Reeling in Love

by Gloria Herrmann

  Deep breaths. Molly kept repeating it in her mind as she tried to swallow. Her throat was parched, those nervous waves crashing unpleasantly inside her.

  “So, you’re back,” he called out to her.

  Molly looked up to the voice she vaguely remembered, but the eyes? She could never forget them. She had tried, but every time she closed hers, there they were, looking at her with concern and amusement.

  She offered him a weak smile. “Not planning on hitting me again, are you?”

  Several customers raised their eyebrows and pretended to mind their own business, but she could sense their curiosity at her remark.

  “She means with a fish,” Mr. Gray Eyes assured the tourists. He sent her an annoyed glare. “Thanks,” he muttered as he leaned against the counter and glass cabinet that separated them.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

  He waved his hand. “Not a big deal. How are you feeling, by the way?”

  Molly lifted her hand to head, her fingers grazing the slightly sore spot. “I’m much better. Thanks. Yeah, that was one helluva blow to the old noggin.”

  “In all the years I’ve worked here, I have never seen that happen. You must be something special.” He winked and gave her a half-grin that made her skin prickle.

  The effect this man had on her was crazy. Had she really lost all sense and reason when she’d gotten whacked on the head? That was the only logical excuse she could come up with.

  He stared at her quietly for a moment. She shifted her weight and timidly kicked her sneaker-covered toe at the pavement.

  “You know…I never got your number. I wanted to know how you were doing. You’ve been on my mind.”

  “Yeah, I’m so sorry, I, uh…well.” Molly stopped speaking. She felt like she was stuttering over her thoughts. She had been only partially conscious, and exchanging numbers really hadn’t crossed her mind the last time they had been together.

  “It’s okay. You’re here now, aren’t you? So either I made some kind of impression or you’re a glutton for punishment.”

  A bit sure of himself, isn’t he? Molly thought. “What if I’m here to buy some seafood?”

  “Oh, I’m sure that’s why, because what better revenge than to eat the fish that attacked you? Sorry, babe, but it got donated that very afternoon,” he explained as he shrugged his shoulders.

  “Donated?” Molly was confused. Who donates fish? Apparently, Mr. Sexy Gray Eyes. She needed to find out his name.

  “Yeah, there’s a cat rescue up the road. This awesome lady takes in all the strays, and we like to help her out. That whopper of a fish you got nailed by? Well, that probably fed most of her cats that night.”

  “Happy to help.” Molly laughed. She found herself drawn to the rough sound of his voice. Her eyes absorbed every feature on his face, memorizing the fine details. “I’m so sorry. I really should be thanking you. That’s sort of why I’m here. I appreciate you helping me the way you did afterward,” she admitted shyly.

  Granted, when she had left her studio not thirty minutes earlier, that hadn’t been her true intention, but now that she was standing right in front of him with a blur of activity surrounding them, she couldn’t think of anything more she wanted to do. Well, that wasn’t exactly true, either.

  “I appreciate it, but they say things happen for a reason. Don’t ya agree?”

  “Yeah, I suppose so. Just passing out in front of everyone and stumbling around like a fool really isn’t exactly my idea of a great way to meet.”

  “Let’s fix that. I’m Owen, by the way.” He wiped his hand and extended it to her.

  She hesitated briefly before accepting. “Molly.”

  “I know.” There was that sexy grin again.

  She felt awkward and all out of sorts. This man was proving to be a little more of a challenge than she’d been prepared for.

  “Well, Owen, thank you again. I’ll let you go.” Molly went to leave. She wasn’t quite sure what else to say and she was feeling all flustered in his company.

  Owen held up his hand. His gray eyes and sexy grin just seemed to grow brighter. How is that even possible?

  “Oh no. I don’t think so. I have waited several days for you to show up back here. I’m not letting you run off again without getting your number.” He grabbed a piece of receipt paper and a pen from his apron pocket. “Okay, shoot.”

  Molly rattled off her cell phone number. What would she do if he actually called her? Knowing how most men were, it was about collecting the prized digits. The actual calling hardly ever happened. It was just a game.

  “Great. So, when are you free?”

  “Um, like for a…?” she stammered.

  “Yes, a date. You know… It’s what people do when they ask for a number and want to get to know someone a little better over drinks and dinner, sometimes coffee—whatever the other person is willing to go for.” Owen laughed then cocked his head to the side, examining her carefully. “You thought I just wanted your number and wasn’t going to call? Nope, I’m calling, sweetheart. You can bet that gorgeous little face of yours.”

  Well, she hadn’t expected that. In fact, Molly wasn’t so sure what to expect from Owen, but she knew one thing. She was going to be surprised at every turn.

  * * * *

  “Finally!” Tiffany squealed as she stirred the bubbling pot in front of her.

  “I know. I should be happy, right?” Molly asked as she minced up garlic for the Italian dinner they were preparing together at Mackenzie’s home.

