“You don’t say,” he says in a purposefully noncommittal tone.
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
He finally turns to look at me with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Why are you so on edge? It’s like Harry’s paranoia is rubbing off on you. You made a statement that was not in the form of a question, and I made a statement back. Since you’re thirty-three, I figured you’d know by now that this is typically how a conversation goes.”
I narrow my eyes. “Uh-huh.”
His gaze darts back to the TV. “Shh! They’re on a category called ‘Baking Delights.’”
I stare at him in disbelief, then hold back a laugh. Subtlety has never been Bear Reynolds’s strong suit. He’d say it’s part of his charm.
After I stow my sketches and supplies in my office, I head up to my room to grab my wallet. While I’m there, my gaze falls on the closet. Should I change? I’m wearing an old, slightly worn T-shirt and jeans. It’s a stupid impulse—I’m going over to work on her garbage disposal, not to pick her up for our date. I’ll look too conspicuous if I wear a button-down shirt, yet there’s no denying I want to make a good first impression on Molly’s sister.
Why? There is no future with this woman, so why do you care what her sister thinks?
The question stops me short, and I sit on the edge of my bed.
Molly will be gone in a matter of weeks, long forgotten. No. Not forgotten. She’ll publish whatever article she’s writing about the Bad Luck Club, so it’s not like any of us will forget her.
That’s not why you won’t forget her.
I tell my sponsees that they’ll never change unless they face the truth. And this is a truth I have to face: I’m scared to have a real relationship because I’m afraid it will end the same way my marriage with Alice did. That I’ll give my heart to someone only for time to take our love and twist it into something unrecognizable.
While I do want a relationship based on trust and respect, deep affection and love, part of me thinks it’s a fairy tale. That I’ll never find it, even if I were worthy of it.
The thing is…I see sparks of that with Molly, yet I know she’ll leave me too.
Too?
I search my brain for the answer to that. Did I mean Alice? Maybe to a small degree. While I was the one who insisted we were over that night, she had checked out of our marriage at least a year before.
I dig back further and find a well of grief for my mother. When I think of Mom, there’s a deep ache that never goes away. I’ve just gotten good at turning it into white noise. My mother was kind and generous and happy. She loved me and Dad more than anything in the world. She was my world. And then she left me in an instant. Sure, she died, but the eight-year-old me still saw her death as abandonment. The grown-up me never thought to course-correct that belief.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror hanging over the dresser. I look exactly the same as I did when I walked into the room, but I feel different. A little sadder. A little lighter.
I tell my sponsees that change happens one tiny step at a time.
Maybe it’s time I start taking my own advice.
When I pull into Molly’s sister’s driveway, I see the car she’s been driving, but there’s no sign of another vehicle. I get out of the truck and reach into the bed to pull out the toolbox I’ll likely need to work on the disposal.
The front door opens as I climb the porch steps, and Molly appears, looking more gorgeous than ever. She’s wearing pink shorts and a white T-shirt, and her feet are bare. Her strawberry-blond hair is hanging over her shoulders. The shorts hug her butt, but it’s the look on her face that’s my undoing. There’s lust there, to be sure, but there’s something deeper and, fool that I am, I latch onto that like a drowning man to a raft.
“Hey,” she calls out. Then a grin that’s all Molly spreads across her face. “Before I let you in, I think we need to work out the terms of our barter.”
I stop a few inches in front of her, staring down at her upturned face. Her eyes are slightly red and swollen. Alarm bells go off in my head. “Where’s Mary?”
She lifts her shoulders into a nonchalant shrug. “She had to go home.”
“Did you two have a fight?”
Irritation replaces her playfulness. “Are you going to fix my disposal or not?”
Everything in me wants to find out what happened with her sister. But it’s glaringly obvious she’s not ready to talk about it. If I want to stay, I’ll need to play her game.
“Well, that depends, miss,” I say in a fake, slow drawl. “Seems to me we haven’t worked out a deal.”
Delight fills her eyes, yet I can still see pain there. I want her to trust me enough to tell me what happened, but I’m obviously not there yet. I can hardly hurry her, given I have my own secrets that I’m not ready to share. Besides, I’ve gotten to know her well enough to learn humor is not just her language but her crutch, and if her day with Mary didn’t go well, I won’t deny her the boost she needs. Nor am I likely to deny her anything else right now.
She lifts her hand to my shoulder, pressing lightly, and makes a slow descent over my chest and down my abdomen.
I’m having trouble thinking straight. “Well,” I say. Focus. “My jobs are usually part of a much larger project, and the costs are absorbed. But since this is a small project—”
Her hand comes to rest on the waistband of my jeans, and her thumbs hook around the edge, her knuckles brushing my bare skin. “How about we skip the details and cut to the chase?”
I suck in a breath as my dick instantly springs to life. “Okay.”
And it has to be. My blood has left my brain, and I’m incapable of complex negotiations at the moment.
“First, you’re going to come inside and take off your shirt.”
I grin. “I think I can manage that.”
“Then you’re going to look at the disposal, and after a job well done, I’m going to take you upstairs and strip you naked.”
I step closer, lowering my face to her ear. Her scent of honeysuckle weakens my knees.
“And then what?” I whisper.
She turns her face up to look at me, her eyes searching mine. “I guess that’s up to you.”
It takes everything in me not to toss down the toolbox and kiss her, but not yet. I want to give her what she needs, and right now she needs me to play her game. “Then I’d better look at that disposal ASAP.”
She backs up slowly and lets me in. “It’s this way.”
The moment I cross the threshold, she holds up a hand. “Not a step further until you take off your shirt.”
I grin and do as she requests, taking it off in one fluid movement, then holding it in my hand. “Happy now?”
“Very.” The word purrs off her tongue, and I desperately want her tongue on my body.
Triumph fills her eyes before she turns around and walks to the kitchen.
I follow her, watching the sway of her hips, my dick growing harder by the minute.
She stops to the side of the sink and leans her ass against the counter. Her hands rest on either side, the motion thrusting her breasts out. “Here it is.”