And therein lay the problem: she had reasons, just not good ones. She tried to look busy, flipping through the checkbook and the papers as if looking for something specific as she hoped a good topic of conversation would present itself, but she kept noticing things, like the way his hair curled just the tiniest bit at the ends or how the tendons in his hands flexed into relief as he picked up his cup.
Good Lord. She’d known Tate for over two years and had never noticed any of this before. At least Tate seemed fine and unbothered. While that was a good thing, she reminded herself, it still made her feel worse because a one-sided attraction was just lame.
She should go. Tate might be one of those people who cherished alone time. Like her, he spent most of his day with people. He might want to have a few minutes to himself to eat his lunch in peace. Would Tate be too polite to ask her to leave, even if he wanted to? Was there a nice way for her to bring it up? Asking him if he wanted to be left alone could sound a lot like a politely worded “Mind if I stay?”
She was so caught up in her own internal argument that she was a couple of seconds late realizing that Tate had asked her something. And that she’d been staring at him.
Damn. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“You seem to be thinking real hard about something. Everything okay?”
“Just some planning.” Mercifully, her brain kicked back in at that moment, and the Children’s Fair was a safe topic. “I got a call from the Homestead Craft Center over in Bay Minette yesterday. They’ve offered to bring some of their people over to do demonstrations and crafts in return for a discount on vendor space.”
“What kind of demonstrations?”
“Weaving, candle making, that kind of stuff. I think it would be interesting and educational. Different, too, from what’s been done in the past. I just haven’t figured out how to make money off it yet.”
Tate laughed. “You have a fund-raiser’s brain, that’s for sure.”
“That’s the point of this, right? I’m thinking if we do it like the face painting—you know, asking for a dollar or two to try out the crafts—we could make some money that way.”
“Sounds like you do have it figured out.”
The matter-of-factness brought her up short. “Yeah, I guess I do. I think I just needed a second opinion. So, thanks.” Maybe I really can do this. A little kernel of pride popped in her chest. “Mrs. K has called a few times just to ‘check in.’ I’ve been dodging her calls, but I think I’m ready to call her back now and bring her up-to-date.”
“Want me to call her for you?”
“Nah. I can do it.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m positive. She shouldn’t have left me in charge if she didn’t want me to make decisions.”
He looked at her carefully. “You’re starting to enjoy this, aren’t you?”
“A little,” she confessed. She was starting to see the big picture now that she’d gotten the smaller parts under control, and her inner organizer had been awakened. Ms. Louise’s encouragement to put her own stamp on it was almost as good as getting the okay from Mrs. Kennedy, even if she suspected Mrs. Kennedy’s parting remarks about “everything being done” was actually code for “don’t change anything.” Maybe Tate’s confidence wasn’t misplaced, either. She met Tate’s eyes across the table. “Don’t tell anyone, though, okay?”
“Now we each have a secret to keep.” He winked at her, and Molly felt a strange little glow in her belly. For a second there, everything seemed to get very still and quiet. Half of Tate’s mouth curved up into a small smile. “So—”
“You both know there’s no way to keep secrets in this town.”
They both jumped at the voice, but it was only Helena, plopping onto the bench beside her. Eagerness on display, she dropped her voice and leaned in. “So what’s the secret?”
Tate shook his head. “If we told you, it wouldn’t be a secret, now would it?”
Helena clutched at imaginary pearls. “My two best friends are going to keep a secret from me?”
Molly nodded, just to irritate her, but she was secretly a little relieved at Helena’s arrival. It had broken that odd moment of tension, even as she wondered what Tate had been going to say.
“Oh, and it’s a good secret, too,” Tate added sincerely. “Very juicy. Pity we can’t share.”
“I’ve got all kinds of dirt on you, Tate Harris,” Helena said sternly. “I’d hate to have to share any of it.”
Tate made a noise Molly could only describe as a scoff. “That might scare me if I didn’t have an equal amount on you.”
Helena waved a hand. “As if my dirty laundry hasn’t been aired all over town already.”
“Really? There still seems to be a question about how the police chief’s cruiser ended up in Bayou La Batre.”
“That’s not nearly as mysterious as the origins of the fire in the equipment shed.” Helena’s smile was delightedly evil.
As amusing as this was—and as much as Molly might love to hear the truth behind those two bits of local legend—their bickering gave Molly the perfect excuse to leave. “I’m a bit superfluous in this mud wrestling bout, so I’ll see y’all later.” She gathered up her belongings.
Helena smacked Tate’s arm. “Now see what you’ve done?”
“Jeez, Helena, stop hitting me.” When she made a face at him, he added, “Because eventually I might have to hit you back.”
“You wouldn’t.” She turned to Molly and put a hand on her arm. “You stay. I’ll go. I interrupted y’all’s lunch, after all.”
“I think we were done anyway. Thanks for meeting me, Tate. I’ll see you later, Helena.”
She quickly crossed the street before either of them could say anything else.
There was still a very likely chance she’d screw this up, but the idea she might not was starting to gain ground. That was good.
