Molly's Mr. Wrong

by Jeannie Watt

Yes. That was it. That was why she was upset.

  Molly unloaded the last dish from the dishwasher and shut the door.

  That wasn’t it.

  She glanced at the clock. Ten minutes and she had to head back out for her evening class—her Finn class—which was why she was stewing on the guy. Why should it bother her that he bordered on defensive and wanted to do things on his own? He’d come in for help. He just didn’t want regularly scheduled help. Or to tell her his degree plans. Or anything like that.

  It wasn’t as if she wanted to spend time with him.

  Liar.

  All right. She got a physical thrill from being around the guy—that had been established long ago.

  Molly let her head fall back and stared up at the ceiling. Things hadn’t changed much since high school in that regard, and how sad was that? Pathetic.

  She shoved her hair back from her face, then headed into the bedroom to grab a sweater, since the nights were getting cooler.

  High school was over and adult Finn was different from adolescent Finn—he was darker somehow. Not as cocky—but still cocky. She had the feeling that he did as he pleased, when he pleased. That despite being in the military, he and self-discipline were not best friends.

  He came back to class...

  She’d give him that.

  A knock sounded on the door as she slipped into her favorite red sweater. Frowning, she hurried to the door and opened it to find a flower delivery person standing on her step.

  “Molly Adamson?”

  “That’s me.”

  The woman smiled, handed Molly the bouquet, and then turned and hurried off to her van without another word. Molly backed into the house, frowning down at the cellophane-wrapped flowers—twelve white tulips. No card.

  Blood started pounding at her temples. Blake’s mother was deeply into flowers and had once explained the meanings of the different blossoms to her. Red roses meant love. Pink carnations meant gratitude. Yellow roses, friendship. White tulips, forgiveness—Molly remembered that one, because she’d thought at the time that Blake owed her a lot of white tulips. Had she mentioned that to him? Yes.

  Molly’s jaw muscles tightened as she headed into the kitchen where she’d left her purse and car keys.

  Blake was sending her flowers and more than that, he was sending her a specific message. Forgive me. Take me back. Care for me. Put me first in your life and I’ll pay you back with good company and infidelity.

  Molly dumped the tulips into the trash. Waste of beauty, but the sight of the flowers made her feel sick.

  The thought of once again getting involved with Blake made her feel sick. Never again would she be used by some slick operator who, when push came to shove, put his needs above hers.

  Done. Finis.

  Late for class.

  Molly grabbed a handful of saltines for later and raced out the door. Georgina was studying with a friend, so she hadn’t bothered with dinner, which was just as well, because her stomach was a tight little ball right now.

  You are in control. He cannot force his way into your life.

  But just the fact that he was giving it a shot was enough to put her in a bad mood. Having to park in the far reaches of the parking lot when she was already late didn’t help matters.

  She yanked her purse out of the backseat once she’d found a spot, jumped out of the car and started jogging toward the building, locking the car as she ran. She hated being late and she hated that Blake still had the power to screw up her life.

  * * *

  MOLLY WAS LATE for class.

  Finn leaned back in his chair and fiddled with his pencil, thinking of how this would have been his dream situation in high school—the instructor not showing—but right now he was concerned about the instructor. Molly wasn’t the type to be late.

  Know-it-all Denny began wondering aloud how long they needed to wait before the class could be considered canceled. Debra had just said she thought fifteen minutes seemed reasonable when Molly rushed in through the door. She almost skidded to a stop, then lifted her chin and continued on to the front of the room in a more dignified manner.

  “I apologize,” she said as she walked briskly to the lectern and set down her purse. When she turned back, she appeared calm and collected, her expression bordering on serene, but Finn saw tension in the way she held her body, the way her smile was just that much too tight. “We can go ten minutes longer tonight if you want.”

  A general murmur arose from the class, indicating that once it hit eight o’clock most of her adult students wanted to head home.

  “I understand. It won’t happen again.”

  Finn wondered what “it” was as Molly started her lesson. Whatever “it” was, it was still on her mind. She was trying too hard to act as if all were well, and Finn was startled by an upwelling of protectiveness.

  Really?

  Maybe it was because she looked exactly as he felt when he had to pretend everything was fine when it wasn’t. Maybe he didn’t want her going through that.

  Molly circulated around the room and Finn had one hell of a time keeping his mind on the reading instead of on her. He repeated the first paragraph about six times before moving on. When she stopped to point something out to Denny, who was already on the written part of the assignment, the guy started to talk about a little-known rule that made him right and Molly wrong. Denny droned on until Molly said that he could do whatever he wanted, but that he’d be graded by The Chicago Manual of Style.

  “What about The Cambridge Handbook?” Denny challenged in a snotty voice.

  Almost everyone in the class had stopped writing by this point, but a few people were polite enough to keep their eyes on their papers and pretend to work. Finn was one of them, until The Cambridge Handbook came up, whatever that was. He sat up straight, watching the confrontation through narrowed eyes.

  “If we were in Great Britain that would work well.” Molly smiled sweetly. “Unfortunately, we are in Montana.”

