by Devney Perry
Molly spotted them and groaned. “Those two are nauseating right now. I ate lunch with them yesterday and had to throw a chicken nugget at Jamie’s head before he even realized I was there.”
I chuckled. “Poppy didn’t have many boyfriends in high school. This whole PDA thing is a first for me. I’m not going to lie, I don’t like it.”
“I’m not much for PDA myself. Call me old-fashioned, but I’d take a heartfelt letter over sucking face in a restaurant any day of the week.”
“A letter? I think the most I’ve ever written to a woman was a question on a sticky note. Does that count?”
She giggled, the melodic sound stealing my breath. “No, a sticky note doesn’t count.”
My gaze wandered back to her hair, following the silky spirals up from the curve of her breast to the shell of her ear. I really wanted to touch it. Would it be weird to touch it? Yes.
“Excuse me.” The waitress pushed past me with another loaded tray.
“Sorry.” I shuffled toward an empty high-top table so I was clear of the aisle. Poppy was so focused on her new boyfriend, she hadn’t even noticed Molly’s arrival. “I’m in no rush to get back to the kissing booth. Care to sit? You can educate me on all of the other old-fashioned customs missing in today’s dating rituals.”
“Like bundling. They should bring bundling back. And the pet name darling. Not darlin’,” she drawled. “I hate darlin’. But darling is rather charming, don’t you think?”
“It is.” I grinned, pulling out her chair, then went to my own.
Molly glanced over her shoulder, dismissing Poppy and Jamie for the last time. When she turned to me and smiled, the whole restaurant disappeared. “Those two won’t even know we’re missing.”
“What two?”
Chapter One
Molly
Fifteen years later . . .
“Married, single or divorced?” the salesman asked, his finger poised above his mouse, ready to click the appropriate checkbox on the screen.
“Divorced.” Even after six years that word still felt strange on my tongue.
Why did they even need to ask that question? Every loan application, PTA volunteer form and church questionnaire wanted to know your marital status. I was going to start checking the single box. What was the difference? I was buying this car. The fact that I had an ex-husband didn’t make a bit of difference because me, myself and I had no intention of missing a payment.
“Address?”
I rattled off my address, phone number and social security number as requested, and after a hundred clicks, the salesman finally tore his eyes away from the screen.
“Okay, I think we’re set. Let me get the finance guy in here and we can go over the terms.”
“Great.” I stayed in my seat as he left the office. When he was gone, I checked the clock on my phone.
I’d been here for two hours already, test-driving, then negotiating the price of the new Jeep Rubicon I was buying. I still had an hour and a half before I had to be home to meet the kids, but this had already taken longer than I’d hoped. I was anxious to get home with this surprise.
Kali and Max had no idea I was buying a new car and they were going to flip when they saw the Jeep in our minivan’s parking spot.
Max hated the minivan because the backseat DVD player had quit a month ago. Like most eight-year-old boys, he thought any trip longer than twenty minutes was torture without something to watch. Not only did the soon-to-be-mine Jeep come outfitted with chrome rims and tinted windows, each of the kids would have their own entertainment consoles.
Kali didn’t consider the TV a necessity like her younger brother, but she had just turned ten and was approaching the age where mean girls found their nasty streaks and anything and everything could cause debilitating embarrassment—like the minivan I was trading in today. Tomorrow I’d be rolling through the school drop-off line with new wheels, which were sure to earn me some cool-mom points.
I’d been running low on those lately. Their dad was the cool parent, not me. My areas of excellence were laundry, housekeeping and nagging until homework was done and vegetables were eaten. But at least now I’d have a trendy vehicle.
“Okay, Ms. Alcott.” The salesman walked back into his office with a younger man following behind, a stack of papers in his hand. “We’ll just go over the financing terms, sign a few papers and you’ll be all set. I’m having the guys in the shop fill up the tank and do a quick clean. We’ll have you out of here in thirty minutes.”
I smiled. “Perfect.”
An hour later, I slid into the black leather driver’s seat and gripped the steering wheel, taking a deep breath of my new Jeep’s smell. It wasn’t a brand-new car. I was a divorcee with a mortgage and two kids who were constantly outgrowing their Nikes. I couldn’t afford brand-new. But I could afford a shiny three-year-old model with low miles and eighteen months left on the bumper-to-bumper warranty.