She’d also made it through a meeting with Tate without too much one-sided unresolved sexual tension rearing its head.
That was very good.
Things were looking up.
• • •
“So, you and Molly having lunch together? I approve.” Helena smiled smugly as she stole one of his fries.
“Really? It’s been maybe three days since you promised to let it go and you’re already back on that?”
“Four, actually,” Helena said. “And anyway, I was just teasing. Molly threatened to poison my coffee if I brought it up again, so consider me officially and completely backed off.”
On the one hand, that was great. On the other, though . . . Molly was giving his ego a bit of a beating. Maybe he was just imagining it, but every now and then he’d get a look from her that made him think her adamant denial the other night might not be quite adamant after all, but the look would disappear as quickly as it came, taking them right back to normal. He almost wanted to ask her why she wasn’t interested—just for his own self-improvement, of course—but he was smart enough to check that impulse. And he certainly didn’t want to encourage Helena in the slightest. He didn’t have a threat with the same weight as Molly’s coffee ultimatum. He was just going to have to figure this out himself. “We met so I could sign checks. You may have the career freedom to come and go as you please, but the rest of us have to squeeze meetings in where we can. Like at lunch.”
“And you couldn’t just drop by Latte Dah one of the other ten hours of the day it’s open in order to do that?”
“First of all, Sam doesn’t like it when I do that. She feels like I’m checking up on her. Secondly, since Molly got sandbagged by this without any warning, I’m trying to be flexible.”
Helena glanced in the direction Molly had gone, making sure she was out of earshot before saying, “She’s nervous about it.”
“I know. I don’t know why, but I know she is.”
“No one wants to be the person who lets everyone down. I think she’s a little too stressed over it, though.”
�
�I think she’s settling into the idea. She seemed okay today.”
“That’s good. I just worry about her.”
That frown was about more than just Molly’s stress over the Children’s Fair. “Why?”
“Because she’s my friend, and I want her to be happy. And I know she’s got some issues, so . . .” She shrugged. “But who doesn’t, right? We’re not exactly the poster kids of good mental health ourselves.”
He wondered whether Helena knew about Molly’s self-help books. “Like bad issues?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You haven’t asked?”
“No, nosy-pants, I haven’t. I try not to interrogate my friends.”
He lifted an eyebrow at her.
“Well, you’re the exception,” she admitted with a grin. “But you’re the exception to everything. I’ve pieced together a few things, but she’ll tell me what she wants me to know when she wants me to know it.”
“Oh, if we all had friends like that.”
“Hush. All I know is that she came here to start over. Whether it was family stuff or a bad relationship she left behind . . . I don’t know. I don’t think it was anything immoral or criminal, though.”
“Why Magnolia Beach? Do you know?” he asked as casually as he could.
Helena nodded, chewing and swallowing another of his fries. “I did ask her that.”
“Of course you did.”
Helena ignored the snark. “She says she came down here on vacation once as a kid and loved it, so when the time came to pick a new town, this was the place.”
“The tourism board must love that story.”
“Probably. So why all the sudden interest in Molly?”
Funny how tone made all the difference. A different inflection or a different pitch and Tate would’ve balked at the question. But Helena sounded like Normal Helena, not Crazy Matchmaking Helena. “Working with her on the Children’s Fair made me realize how little I actually know about her. I’d never really given her much thought.”
“But now you are?”
As if he’d admit any such thing to her, previous normal tone or not. “Just curiosity. And she’s giving Sam self-help books to read.”
“Oh, that’s good. I wish I’d thought of it. I think Sam will really benefit from them, especially if Molly’s loaning the books I think she is.”
“You read self-help books?” His jaw felt a little slack. Helena would probably be the last person on earth he’d expect to put any faith in self-help gobbledygook.
“Yeah. Why?” There was a challenge in her voice.
“You just seem . . .” There was that eyebrow of doom again. “I mean, you are . . .”
“I’m what?” Her tone was sweet, but he wasn’t stupid enough to miss the obvious warning underneath.
“You’re fine. In a not-crazy way.”
“I could say that it’s due to those books, you know. But I also spent a lot of time in therapy.”
He nearly choked on his drink. “You went to therapy?”
“You didn’t?” She seemed genuinely shocked.
“No. I’m not crazy.”
“Neither am I, thank you very much. But therapy’s a good thing for people like us.”
“Like us?”
“People with screwed-up childhoods and the like. People with issues. It doesn’t fix you, but it makes you less messed up, at least.”
“You’re saying I’m messed up?”
She didn’t miss a beat. “Your dad was an abusive drunk, your mother enabled him instead of protecting y’all, you spent your adolescence running with kids who were walking cautionary tales, but at least they were more screwed up than you.” She met his eyes evenly. “I stand by my statement.”
“Wow.” He didn’t know how to respond to that. Especially since he had to admit she wasn’t completely wrong, now that she’d spelled it out like that.
Knowing she’d made her point, Helena’s smile was both kind and mocking. “All things considered, you’re doing pretty well, but you could be better. I can recommend a couple of really good books.”
