Letters to Molly: Maysen Jar Series - Book 2

by Devney Perry

  I wasn’t even a little bit ashamed to enlist my daughter in my plan to win back her mother. Kali was on deck as my backup for the movie date. If Molly had said no, Kali was going to ask Molly to have a sleepover at a friend’s house. We’d already brainstormed an excuse to get Max over to Mom’s. And that would free me up to take Molly on a surprise movie date.

  “She said yes. You guys can stay at Aunt Poppy and Uncle Cole’s house.”

  Kali fist-pumped. “Yes.”

  “Okay, you’d better get some rest. School tomorrow.” I kissed her forehead again. “I’ll see you in the morning. I love you.”

  “Love you too.” She snuggled in as I flipped off her lamp.

  “Night.”

  “Dad?” She called to me before I reached the doorway. “I know you can make Mom happy.”

  I smiled. “Me too.”

  “Morning,” Bridget muttered, her sunglasses still on as she walked into her office.

  I sighed, draining the last swallow of my coffee. I’d been dreading this conversation all morning. Once I’d dropped the kids off at school, I’d come to Alcott expecting her to be here already.

  Bridget was normally in before eight to help get the crews loaded up in the yard. But the clock on the wall read nine.

  She was probably pissed at me, yet I didn’t fucking care. She’d crossed a line. She should have known better.

  Molly was off-limits.

  I stood and went to her office door. She was pulling a bottle of pain pills from her desk drawer. “I need to talk with you this morning.”

  “Can it wait? I have a nasty headache, and I’m leaving in thirty to check on the Morrison project.”

  “No, it can’t. I’ll give you a few. Come in when you’re ready.”

  “Fine,” she bit out.

  I returned to my office, mentally running through the things I wanted to say then pulled out my phone to send Molly a text.

  * * *

  Me: So? Have you been smiling all morning?

  * * *

  I hit send and immediately three dots appeared.

  * * *

  Molly: You’ll never know.

  * * *

  That was a yes. I chuckled at the screen as Bridget came into the office, a plastic water bottle in hand. “What’s up?”

  I put my phone down, leaning my elbows on the desk. “We need to talk about Molly.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “That.” I pointed to her face. “That’s the last time. You will treat her with respect.”

  “Or what?”

  “Or you’re fired.”

  “What?” Her eyes bugged out. “You can’t fire me.”

  “Have you forgotten whose name is on the sign out front?”

  “You need me. This place would collapse without me.”

  “Bridget, you are talented and hardworking. You bring a lot of skill and experience. You know our systems inside and out and working with you is easy. But I will not, under any circumstances, allow you to run Molly down. She’s the most important woman in my life and always has been. She helped create this business from the dirt up. I’m asking you as your colleague to show her respect. I’m telling you as your employer you will.”

  “You’re giving me an ultimatum? I have to play nice with a woman who didn’t support you or this business? A woman who cheated on you or I’m out of a job?”

  “That’s right.”

  She sneered. “You’ll drown without me.”

  “Everyone is replaceable. Everyone. Including you.”

  I didn’t want to fire her. We’d been working together for so long—she had so much on her plate—and I’d have a hell of a mess on my hands. But I’d figure it out. The season was almost over and I’d have things put back to rights before next spring.

  “Then you better have a decent lawyer. There’s no law that says I have to be nice to my boss’s ex-wife. If you fire me, expect a lawsuit.”

  A threat. Now it wasn’t a matter of if I fired her. Now it was a matter of when. Bridget had no intention of respecting Molly, and that wasn’t going to work for me.

  “Do you know that Molly owns ten percent of Alcott?”

  Bridget’s face paled. “No.”

  Not many people did. Molly hadn’t wanted Alcott in the divorce. She’d wanted the house instead. But the value of the business compared to the home was such that she was on the losing end of the deal. So I’d offered to give her a lump sum. We went round after round trying to settle on a figure.

  In the end, we’d agreed she could keep ten percent ownership as an investment. According to my corporation’s bylaws, the ten percent meant nothing. She had no control, no say in the business-making decisions. But if Alcott ever sold, she’d get a return.

  She’d protested the ten, saying five was enough. But I’d insisted. She’d earned that much and more. My original proposal had been for fifteen.

  “Molly is an investor in this company,” I told Bridget. “Consider her one of your bosses. Treat her like you do me and we’ll all be fine.”

  The room went silent. She stared at me like she couldn’t believe this was happening, that my request was completely unreasonable, until finally she said, “Then I quit.”

  I closed my eyes. It hurt to hear those words. It pissed me off too. She had no right to hate Molly so much. Certainly not enough to give up her career here instead of growing up and acting like a damn professional. But I wasn’t going to budge.

  “I’m sorry that it’s come to this.” I stood from my desk. “I’ll escort you out.”

  “My things—”

  “I’ll have them packed and couriered over to you tonight.”

  “You’re treating me like I’m a criminal!” she shrieked, flying out of her chair.

  “This is policy when someone is terminated or quits,” I reminded her. Hell, she’d been the one to pack up a locker or two.