  “Humph,” Denny said in a tone that indicated he didn’t agree. “What I’m doing is correct.”

  “Noted. I will mark you accordingly.”

  And then when Denny realized he had nothing else to bitch about, he looked vaguely dissatisfied.

  “You got your way. Now can you please be quiet so that the rest of us can work?” Debra asked in a weary voice.

  Denny turned to eyeball Debra, but instead met Finn’s deadly gaze from where he sat directly behind her. Finn lifted one eyebrow in silent challenge and Denny started to color, then turned back around. Message received.

  Finn went back to work, and a few seconds later, pens started moving again all over the classroom.

  Pompous nitwit. Finn gritted his teeth.

  After reading the paragraphs, he started making an outline of what he’d just read—Molly had shown them today how to work backward, read and then dissect, in order to see how essays were put together. He was trying his damnedest to do just that, even if it took a while to identify and then translate the main idea of each paragraph into words.

  Molly continued to circulate, pausing briefly at Finn’s desk to see what he was doing, then moving on. It was as if she didn’t know him. And that was probably best. Denny was still red around the edge of his collar, but he let Molly pass by unmolested and Molly did herself a favor by barely glancing at the guy’s work. Denny gave a loud sniff as she headed on to the next student.

  Twit.

  Finn gathered up his materials as soon as class was over and headed for the door. Whatever was eating at Molly was none of his business...even though she’d met his eyes once, about midway through class, and somehow forgot to put her guard up. It was almost as if she had been seeking a connection with a kindred soul, and then as soon as it had happened, her expression had gone blank
.

  None of your business.

  He was halfway across the parking lot when he changed his mind. Molly’s car was on the far end of the lot, mostly in the shadows, and even though it was Eagle Valley, Montana, he reversed course and headed back to the building.

  Molly came out the main entrance, zipping her purse closed as she walked. She looked up, saw him coming toward her and stopped. “Is something wrong?”

  “I thought I’d walk you to your car.”

  “Because...?”

  “It’s dark over there,” he said patiently.

  Molly adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, then started down the concrete steps toward him. “Thank you.” The words were clipped. Polite. And the message was clear—back off.

  Sure. No problem.

  They’d made it about three yards before Finn asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “I was just running late this evening.”

  “Ah.” He focused on the ground a few feet in front of them as they walked. “Being late really puts you in a mood.”

  “Denny puts me in a mood.”

  “Denny puts everyone in a mood, but you weren’t upset about Denny when you arrived.”

  They rounded the end of an oversize Ford truck and started crossing the last several yards to Molly’s car. “No,” she finally said. “I was upset at life.” She shot him a look. “You know—the annoying things that happen to all of us.”

  “What annoying thing happened to you?”

  Molly didn’t answer until they got to her car. She pulled her keys out of her pocket and beeped the locks open, then turned back to him, folding her arms. “You showed up at my office, all dark and defensive. You wouldn’t tell me your major. Wouldn’t accept the offer of weekly help, yet you feel as if you can dig into what’s now bothering me?”

  Finn considered for a moment, then nodded. “Pretty much.”

  Molly blew out a breath and turned toward her car. Finn put his hand on her shoulder almost before being aware of moving. She automatically stiffened and he instantly dropped his hand.

  “I want to major in teaching.”

  The amazed expression that chased across Molly’s face made Finn really and truly wish he’d kept his mouth shut.

  “Not normal teaching,” he quickly amended.

  “What kind of teaching?”

  “Automotives. Shop.”

  “Ah. CTE.”

  “Uh...yeah. That.”

  Molly hugged her arms around herself a little tighter, but she didn’t turn away from him. Didn’t get into her car and drive off. “Yet you bailed from my class at the first sign of trouble—a class you need. I had to talk you into coming back.”

  “I was going to take the class again,” he replied. “From someone who...”

  “Wasn’t me?”

  “Maybe someone who didn’t have an ax with my name on it to grind.”

  She looked as if she wanted to argue, but instead she asked, “What made you decide to teach automotives?”

  The Ford truck they’d skirted a few minutes before roared to life and Finn stepped even closer to Molly’s car to let the guy by. “I helped some of the new recruits learn the ropes when I was overseas. I was actually good at it.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “You seem surprised.”

  “Well, I apologize. Preconceived notions and all that.”

  “I’m not still the guy who brought you home from a date and then got laid elsewhere.”

  “That guy’s still in there,” she said.

  “So’s the girl who refused to talk to me all evening long.” He leaned a little closer. “Molly—that date was painful.”

  Her pretty mouth tightened and then she briefly rolled her eyes up toward the sky in a gesture of defeat. “Not what I wanted to hear.”

  “Sorry.” Yeah, he’d been bad that night, but Molly had been another part of the reason why they hadn’t had a good time. “Maybe you owe me a new date to make up for it.”

  “Then I can drop you off and get laid afterward?”

  Finn laughed. Molly could play. He liked that. Maybe more than he should. “That would be a first,” he deadpanned.

