So much for enjoying this quietly by herself for a little while.
• • •
It didn’t take long for Molly and Tate to officially become an “item.” Everyone seemed to know within days. People brought it up as Molly made their coffee, telling her what a lovely couple they made. When they went to dinner, little old ladies smiled knowingly and approvingly. Folks wanted details, and some people disturbingly wanted more intimate details than she wanted to provide, but no one seemed to have any qualms about asking her whatever questions came to mind.
She’d forgotten what dating in a small town could be like. She’d gotten so used to her privacy, it hadn’t really occurred to her how seeing Tate would put her personal life on everyone’s radar. It was a little shocking, very disquieting, and rather hard to adjust to.
Of course, when she’d started dating Mark, everyone knew about it, too. They thought that Mark would be a good influence on her, and since the Lanes were pretty much the family in Fuller, her mother had been over the moon with the connection to that family and encouraged it greatly. And since neither of their families really approved of casual dating, things were expected to get serious quickly and people were planning their wedding after their third date. Overnight, her past sins had been forgiven—if not completely forgotten.
Hell, it was pretty much the first time her mother had been pleased with her. Hannah, who’d been used to being the favorite and perfect child, had been pea green with envy and wonderfully pissed as Molly had been elevated to the princess of the family.
That much about her marriage still made her smile.
But this was different. This wasn’t Fuller, Tate wasn’t Mark, and she wasn’t the same naive little girl she’d been back then. And while Mrs. Riley had patted her cheek at the Shop-N-Save and told her what pretty babies she and Tate would have, she wasn’t feeling any real pressure.
But it was new and nice and Molly was enjoying the experience. It had been a really long time since someone had seen her, not just Molly-from-Latte-Dah. She’d been hiding in plain sight—even from herself, it seemed—but now she really felt as if she was living again.
And it wasn’t just Tate. It was nice to rediscover that side of herself, but this new feeling was internal, and Tate was just one manifestation of it. Not that she could explain that to anyone, and not that anyone was noticing much of a change in her anyway, simply because her inside had finally caught up to her outside.
The days sped by in the endorphin-riddled, postorgasmic chemical rush of a new relationship, and she was being hit with both the added excitement of personal empowerment and the ongoing banality of everyday life.
It was exhausting.
And it didn’t help that she wasn’t getting as much sleep these days, either. That five a.m. alarm was killing her.
But it was still amazing.
On Saturday, though—two weeks to the day that Tate had kissed her for the second time—Molly hit the wall. No amount of coffee was going to keep her alert at this point, and she didn’t want to risk falling asleep tonight while she was out with Tate. Jane laughed knowingly when Molly asked her to stay and close so that she could go home for a nap, but she didn’t care.
Nigel was more than happy to snuggle up next to her in bed, and Molly was asleep seconds after her head hit the pillow.
Nigel’s outraged yowl woke her up. The room was shadowy, and she had that napped-too-hard hangover disorienting her. Then she saw the dark figure in her doorway, and the adrenaline rush as she sat up nearly made her yowl as well. A second later, though, the figure morphed into Tate, and she leaned back against the headboard, pressing her hand against her chest to stave off the heart attack. “You scared the life out of me, Tate.”
“I called. I knocked. I was afraid you were dead.” He sat on the side of the bed, but Nigel held his ground, refusing to move from his spot this time. “I thought you said you were a light sleeper. And you should really lock your door during tourist season.”
“Tourists don’t wander this far out. And I am a light sleeper.”
Tate merely raised an eyebrow.
“Usually,” she amended. She scrubbed her hands over her face, trying to wake up. She took a big drink from the glass of water on the nightstand. It had been sitting there so long it was now room temperature, but it cut through the moss in her mouth. “What time is it?”
“Seven forty-five.”
A four-hour nap. And she had been supposed to meet him at six thirty. “I’m so sorry. I’ll go get dressed super fast.” She flipped the edge of the duvet back, but Tate caught her hand.
“Are you feeling okay?” Concern written all over his face, he pressed his wrist against her forehead. “You don’t feel feverish.”
“I’m fine, Dr. Harris. I was just tired and my nap got out of hand.”
He nodded. “I wondered how you were functioning on so little sleep. I guess I should probably apologize for keeping you up so late at night.”
“Not necessary. I wasn’t exactly kicking you out of my bed—or leaping out of yours.”
“Well, I said I should. I didn’t say I was going to.” He grinned at her. “I try not to lie to people.”
“Let me go wash my face and change—”
“Why don’t we just skip it?”
“But we can still make it, if I hurry.”
“You’re obviously exhausted.”
Now she felt really bad. “Then go without me.”
“Nah. Are you hungry?”
“A little.”
“Why don’t I run get some takeout, and we’ll just hang here tonight so you can get to bed at a decent hour.”
“But you wanted to go see Grayson sing.”
Tate shook his head. “It’s no big deal. It’s not like he doesn’t sing somewhere around here every couple of weeks. It won’t hurt his feelings if I skip a show. And”—he leaned forward, trapping her between his chest and the pillow—“I’d rather spend the time with you than Gray any day. You’re prettier, for one thing.”
