“Too bad the Bad Luck Club didn’t exist back then, huh?” I say, smiling at him.
I try to mentally prepare for him to retreat, like he always does when I mention the club, but he’s still studying me like I’m a book he’s waited in line for at midnight. There’s so much warmth in those eyes, they’re like melted chocolate.
Then something incredibly stupid runs through my mind.
I could fall in love with this man if I’m not careful. Or maybe I already am falling, and I won’t notice until the impact.
He leans in and kisses me, so soft and sweet. This isn’t a kiss of lust like the many, many others we’ve had today, but a kiss that tells me that I matter to him. That he’s there for me. That maybe, just maybe, he’s getting closer to telling me the things he’s hidden.
“I want you to come tomorrow, Molly. I want you to come to our meeting.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Cal
Do you feel like every time things are going well, they’re bound to fall apart? Well, you’re probably right. That’s why we need Bad Luck Clubs.
—Augusta Glower, Bad Luck Club
We sit out on the porch for another hour, and Molly tells me stories about growing up with her sisters. Since I don’t have siblings, I tell her about my pet gerbil, Mr. Whiskers.
“You named him Mr. Whiskers?” she asks with a snicker.
“Hey,” I say in my defense. “He had whiskers.” I shoot her a mock glare. “Are you making fun of a six-year-old boy?”
“Sorry,” she says, trying not to smile. “I think it’s adorable. Tell me more about Mr. Whiskers.”
“Well…I wanted a dog,” I say, “but Mom didn’t think I was ready for the responsibility, so she got me a gerbil instead. My dad has a thing about animals with hairless tails, and when I say a thing, I mean he hates them. He wanted the dog,” I say, lifting my eyebrows. “But Mom helped me take care of the gerbil. We cleaned his cage together, and she helped me feed him. One day, we built a maze for him out of shoe boxes. It was spread out all over the living room, and then my dad came home and lost it.”
“Your dad has a temper?” she asks, sounding surprised.
I laugh. “What? No. He started screaming and jumped up on the sofa and wouldn’t come down until we put Mr. Whiskers back in his cage. Mom and I laughed at him, but he took it in stride.”
My heart aches as I get to the next part. “I still had Mr. Whiskers when Mom died. Dad…” My voice breaks, and I’m a little embarrassed. I clear my throat. “After Mom died, Dad helped me clean Mr. Whiskers’s cage and did everything Mom did. He even bought me one of those plastic balls for him to run around in.” My mouth twists into a half-smile. “I knew he hated every minute of it, but he understood that gerbil was even more important to me then, so he sucked it up and did what he had to do to make me happy.”
Molly reaches for my hand. “Oh, Cal…”
“My dad has always been a great dad, but when my mom died, he became more than my dad. He was also my mom and my friend. No one else understood how much quieter our house was without her. How the world was a little duller. He tried his best to make up for her being gone, and I will always love him for that.” My eyes burn, and I look down and take a breath before I meet her eyes again. “Sorry. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I never had siblings, but I did have my dad.”
Molly leans forward and gives me a gentle kiss, her lips barely brushing mine, but I feel so much emotion behind that simple touch. When she leans back, she looks exhausted.
I should tell her to go to bed, but if I do, I’m scared the spell will break and we’ll never recapture what we’ve shared tonight. But to my surprise, she looks into my eyes and simply says, “Stay.”
I cup her cheek and give her a soft smile. “There’s nowhere else I want to be.”
And it’s true. Molly has slipped under my skin, and I feel a strange kinship with her. In his new woo-woo phase, Dad would probably suggest that the universe brought us together to comfort each other, to find solace. I have no doubt Molly’s friend, the tea shop owner, would agree with him. Maybe they’re right. Maybe not. All I know is that I’m grateful to be here with her, and if this moment, if these weeks, are all we end up having together, then I intend to make the most of them.
Suddenly, I have a strong urge to tell Molly everything about the night Alice died. Augusta’s shared this secret with me for too long. I was supposed to tell Harry the full story too, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. To him, I offered a sanitized version: my wife and I fought, she died. He doesn’t know the rest. It burns a little that Augusta is the only person I’ve told. I want to share the truth with someone I truly trust, and I think Molly just might be that person. There’s a chance she’ll understand, but tonight isn’t the night to bring it up. We’re too exhausted for this conversation. I also didn’t want to detract from her own pain by bringing up my own. Tonight, the focus should solely be on her.
I stand and take her hand, then pull her to her feet. We go inside and she takes the dogs out one more time before we lock up and head upstairs, the dogs following us. Chaco seems excited to have a sleepover friend, but Einstein is low-key growling all the way up the stairs.
Molly leads me into the room she’s staying in—Mary’s old bedroom, apparently—and Einstein lumbers over to a dog bed in the corner, giving me the evil eye. Chaco races around the room like a sugar-high toddler, trying to leap onto the bed even though there’s a little ramp.
I sincerely hope Ein doesn’t climb up there in the night to bite me.
Molly takes a pair of pajamas into the bathroom, and when she emerges a couple of minutes later, she’s wearing pajama shorts and a thin spaghetti strap shirt. Her breath smells minty fresh.
“There’s a new toothbrush on the counter,” she says.
“Thanks.”
I step into the bathroom and quickly take care of business before I strip down to my boxer briefs and head back to the bedroom. Molly’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, petting Chaco, and she smiles when she sees me.
We’re both a little self-conscious, and I’m half worried that she might change her mind and kick me out.
“Sorry if I’m being awkward,” she says, making a face. “It’s been a while since I had a sleepover date.”
I grin as I walk over to the bed, and sit down next to her. “It’s my first.” Then, so she’s clear, I add, “Since Alice died.”
She lifts a hand to cup my cheek, giving me a sympathetic look. “That’s more pathetic than me.”
I burst out laughing, because even though she uses humor to cloak her own uncomfortable emotions, she’s still funny as hell.
“Then take pity on me.” I lift the covers and start to slide under the sheets.
“Nope. That’s my side,” she says in a no-nonsense tone. “If you want to sleep on that side of the bed, you’ll need to do it in your own bed.”
But there’s little chance of us sleeping together in my bed as long as I live with Dad. Talk about awkward.