  I’d never taken someone’s two-week notice. If they were gone, they were gone. And I didn’t want soon-to-be ex-employees packing up their stuff—or any of mine—so we packed for them and had personal belongings delivered.

  This was the policy. I stuck to policy.

  She stared at me for another long moment, then stormed across the room. She went right into her office, swept up her purse, keys and sunglasses before marching to the front door.

  I followed, standing outside as she went to her car. I was sure she’d leave without a word and never look back, but as she opened her door, she spun around to face me.

  “I could have been, we could have . . .” She shook her head. “You’ve always been a fool over her.”

  “Always. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  - LETTER -

  Darling Molly,

  * * *

  I’ve missed you. I’ve missed seeing your smile and hearing your voice. Saturday can’t come soon enough. Dinner with you at Burger Bob’s was one of the best nights I’ve had in months. Years, actually. I want to make it a regular thing for us, sharing a meal that you don’t have to cook. One where we can laugh and talk and just enjoy each other’s company. I hope you want that too.

  * * *

  Tell me you want that too. That you want us.

  * * *

  I’m not giving up this time. No more excuses. No more obstacles. I’m not letting anything keep us from being together. Even if it’s just one date, one week at a time.

  * * *

  Yours,

  Finn

  Twenty

  Molly

  “Are you sure about this?” I asked Finn as we walked down the hallway at the theater.

  My arms were loaded with a medium popcorn, a box of Mike and Ikes, chocolate-covered raisins and a large soda. Finn had a similar haul in his arms, except he’d opted for nachos with his popcorn and only one box of candy.

  “We can handle it.”

  “The last time I made movie snacks a full meal was in college.”

  “I remember.” He chuckled. �
�Those were some of the most expensive dates we had.”

  “But some of the best too. They were the special ones.”

  It had cost Finn a small fortune to pay for the movie tickets and snacks we bought in lieu of a real dinner. He’d always insisted on paying, much like he had tonight. So even though going to the movies had been one of my most favorite dates, I’d always been careful not to suggest it too often.

  “Have you been to any movies lately?” Finn asked.

  “No. There wasn’t much time this summer.”

  “Yeah. This summer was something else.”

  “I used to go to the movies a lot,” I told Finn. “It was my treat whenever you had the kids on the weekends.”

  “Who did you go with? Friends?”

  “No. I came alone.”

  Finn slowed our pace. “Really?”

  The look on his face. The pitifully guilty droop of his mouth was comical. “By choice. I like going to the movies alone.”

  “I don’t like you going alone.” He frowned. “But I guess it doesn’t matter anymore. I’m your movie date from now on.”

  A warm tingle spread across my skin. The way he said it, the way he’d approached this rekindling of our relationship with so much surety and determination, it wasn’t really a rekindling at all. It was more like a new beginning. And though it made me nervous, Finn’s absolute confidence in where we were headed together was thrilling.

  He’d sent me a letter this past week. I’d gotten it at the restaurant again, and I’d smiled like a loon as I’d read it over and over again.

  No more excuses. No more obstacles.

  Reading those words, I hadn’t really believed them. I hadn’t really thought Finn would change. But then Poppy came to tell me about Bridget. That Finn had sat down with her and demanded she treat me with respect, and that when she’d refused and quit, he’d walked her out the door.

  It gave me hope. He gave me hope.

  Hope wasn’t an eraser for my fears. We’d started brilliantly once before and we’d ended in ashes.

  There was something different about this though. The difference was Finn.

  Mom had always said he was a closed-off man. I wouldn’t tell her she’d been right, but the accident, the letters, they’d both forced him to open up.

  Maybe this time, we’d get it right.

  Like I’d done before our dinner date at Burger Bob’s, I’d pushed my fears and doubts aside and climbed into Finn’s truck for this movie date with an open mind.

  Finn and I found our seats in the theater. We crammed snacks into our drink holders. Tubs rested on our laps. And as the previews started, we scarfed our irresponsible, unhealthy and delicious meal.

  When the popcorn cartons were resting by our feet, I kept my eyes on the screen but my attention was on Finn’s hand, waiting for it to take mine.

  On our first movie date, it had taken him halfway through the film to finally touch me.

  Tonight, it took minutes. As soon as he finished his last nacho, my hand was in his. He kept it until the lights turned on and the credits played.

  “What did you think?” Finn asked as we strolled outside. It was dark now. The evening light from when we’d gone in had long disappeared.

  “It was okay.”

  “Okay.” He scoffed. “You hated it.”

  I grinned. “No, it was all right.”

  “Molly, I could hear your eyes rolling.”

  It was arguably one of the worst movies I’d ever seen. The plot was predictable. The acting was barely passable. The male lead’s character was too stupid to live—the only bright spot of the movie was at the end when they killed him off.

  “The movie wasn’t the best,” I admitted. “But I still had a good time.”

  “Me too.” He swung our hands between us, like we were two kids young and in love with stars in our eyes. “Feel like grabbing a drink?”

  “Sure.” The kids were at Poppy and Cole’s for the night. I didn’t have anything to hurry home to other than an empty bed.