“That’s quite all right. I’ll leave that to you and Molly and Sam.”
She shrugged. “It’s your loss. But do me a favor and don’t ask Molly a bunch of questions. I know you mean well, but it’s annoying.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s one thing for you to do it to your sisters, or even to me, but not everyone will be as . . . accommodating.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Understanding is probably a better word.”
“Of what?”
“Your buttinsky let-me-fix-it-ness.”
Good Lord. “I don’t—”
“You do.”
“No, I—”
“Yes, you do,” she said firmly. “Admit it, own it, make it your truth, my friend. You’ve got a bad case of White Knight Syndrome going on—”
“I do not.”
Helena laughed at him. “Why do you think that all I had to do was toss Molly and the Children’s Fair in your general direction for you to swoop in and help?”
“Since when is helping people bad?”
“It’s not. Swooping in whether they like it or not due to a pathological need is the part therapy could have helped you with. You’ve always been like that, but it got worse while I was gone. Sam’s calling you a control freak, so obviously you’re riding her case a little hard. Don’t do the same thing to Molly.”
“Whatever,” he mumbled.
Once again, Helena seemed satisfied that she’d made her point. He was willing to let her believe it—if only to end this ridiculous conversation. She patted him on the hand. “Unless Molly offers up the information, don’t ask. Idle curiosity is no reason to butt into someone’s life.”
He felt a bit unfairly vilified, as if he were some busybody looking for fencerow gossip. And jeez, when had being a nice guy and wanting to help out become a bad thing, worthy of pejorative terms? “This is your fault, you know.”
“How?”
“I’ve known the woman since she moved to town and never gave her a second thought until you decided to mate us like pandas. If nothing else, I’m bound to be curious why you’d think we’d even suit each other.”
“I like you both. You both like me. Therefore, you must have something in common.” She said it as if nothing could have been more obvious.
“I’m glad to know you gave it so much thought.”
“Should I give it some more thought?” There was that hopeful, leading tone again.
“No. No,” he repeated when Helena looked mulish. “My curiosity doesn’t go that far—and neither should yours.”
Helena sighed. “Fine. I need to run anyway. I’m really on my way to pick up Grannie’s meds from the pharmacy.” She scooted off the bench and patted his shoulder. “I’ll see you later.”
Helena had very kindly left him three of his fries to eat while he processed this new information. Mainly, he needed to come up with a better answer for why he was so curious about Molly all of a sudden.
Sure, Helena had forced the issue the other night, but it wasn’t any worse than New Year’s Eve, which had been pretty much forgotten. Maybe it was because Molly was everywhere now—employing his sister, running the Children’s Fair—and he no longer had the buffer of Helena, Nigel, or high-octane coffee purchases to distract his attention.
Maybe it had just been too long since he’d been out with a woman.
Even that, though, didn’t explain why Molly was now in focus. Or why he suddenly cared why she’d been so forthright about not wanting him to ask her out. Yeah, that sting just isn’t going away.
He certainly liked Molly as a friend. Now he was trying to decide whether he liked her in other ways, too.
And while he really, honestly, truly did not want Helena thinking about his love life at all—much less entertain how much he and Molly might have in common—that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to.
&nbs
p; Because now he was curious, that’s all.
Chapter 7
Molly needed to get good and drunk. Unfortunately, she had to get up at five o’clock in the morning and function like a human being, so if she was going to wallow in the escapist bliss of box wine and not hate herself in the morning, she had to start drinking at what others would consider a far-too-early hour of the evening.
She was on her second glass and her attitude was improving already. Nigel helped, too, chasing the red dot of a laser pointer with such spastic determination that she had to giggle. It was both entertainment for her and exercise for him.
She’d turned off the ringer on her phone, but she heard it vibrate against the coffee table and leaned over just enough to see the screen.
Hannah.
Nope and hell no.
Hannah was the reason she needed to get knee-walking drunk in the first place, and another conversation with her today might just lead to alcohol poisoning. And there was nothing Hannah had to say that Molly wanted to hear anyway. She shouldn’t have answered the phone the first time Hannah called, but somehow she just couldn’t get past the juvenile naïveté that made her hope it might be different this time.
Because it never was.
If Hannah liked Mark so damn much, maybe she should marry him. And if all this was causing the family such embarrassment, why wouldn’t they push back a little at some of the lies Mark was telling?
Because they believed Mark. Or at least they wanted to and pretended they did.
Even when she’d shown them the bruises.
And that was the part that drove her to fill her glass for the third time. Her family was so enamored with the Lane family, so desperate to be connected to them and reap the perks of that connection that they would happily force her back to Mark if they could only figure out how to do it without breaking multiple laws. She still had a few friends back in Fuller. She knew what was being said about her and the sympathy being lavished on both the Lane and Richards families because they had to put up with such an ungrateful, spiteful, and petty person like her. Her mother was a martyr and Mark was Prince Charming, and everyone was just praying Molly would repent and return home for the help she so desperately needed.
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