“Oh my God, I love this car.” With a happy squeal, I adjusted the seat and mirrors, then put it in drive and pulled off the lot. Excitement raced through my veins, and I fought to stay under the speed limit as I drove through town. The jitters didn’t settle until I was parked in my driveway.
As I got out to inspect the gleaming black paint, I hid my smile with a hand. This Jeep wasn’t just cool, it was badass, and so much better than the white minivan I’d left behind.
My gaze wandered to the garage where the minivan had lived and a pang of sadness hit. We’d nicknamed her Beluga and she’d been my trusty steed for years. She’d schlepped kids to soccer and me to work. She’d cared for hundreds of forgotten Cheerios and fruit snacks. She’d been there for me after the divorce, when I’d collapse into the steering wheel and let out rivers of tears before putting on a happy face to show the world.
I was going to miss Beluga. She’d been one of the last remaining artifacts from my married days.
Most of the relics from my failed marriage had been replaced over the last six years. The living room furniture Finn and I had bought together went first after Kali spilled grape juice on the upholstery and the stain had set. Next went the roof and siding of the house after a severe hailstorm. The beige home we’d bought was now white with black shutters and a charcoal tin roof. Pictures had been taken down. Memorabilia had been stowed in boxes and hidden in the attic.
And now Beluga was gone too.
It was for the best. That’s what I’d been reminding myself these past six years. I was happier now than I’d been during the last year of my marriage. So was Finn. So were the kids.
It was for the best.
I smiled again at the Jeep, then took the sidewalk to the front porch. My lawn was lush and green and long. Ideally, it would get mowed today but I doubted I’d have the time, so the chore was added to my endless weekend to-do list. It was a good thing tomorrow was Friday so I couldn’t tack on much more.
As soon as Kali turned twelve, Finn had promised to teach her how to mow lawns for extra cash. She was chomping at the bit. So was I. Mowing was one duty I couldn’t wait to delegate to the kids. I’d gladly clean and cook and wash clothes for a hundred years if it meant never walking behind my red Craftsman again.
I’d done enough mowing for a lifetime.
After Finn had graduated from college, he’d gone to work at a local landscaping company, but his dream had always been to open his own. The year we married, he took the leap and started his business. Our business.
During Alcott Landscaping’s first two seasons, I was the number-one lawn mower. While Finn did all things landscaping, from bids to design to the actual planting, sodding and whatever else that had to be done, I managed the mowing service. It was the side of the business that kept us in SpaghettiOs and corn dogs until Finn built up his reputation. Three college kids and I mowed hundreds of lawns, until finally I was able to step back from the mowing completely and run the office.
When we had Kali, I took a further step back and worked part-time. Once Ma
x arrived, it made sense for me to stay home entirely. Finn took over all aspects of managing Alcott and I phased myself out.
The only lawn I mowed these days was my own. Even the smell of fresh-cut grass and the prospect of a tan couldn’t get me excited for that chore.
I went inside and dropped my purse on the bench in the entryway. I walked around the corner into the kitchen, and as I looked out over the sink into the front yard, I sighed. I needed to mow tonight. It was unavoidable. Spring had been full of dewy mornings and sunny afternoons. If I didn’t do it soon, I’d be facing a jungle.
Finn and I had bought this house the year Max was born. We’d wanted a nice spacious place in a friendly neighborhood. Alcott had become one of the biggest landscaping companies in the Gallatin Valley, so we’d splurged on a home with every upgrade and the best lot in the cul-de-sac.
Then Finn had gone crazy on our landscaping. This place had been his test site, the yard where he’d experiment with new shrubs or trees to see how they stood up before using them for clients. There was a fountain in the backyard. There were flower beds within flower beds. It was beautiful. The envy of all my neighbors.
And a maintenance nightmare.
Finn had created this intricate spectacle that required me to spend hours edging and trimming. I spent more time weeding than actually enjoying the flowers.
And I was too frugal to spend my single, working-mom income to hire a gardener or mowing crew. I hadn’t even had professional help when I’d been married to Bozeman’s king of lawn care.
“I hate my yard.”
The doorbell rang, pulling me away from the window. I hurried to the front door. My neighbor Gavin waved through the glass.
“Hey.” I opened the door with a smile.
“Howdy. I saw you pull up in your new rig. Had to come over and check it out.”
“Isn’t it fun?” I stepped outside, joining him on the wide, covered porch that wrapped around my entire house.