She tugged on his shirt, pulling him closer. Nigel huffed and jumped off the bed, out of the way. “Well, I’m actually feeling quite refreshed after my nap. If you don’t want to go out, then I’m very happy to stay in. And I don’t have to get up in the morning, either.” In her best come-hither voice, she asked, “What would you like to do?”
Tate’s smile was very telling—until it turned into a frown as his phone went off. “I’m on call tonight,” he said in apology as he fished it out of his pocket. “I’ve got to see who it is at least.” Then he rolled his eyes. “What I’d like is for my mother to move to Georgia.”
“Do you need to answer that?”
“No. Sam’s already texted me about it. I’m not getting into the middle.” He sent the call to voice mail and set the phone on the nightstand next to her glass with a sigh. “And I’m driving her to Ellie’s tomorrow to see the boys, so I’m sure I’ll hear all about it then.” He slid his body over hers and settled his hips between her legs. “Now, where were we?”
In a way, she had to admire the way Tate could keep his life clearly compartmentalized, even when compartments threatened to bleed into each other. It was something she was still working on, but when Tate kissed her, it seemed so easy, too.
Focus on the now.
She threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled his head down to hers.
• • •
“So is Mom really going to move to Waycross this time?” Ellie didn’t look up from the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches she was making for the boys, but Tate knew the question was far from casual.
“Probably not,” he said, but then softened the truth with, “But she could surprise us.”
Mom was currently in the living room watching Kyle and Justin play a video game with the level of interest only a grandmother could fake. Ellie might not come home very often or spend much time with Mom herself, but she didn’t deny Mom access to the boys, either. It was a compromise.
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“But you’re still cleaning out the house and stuff?”
“It needs to be done, regardless. Once Sam gets on her feet and moves out, I’m hoping Mom will be willing to sell and move somewhere smaller and less falling-down. I’m tired of trekking out there to fix stuff.”
“Then don’t. You’re just enabling her.”
“I should let her climb on the roof? Just hope she doesn’t fall and hurt herself?”
“It’s better that you fall and hurt yourself? You’re not a roofer. Or a carpenter or plumber or handyman of any sort. Let her hire someone to do that crap.”
“And what would the neighbors say?”
“Who cares?”
“I do. I have to. Sons are supposed to take care of their mothers. I’d have every little old lady in Magnolia Beach shaming me in the streets if I didn’t.”
“But if you fall and break your neck, who’ll take care of your patients? You have your own responsibilities and things to do, which you can’t do if you’re out at Mom’s mowing her grass or if you die in a roofing accident.” She held up the jar of peanut butter. “You want one?”
He nodded. “Let’s not get too dramatic.”
“Then let me remind you that if you hurt yourself, you’ll have to move back into Mom’s so that she can care for you. How does that sound?”
That was a horrible thought. “Promise me you’ll shoot me instead?”
Ellie sighed. “I’ll call Aunt Elaine, maybe see if she can convince Mom to actually move this time.”
“It’d be good for her.”
“And you and Sam, too.” Ellie cut the crusts off his sandwich, then cut diagonally to make little triangles before handing him his sandwich on a Thomas the Tank Engine plate. He felt five years old. He couldn’t help but notice, though, that the boys had superheroes on their plates.
“How’s Sam doing?” he asked, then took a bite.
Ellie’s eyebrows went up. “You’re asking me? You live there. I don’t.”
“Sam talks to you. She doesn’t talk to me.”
“Sam would talk—if you’d learn to listen.”
“I listen. Sam’s the one who doesn’t listen.”
“No,” Ellie corrected. “Sam doesn’t do what you tell her to do. That doesn’t mean she’s not listening.” She shook her head. “You’ve got to let her find her own way. She’s a big girl. Wait until she asks for help.”
“She won’t ask.”
“Then maybe she doesn’t feel she needs help yet.” Ellie was the only person on earth who could sound both reasonable and exasperated at the same time.
“So you both keep saying.”
“Well, now who’s not listening, huh?” Her smile was mocking.
“Whatever.”
Ellie patted his shoulder. “You mean well, and it’s sweet. That’s what’s important. Even if it is annoying. Kyle! Justin!” The boys came running, and she handed off the sandwiches. “Go to the table to eat,” she called after them, but the food was already half gone before the words were out of her mouth, and the boys were back at their game in seconds. “I swear, I should just toss the food in their general direction like I’m chumming for sharks,” she muttered.
Both the boys took after Doug—no Harris DNA showing up there, which might not be a bad thing, when he thought about it. And Ellie was a great mom, devoted to her kids. Not everything had to get passed down the generations, and that was enough to make him hopeful for the future.
DNA was not destiny.
“Look,” Ellie said. “Sam chose to go home. I offered to let her move in here, and Doug had a line on a job for her and everything. She turned me down.”
“So she’s crazy as well as stubborn.”
“No, she’s proud and determined. Going home took guts.” She shook her head. “I don’t know how either of you do it. God knows I couldn’t.”