  When we pulled out of the parking lot, I expected Finn to turn toward the downtown bars. Instead, he went the opposite way.

  “Where are we going?”

  He leaned over and put his hand on my knee. “My place.”

  My entire body tensed, the muscles seizing.

  Finn felt it. He didn’t take his hand away but drew circles on my jeans with his thumb. “It’s just my house. You said you didn’t want to go there because you needed to keep the boundaries erect. But they have to come down, Molly. All of them.”

  He was right. And his house had become less intimidating now that I knew he’d never had a woman in his bed.

  “Okay,” I breathed. If we were going to date, this was inevitable.

  My stomach was in knots by the time we pulled into his garage. I hadn’t gone crazy tonight. I’d eaten just enough to feel full but not enough to get sick. So much for my restraint. The popcorn-candy combination was whirling around my insides like a rainbow tornado.

  Finn opened my door for me, taking my hand as he led me into his house.

  My aversion to Finn’s home was stupid. I knew it. But it still took me a few moments to breathe.

  The smell hit me first as we went inside. It was clean with a hint of lemon. And underneath that was Finn’s manly scent. The garage opened to a laundry room. He had a nicer washer and dryer than I did, and the tile floors were spotless. There wasn’t a small pile of lost socks on top of the dryer like I’d had on top of mine for the past three years.

  From the laundry room, the house opened into an open-concept space. I stopped just shy of the living room and took it all in. The dark beams in the vaulted ceiling were exposed. The doors and trim were all stained a rich brown to match. The walls were sparse with a few Montana landscapes here and there. The cornerstone of Finn’s decor theme was—no surprise—plants.

  There was a Boston fern in the dining room on a pedestal, its soft green leaves draping nearly to the floor next to one leg of the oval mahogany table. A hoya in a large sage-green ceramic pot was in one corner of the living room. A weeping fig in another.

  The kitchen had a tray of succulents. There was an African violet on a coffee table, its velvety leaves begging to be touched. It reminded me of the one he’d brought me once as a random gift. I had placed it on the ledge of our bedroom window until it died.

  There used to be plants all over my house. Finn’s clients had often gifted him houseplants when a job was complete. He’d left them behind when he moved out. And slowly, heartbreakingly, they’d all died. Even the violet.

  Finn had been the one to care for them. I’d neglected them, often forgetting to water one until the soil was cracked and the leaves crispy. Each time I’d thrown one into the garbage can, I’d been heartbroken.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  “You have a beautiful home. Really. It’s lovely. I can see why the kids like it.”

  In a lot of ways, it reminded me of my house. He’d created a home similar to the one we’d shared, whether he’d meant to or not.

  Finn tugged me farther into the room. “What would you like to drink?”

  “I’m not picky.”

  “I’ve got a growler with the latest amber from Bozeman Brewing.”

  “That sounds perfect.”

  His grip tightened for a second, then he let my hand go so he could head into the kitchen.

  As the refrigerator door opened, I made my way over to the fireplace mantel to inspect the framed pictures. Max’s school picture was in one. Kali’s was in another, smiling brightly in her volleyball uniform. There was a selfie of the three of them crouched together on a gravel hiking trail.

  I stepped down to the other end of the fireplace, expecting more pictures of the kids. I blinked twice as my own face smiled back at me.

  One frame held a family picture of the four of us. It was from years ago when Poppy had been working to finish Jamie’s birthday list. She’d organized a pa
int fight, one of Jamie’s items. We’d all met in a park to throw paint-filled water balloons at one another. Jimmy and Randall had been there, and she’d even invited Cole.

  It hadn’t been long after our divorce, and that paint fight was the first time Finn had stopped being so cold and callous toward me. In the photo, a four-year-old Kali was covered in pink paint. Max was only two and his cheeks were streaked with yellow. Finn and I were covered in a kaleidoscope of colors.

  We’d been happy that day. Not long after the paint fight, Finn had come over to eat dinner with us. We’d sat down and talked after the kids had been put to bed. We’d promised each other we’d do better, that we’d get along, for them.

  He’d also told me that night that he wanted to date.

  That was the day a piece of me had shut down. The day the boundaries had fallen into place. I hadn’t come into his house after he’d bought it. I’d avoided Alcott completely. Even when we’d been having sex, I’d refused to let myself have feelings for Finn. I’d reminded myself that it was only sex.

  I’d held up those guards for years.

  They all came crashing down when I stared at the last picture.

  It was of Finn and me at my college graduation. I was wearing a black cap and gown. His parents had come to celebrate with Poppy and me, and Rayna had asked Finn and me to pose for a picture. But instead of taking a pose, Finn had wrapped his arms around my waist, trapped me against his chest and tickled my ribs until I’d laughed so hard I cried.

  Rayna had scolded him for nearly ruining my mascara. The photo she’d taken in that moment had become my favorite. It was us.

  I’d framed it for Finn’s office when we’d started Alcott. While Finn had been in the hospital and I’d gone to Alcott, I’d wondered where that photo had gone.

  It had been on his mantel the whole time.