  Molly’s eyes narrowed in thoughtful consideration. “Are you sure about that?”

  Finn’s smile grew. A small car whipped past them, going too fast for the lot, and Finn stepped closer to Molly, recognizing Denny behind the wheel.

  “What an a-hole.”

  “If you teach, you have to deal with them,” Molly said, reaching for her door handle. “Part of the game.”

  Finn hadn’t considered that part of the game.

  “I need to go,” Molly said. “I hate getting home too late.”

  “Understood.”

  Yet she hesitated, bouncing a look down at the ground and then back up at him. “If you need more help...please stop by during office hours.”

  Back to the neutral corners now, which felt odd after joking about getting laid.

  “You bet.” He gave her a nod as she opened the door, then turned and started toward his truck a few rows away.

  “And Finn?”

  He looked back.

  “Bring the kitten.”

  * * *

  “THIS IS A very bad idea.” Mike adjusted his collar in the mirror, then smoothed his hand over his silvery hair. Finn stood a couple yards behind his grandfather and, because his reflection showed in the mirror at which Mike was primping, he kept his expression carefully solemn—no easy task when Buddy kept tumbling out from under the chair to attack Mike’s shoelaces before awkwardly retreating back into his makeshift lair.

  “This is coffee.”

  “Easy enough for you to say. You aren’t going on a date with a stranger.”

  “You’re going to coffee,” he reiterated. Not an orgy. “Maybe you should take Buddy.”

  “No way.” Mike turned away from the mirror. “What if we don’t hit it off? I don’t want any of that cute kitten charm happening if I want to escape.”

  “You’re right. Kitten effect is better on the second date.”

  Mike gave a derisive snort, lifted his foot about an inch and waited for Buddy to tumble off and disappear again under the recliner before shrugging into his corduroy sports jacket. Finn had suggested that shirtsleeves were fine for coffee, especially since the day had turned unseasonably warm, but Mike seemed to think that a sports jacket showed more respect. Finn had simply nodded in agreement.

  “Cal’s going to pay for this,” Mike muttered as he thumbed through the bills in his wallet.

  “Literally or—” Finn stopped abruptly when Mike raised his eyes to glare at him before settling the wallet into his inner jacket pocket. Letting out a breath, Finn walked up to his grandfather, put a firm hand on each of his shoulders and said, “Relax.”

  Mike’s mouth tightened briefly, then he did seem to relax as he exhaled. “You’re right. I’m being stupid. It’s just that...”

  “You haven’t dated since Grandma?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Pretend she’s a guy.”

  “Why would I be dressed up like this to have coffee with a guy?” Mike growled.

  Finn spun his grandfather around toward the door. “Go. And I expect a full report when you get back.”

  “A gentleman—”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Don’t stay out too late.”

  Finn settled his hands on his hips and let out a breath after Mike closed the door behind him. Buddy scooted out from under the chair looking for his prey and Finn scooped him up.

  “Just the two of us, kiddo.”

  The kitten’s eyes went a little wild and Finn set him back down, smiling as the little cat flattened his ears and humped up, cr
ossing the floor in a series of threatening hops. In a matter of minutes, he’d tire himself out and then the two of them would hit the road, head for the shop where Finn planned to work on his ’72 Ford and be on call in case Mike had some kind of dating disaster. It was crazy after the sleepless nights he’d given his own folks, but he felt like a parent and he wanted things to go well for Mike and his mystery date.

  * * *

  “AH, THE NOTEBOOK,” Georgina said as she came into the kitchen to pull a box of ginger snap cookies out of the cupboard.

  “Yes, indeed,” Molly replied, closing the worn cover and smoothing her hand over it. The notebook had helped her keep firmly on track with her life since breaking up with Blake. On the advice of a fellow teacher in Arizona, she’d documented her fears and concerns about the future in the spiral bound book—listed them, then addressed them in writing, one by one. The simple exercise had helped her gain a sense of control over the seeming chaos of her life, spurred her on to write concrete life goals. Helped her define exactly what she needed in life to feel happy, successful and secure.

  “Writing in it or revisiting?” Georgina asked as she sat on the opposite side of the kitchen table and dug into the box of cookies.

  “A little of both. Just reminding myself of what I’m looking for and what I hope to achieve.” As well as what she was going to avoid.

  The notebook had been buried in a box she’d yet to unpack after the move, but recent events had made her decide to dig it out. Get back on track.

  Blake was coming to Montana and there wasn’t one thing she could do about it She’d made a note of that in the book a few minutes before and then reminded herself in writing that good things had come out of her relationship with Blake. She didn’t need to be tied up with resentment, but rather grateful for the experience. She now understood exactly what she did and did not want in a relationship. The bad thing was over and because of what she learned, she never had to go through it again.

  So what if he sent flowers and attempted to call her? Eventually he’d find someone to take care of him—although none of his post-breakup girlfriends had lasted. They’d seen the light a lot faster than she had.

  “Do you want to watch CSI with me?” Georgina asked as she got back up from her seat. “I’m done studying for the night.”