  Mackenzie lived in the Queen Anne district of Seattle, just north of downtown. The neighborhood offered the most adorable Craftsman-style homes. Mackenzie’s was quaint and charming, and it was located near the school where she taught kindergartners. Her kitchen was the envy of both Tiffany and Molly. Not that any of them did a whole lot of real cooking, but, when they suddenly felt the need to be all womanly and domestic, her kitchen was the best to play Betty Crocker in. She had counters galore, which provided tons of elbow room for them all to pretend they knew what they were doing.

  “I think it’s sweet that he wants to go out, but just be careful. I mean, what do we really know about this guy?” Mackenzie was pouring them each some wine. “He might be the nicest guy to have ever walked the planet. He might even be your one, but he could also be the next Green River Killer or Ted Bundy.”

  “Gosh, Mackenzie, must you always be so doom and gloom about everything?” Tiffany flipped Mackenzie an annoyed look. “It’s not like any of us are getting asked out. We need to sort of jump on the offers we do get, because, I hate to say it, but not one of us is getting any younger.”

  Molly watched pink anger flash across Mackenzie’s pale neck, a sure sign that she didn’t like what Tiffany was saying. Intervening now would be best. “Speaking of which, one of us has a birthday coming up.”

  “Ugh, must you be so doom and gloom?” Mackenzie quickly replied, throwing Tiffany and Molly an irritated look.

  “Birthdays should be celebrated.” Tiffany pointed out, turning her attention back to the pot in front of her.

  “You just want a reason to celebrate something,” Mackenzie shot back.

  “Oh, come off it. We all love celebrating,” Molly said as she lifted her nearly empty wine glass.

  Tiffany and Mackenzie laughed, nodding in agreement.

  “You have a point there. I just like a good party, is all.” Tiffany reached for her own glass.

  “I agree. I’m all for a good party.” Mackenzie added more wine to all of their glasses.

  “Then it’s settled. Instead of celebrating a certain cranky someone’s birthday, let’s just throw a party. You can bring Owen,” Tiffany tried to suggest, casually.

  “Uh, no one said anything about bringing dates,” Molly said.

  “I just did.” Tiffany gave her a purely evil smile.

  Molly huffed. She hadn’t even been out with Owen yet. He had called her a couple of times already. She’d ignored the first ca
ll because her nerves had gotten the best of her. Then he’d tried again, and, for the effort, Molly felt she owed him. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go out with him. It was just she was a little afraid of the wild feelings that would erupt inside her when she was around him, which—as of now—had only been twice. She wasn’t so sure what would happen if they actually spent a decent amount of time together.

  “What are you scared of”—Mackenzie leaned in closer to Molly, wrapping her arm protectively around Molly’s shoulders—“besides him possibly being a psychopath? That, I can totally understand.”

  “It’s not that, Mackenzie. It’s sort of hard to explain, actually.” Molly couldn’t form the exact words needed to relate to her best friends what it was that she felt when she was around Owen—some weird cosmic connection that she hardly understood and that she was trying to make sense of herself.

  “Well, out with it. Come on,” Mackenzie ordered, squeezing Molly again and giving her an encouraging smile.

  “Yeah, what’s up?” Tiffany turned the knob on the stove and met them at their side of the old-fashioned green-tiled counter. “It’s not like you to clam up like this. You’re usually the first one to spill her guts. Maybe that fish did more damage than we realized.”

  “Shut it, Tiffany.” Molly took another sip of her wine, savoring the rich flavor, letting it bounce and splash against her palate. They’d watched plenty of shows and attended enough wine tastings that they were all masters—or at least they believed they looked the part. “Like I said, it’s difficult to put into words.”

  “Try to explain it to us,” Mackenzie said as she studied Molly. “I can’t imagine it’s anything too wild. You’ve only seen him twice, and the first time you were half knocked out, so that doesn’t really count.”

  “Mackenzie has a point, Moll. Is it like a love-at-first-sight thing?” asked Tiffany, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

  “You know, I’m not too sure, but there’s some kind of connection I can’t quite explain or really understand,” Molly relayed, hoping they could decipher her ramblings.

  “It really does make sense. Some things are funny like that. Look at how weird the circumstance is to begin with. I have never seen anyone get hit with a fish there, like ever.” Tiffany went back to the stove, using the wooden spoon to stir the sauce they were attempting to create. “Can I have that garlic, please?”

  “I wonder if we should have cooked it first?” Molly questioned out loud.

  “Too late. It’s going in now,” Tiffany commanded, motioning for Molly to give her the strongly scented garlic cloves that they had minced.

  “Back to this Owen thing. Let’s not get distracted here,” Mackenzie said as she grabbed a salad she had prepared earlier out of the fridge. “Tiffany is right, as much as I hate those words even coming out of my mouth,” Mackenzie teased and Tiffany playfully stuck her tongue out.

  Her two friends were incredibly close, but it hadn’t always been that way. Each had been a friend to Molly first, and it had been Molly who’d decided to bring them together. In some ways it was still a work in progress. In others, it was as though they had all been friends their entire lives.

  “Very mature, Tiffany,” Mackenzie stated as she continued on, giving Molly her full attention. “Anyway, it is kind of astronomical, the odds that you would get this fish thrown at you by men that do this all day long without ever injuring someone? Then, to have an incredibly great-looking guy come to your rescue and for him to want to go out with you, too? It could be fate, right?”

