ryan’s come in for coffee every day. His little speech about something clicking in his chest when he first saw me melted me to my core, but I was still cautious. When he started talking about missing out on his nephew growing up, I could feel my shield drop a little. When he leaned in and whispered in my ear at the end of the date, I wanted to scream yes, but I couldn’t. I wanted him to work for it. Needed him to work for it.

The way he looked at me when he walked through the front door yesterday was fucking swoon-worthy, and his persistence finally wore me down. He’s putting in the effort, and the girls have told me I need to cut him some slack, so here I am, at his place for pizza and a movie.

I’m feeling a little weird, not being there for bedtime. It’s the first time I haven’t been there to put Emma to bed, ever. Evie and Penny are both at my place, sharing babysitting duty. I thought about backing out tonight, but they insisted I needed a life outside of being a mum. They’re usually right when they both come to the same conclusion, so I listened.

I play with the hem of my t-shirt nervously, looking down at my outfit. I tried to go for the ‘it only took me ten minutes to get myself ready’ look by throwing on some black leggings, white Converse and an oversized cream t-shirt. I left my hair wavy and put it half up in a little bun at the back. The rest is falling over my shoulders. I tried on every pair of jeans I own, and my house looks like a bomb has hit it, only to land on this outfit, but whatever. That’s tomorrow’s issue. Surely this is okay for a pizza date? Fuck... maybe I should go home and change...ugh. I’m so fucking nervous, and it’s irritating me. He's just a man. An incredibly attractive man...

Pullyourshittogether,Molly.

I take a deep breath and knock. The door swings open within two seconds, and Ryan stands there wearing the same black jeans and t-shirt he would have worn to work, holding a beer in his left hand, a massive smile plastered on his goofy face.

“I’ve been standing there watching you give yourself a silent pep talk through the peephole since I heard your car pull up. I was wondering how long it was going to take you to actually do it,” he mocks.

I pull my shoulders back and lift my chin. “I was actually just trying to remember if I’d turned my hair straightener off, thank you very much.”

He winks, and his eyes roam over my wavy hair. “Whatever you say, gorgeous. Come on in.” Once he’s closed the door behind me, he heads down the hallway. “I’ve already ordered and set the pizza up on the coffee table. Do you want a drink? I’ve got beer, soft drink, water?” he calls out over his shoulder.

I follow behind him, looking around as we walk. This place is almost sterile. There’s no colour, no warmth. Everything is either black, white or grey. There are no photos on the wall, no plants. Nothing...

“Beer would be great, thanks,” I reply, walking into the kitchen. I slide my hand across the black marble countertop, noticing that the only thing on display here is a shiny stainless steel coffee machine. Where are the utensils? The microwave? Is he some kind of minimalist? I assumed his house would look like the front room of Inked on Agnes...

I turn towards the smell of pizza and walk towards the grey, L shaped couch as he crouches in front of the fridge. The floors are all white tile. There’s not even a rug laid out to tie the room together. He desperately needs a trip to Ikea...

I sit down, pull a black throw pillow onto my lap, and turn towards him as he walks up, two open beers in hand. He passes me one and sits down next to me, leaving a decent amount of space between us. I take a sip to calm myself down.

“You nervous, Molly?” he asks.

“Ugh, no. Why would you ask that?” I rush out in a voice that makes it apparent I’m lying.

He leans in. “Well, your hands are a little shaky holding that beer. The tension is vibrating off you, babe. You don’t have to be nervous with me. I promise I don’t bite.” He takes a sip and gestures for me to do the same.

“You could really use some plants,” I blurt out.

He laughs, looking around the room. “Yeah, I’ve only been in this place for a couple of months, and it’s a rental, so I’m not that fussed. I’m hardly ever here, so I haven’t really done anything with it. I spend most of my time at the shop or visiting my parents when I can. You want to bring me by some plants though, I won’t complain,” he says, winking at the end.

I look around, imagining where I could put them, and then he asks me about my day. We spend the next ten minutes talking about work. He tries to wow me with his plant knowledge, and I laugh, realising how easy it is to be around him, to talk to him. I feel comfortable, and it scares the shit out of me. I have no idea how to do this. He doesn’t know about Emma, and that’s weighing on me. He’s used to dating women that’ll go home with him for a night and accept that he won’t call the next day. What’s he going to say when I tell him I’ve got a baby? Hiding it won’t do any good, and I’m not ashamed of her. If it’s a deal-breaker for him, well, better to know that now, I guess.

I’ll work up to it, try to let it come out naturally...

“So, what else is there to know about the great Ryan Anderson?” I ask.

He stares straight into my eyes, holding my gaze captive. Leaning in, he whispers, “What do you want to know, beautiful?”

A cold shiver runs through my body, and the entire atmosphere changes. The air feels thick. Heavy. I clear my throat and look away, picking at the label on my bottle. “Oh, um, how old are you?” It’s the first thing that comes to my head.

He sits back, putting some much-needed distance between us. “Thirty-three.”

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