“The only reason to go home would be so your family and friends could help you back onto your feet. It’s driving me crazy.”
“Well, it’s not really about you. Let Sam make her own choices, just like we made ours. All we can do is be there, ready to catch her if she falls.”
That was easier said than done.
Ellie wiped her hands on a towel and refilled his glass, obviously done with that conversation. He was almost happy about that until she spoke. “So, you and the coffee girl, huh?”
News travels fast. “Her name is Molly.”
“I know. I also know she’s about my age, super sweet, smart, kind, a fan of seventies funk music, and an avid reader of historical novels.”
He hadn’t known about the books. “She also likes cats.”
“Nigel, right?”
“You’re very well informed for someone who’s met her all of once.”
“I talk to Sam, remember? She’s thrilled, by the way.”
“Well, she and Molly spend a lot of time together at the coffee shop. They’re friends.”
Ellie leaned against the counter and grinned. “She’s pretty, too.”
“I agree.”
“You like her?”
“Yes.”
“And she likes you?”
“It seems like it. And I certainly hope so.”
“Yay. Sam was worried you’d start pining for Helena again once she came back to town.”
He sighed. “She knows we’re just friends.”
“I know that, but Sam has always been awed by Helena. I think she wanted you two to get together and was pining for that to happen a bit herself. I tried to tell her—”
“So she doesn’t listen to you, either. Good. I’m not alone.”
Ellie snapped the towel at his leg. “You don’t hold the patent on concern for your siblings, you know. We get to worry about you, too.”
“Neither of you need to worry about me.”
“Then you don’t need to worry about us,” she challenged. “We just want you to be happy.”
“And I need to have a woman in my life to be happy? If this conversation were reversed, you know, you’d be screaming about sexism.”
“Don’t try to change the subject. You will not make me feel even a little bit bad about this. So tell me about her.”
“I thought Sam took care of that.”
“She did, but I want to hear what you have to say. Aside from the usual pretty, smart, sweet . . .”
He shrugged. “She’s all that.”
“And . . .”
He wasn’t sure how to describe it. “There’s something about her. I can’t put my finger on it, but she’s amazing.”
“But you’ve known her for a while, right?”
“Yeah, she’s been in town for a few years. And she’s friends with Helena, so I’ve spent more time with her in the last few months.”
“But you’re just getting together now? What tipped it over?”
He’d asked himself that same question a hundred times. “I’m not entirely sure. She just went from ‘person I know’ to ‘person I’d like to know better.’ Sometimes you just don’t see what’s in front of you. And then, one day, you do.”
Ellie’s hand fluttered to her chest. “That’s almost romantic, Tate.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“No, I’m serious. I didn’t know you had it in you. But I’m glad to see you do.”
“Are you saying I’m not romantic?”
“You’re a good man. Very kind and very sweet. You’re also very pragmatic and like things with clearly defined edges. So, no, I didn’t think you were the romantic type.”
Maybe I should send Molly some flowers or something.
“Is this serious?” she asked.
He nearly choked. “You’re jumping way ahead, don’t you think?”
“Planning ahead is not the same thing as jumping ahead,” Ellie answered primly.
“Well, let’s not plan ahead, either. This is still very new.”
“Two weeks, but you’ve known her for years. New, yes, but not too new. It’s a good time t
o bring her to dinner, I think.”
“Patience, Ellie. You’ll scare her off.”
“From what Sam tells me, Molly is made of tougher stuff than that. Oh, don’t roll your eyes at me,” she snapped, catching him doing exactly that, “I want to get to know my brother’s new girlfriend. Crazier ideas do exist.”
“You’ve just never been like this before.”
Ellie sighed. “I went to school with Tamara and Jennie. I knew those relationships weren’t going anywhere from the start.”
“You could have told me,” he muttered.
She ignored him, continuing, “And Kara . . . I could tell by the way you talked about her that it was doomed from the get-go. Molly is different.”
“You’ve met her once. And secondhand information from Sam is hardly evidence of anything.”
“But I’ve known you my whole life.” She grinned. “You’re smitten.”
“Smitten? I think I just lost half my testosterone.”
“Nah. There’s nothing wrong with being smitten. Especially in the early days. I think it’s sweet. Enjoy it.”
“I plan to.”
“And you’ll plan a dinner or something soon so I can meet your Molly properly?”
My Molly. He kind of liked the sound of that.
“We’ll see how it goes.”
Chapter 13
“Do you have anything to snack on?” Molly was curled up alongside him on the couch, her head resting on his chest.
Tate smiled to himself and stroked the curve of her hip underneath the big shirt she wore. It was all she was wearing, actually, and he liked that. “Worked up an appetite?”
Sitting up, she pushed her hair back from her face. With a cheeky grin, she leaned over and gave him a kiss. “More like knowing I need to keep my strength up.” She cocked her head to the side. “Or are we done for the night?”
He tangled his hands in her hair and pulled her back down for a kiss. “You might need a little something to get you through.” Then he thought about the contents of his kitchen. “There’s not much, though, I’m afraid. Maybe a couple of cookies?”
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