  “And an amazing story to tell your grandchildren. Just imagine the looks on their little faces as you explain that their grandpa nearly killed their grandma with a fish. I mean, who does that? But then, for him to rescue you… It’s all kinds of romantic.” Tiffany looked over from the pot, sampling a dab of sauce off the spoon. “This tastes awesome. Just putting that out there for you ladies.”

  Molly let out a laugh. “Yeah, I guess it does have all the makings of one of our cheesy movies.”

  “You should totally go out with him.” Tiffany pointed at Molly with the spoon.

  Molly looked over to Mackenzie, who was serving salad in little bowls that matched the small stack of plates that were on the counter waiting for the rest of the meal.

  “Mac, what should I do?”

  “Tiffany is right. You should probably go out with him and at least give it a shot. But you’d better not pull some kind of stunt like you did with that model, Jax. Got it?” Mackenzie said firmly.

  “Got it, Mom.”

  “Hey, I’m just looking out for you,” Mackenzie defended herself as she started to hand Molly the plates to set the table. “I would literally lose my shit if something happened to you, Molly.”

  “I’m with Mac on that one. Who else would go on afternoon latte runs with me? Mackenzie lives too far north,” Tiffany whined and jutted out her red lipstick-stained bottom lip.

  “But what if the sex is super incredible? You want me to just pass that up?” Molly asked playfully, raising her voice a few octaves to sound innocent.

  “Well—” Tiffany started to say.

  Mackenzie whirled around, her blonde hair swishing against her chin as she quickly responded, “Yes. Even if it’s Jax-worthy type of sex. I don’t want that kind of headache again. You don’t even know how terribly worried I was.”

  Yeah, he wasn’t my best choice for male attention, Molly thought.

  “I have a feeling that sex with Owen might be a whole lot hotter than with that model, just by how weird Molly is acting.” Tiffany raised her perfectly plucked eyebrows and smirked.

  Molly had screwed up. It had not been one of her finer moments, and even though it had been such a long time ago, Mackenzie was never going to let her forget it. But there was one consolation. The sex had been mind-blowing. Molly never mixed business with pleasure—only that one time—and she’d learned very quickly to never do that again.

  “Okay, just never mind, you two. Dinner ready yet? I’m in need of carbs like…yesterday.” Molly motioned toward the colander of freshly cooked noodles that sat on the stove. “Carbs make everything better.” After Mackenzie’s nod, she began filling her plate.

  “I thought that was wine?” Tiffany asked, falling in behind Molly and faking a puzzled expression as Mackenzie carried the bottle to the table.

  “Yeah, I think you’re right. It’s wine, for sure.” Molly sat down, grabbed her glass then swallowed a mouthful of the bold drink. “Wine and carbs… Who says it can’t be both?”

  “Might as well throw chocolate in there. I can’t live without that, either,” Mackenzie added as she took her seat, the last to have served herself.

  Tiffany sat across from Molly, Mackenzie at the head of the rectangular table, all with their plates overflowing with spaghetti.

  Mackenzie raised her glass in a toast. “To my girls… May we never know the absence of carbs, chocolate and wine.”

  “Or men,” Tiffany added happily.

  Molly rolled her eyes, giggling she said, “Or friendship.”

  As they clinked their glasses, Molly thought it was nights like this that meant so much to her—to be surrounded by the people who understood her best. She silently prayed that whatever this thing was with Owen—fate or some kind of disaster waiting to happen—she just wanted her girls to always be there, preferably with carbs, chocolate and lots of wine.

  Chapter Four

  Molly’s cell phone vibrated against the glass table, causing the loud buzzing to echo in the studio. “Sorry about that,” she apologized to the model, who was uninterested in being there.

  It had been a long shoot with this blond god. He was golden from head to toe and was quite aware of just how incredible he looked. He also had the attention span of a goldfish, maybe even less. Speaking of fish, she peered down and saw that Owen had sent her a text message, just one of several. He had been hounding her all day to call him. She scrolled through the new message, the same as the o
thers. It was a simple plea for her to contact him. Molly felt herself grow a little agitated, and dealing with this annoying model wasn’t helping matters.

  She just stared at the message, contemplating her next move—answer the text or play hard to get?

  Last night Mackenzie and Tiffany had convinced her—after a little too much wine—that maybe just having coffee—somewhere public to limit the chances of her being kidnapped and murdered—would be fine by them. Molly didn’t think Owen was the murdering sort, but then again, most murderers probably didn’t seem like the type, either. She shooed away the thoughts of doubt and suspicion that she knew were pointless and ridiculous.

  “Are you almost ready?” The model whined as he ran his fingers through his shaggy hair, making it even more perfect. How is that even possible? Molly shrugged and put her phone down.

  “Yes. Let’s do this.” She put on her most fake and animated smile. Molly saw the model was in no mood for her niceness. Heck, her high-pitched and sugary-sweet reply annoyed her too. She inhaled deeply. She would grin and bear it to get through this session. The author using this royal pain in the ass was paying a lot of money for the custom shoot, so she reminded herself of that a couple of times while she gripped her camera tightly and bit her tongue.