“Pretty snazzy car, Molly.” Gavin tucked his hands in his cargo shorts as he walked down the porch steps and inspected the grass. “Want me to mow for you?”
I really wanted to say yes. “No, that’s okay. Thanks though.”
“You sure? I wouldn’t mind.”
“I’m sure. It’s the only way I keep a tan.”
Gavin had offered to mow my lawn a dozen times since he’d moved in next door two summers ago, but I’d never accepted. Mostly because it was such a chore. I wanted to stay in his good graces in case I ever needed a neighborly favor.
But the other reason I declined his help was because Gavin didn’t have a knack for mowing. I grimaced at the bald spots cut into his grass and the random piles of mulch. Two years and he still hadn’t figured out the right blade height settings.
I might not like mowing, but I was good at it. Better than most.
“Okay. Well, it’s a standing offer.” Gavin flashed me a grin and my heart sped up a beat.
He was handsome, with a trim goatee and silver flecks in his brown hair. He was a single dad who worked from home, five years older than my thirty-five. His office faced mine, and on the rare occasion I was sitting at my desk while he was at his, he’d wave.
We’d been spending more time with each other this spring. His twin girls were two years older than Kali, but even with the age difference, everyone got along. While the kids were playing together at the park or jumping on his trampoline, Gavin and I hung out. Our Friday-night pizza dinners were becoming a thing.
“How’s work going today?” I asked as we strolled to my Jeep.
“Good. I’m taking a break for a few hours. My ex has the girls for the rest of the week and weekend. It’s so quiet when they’re gone that I’ll probably work through dinner.”
I knew exactly how lonely it was when your kids were at their other home. I opened my mouth to invite him over for dinner with us but stopped when a familiar navy truck came rolling down the street.
Max’s window behind Finn’s driver’s seat was open. His head was sticking out, his mouth flapping open, as he stared at the Jeep.
Gavin chuckled. “Somebody’s going to be excited.”
“I’d better grab the keys. He’s going to want to go for a ride.”
I sprinted for the house with a huge smile, bursting through the honey-oak front door and swiping my purse from the bench. When I hurried outside, Finn was pulling into the driveway beside the Jeep, leaving space for me to back out.
“Mom!” Max screamed from the truck as he scrambled to get his seat belt undone. “What? Is that— What?”
I laughed, rejoining Gavin in the driveway.
Kali popped open her door and hopped out, her brown curls bouncing as she landed. “Mom, is this ours?”
“It is.”
“No. Way.” Her eyes were huge as she took a step for the Jeep. “I just—this—no way.”
“Yes way. Surprise.”
“Wow.” She ran her fingers through her hair. It hung nearly to her waist these days, about six inches shorter than mine. I’d been trying to get her to trim it but she refused. She said her curls set her apart in a school where most girls were doing undercuts or dying their hair shades of blue or pink.
“Ahhh!” Max ran around Finn’s truck, jumping up and down as he pointed at the Jeep. “This is so cool. Can we take it for a drive? Right now? Please? Let’s go.”
“In a sec.” I waved at Finn, the last to emerge from his truck. “Hi.”
“Nice wheels, Molly.” He pushed his aviators into his thick, rust-colored hair as he rounded the hood of his truck. “No more Beluga, huh?”
“No more Beluga.”
His blue eyes found mine, and they flashed with sadness for a moment.
I wasn’t sure what to say. Somewhere on the road from our first cheeseburger to signing the divorce papers, we’d forgotten how to confide in one another.
It was all ancient history now. I was happily single. Finn had been dating other women for years. Like Beluga, some things weren’t meant to last forever.
“Hey, Gavin.” Finn walked up to us, his hand extended.
“Finn.” Gavin returned the handshake, then looked over at me. “I’ll get out of your hair. I’m around this weekend if you change your mind about the lawn.”
“Thanks.” I waved at him as he walked across my yard to his own.
“What about the lawn?” Finn asked when he was out of earshot.
“Oh, nothing. He just offered to mow it for me.”
Finn frowned. “Not an option. Look at his yard. He can’t figure out how to adjust his blades or walk in a straight line. You mow ten times better than that guy.”
“At least he offered to save me the headache.”
“Headache? I thought you liked mowing.”
“Once upon a time.” When my life had been a fairy tale. Before the glass slippers had splintered.
“Mom, let’s go.” Max was racing circles around the Jeep. His wide smile showed the two teeth he was missing at the moment. He needed a haircut because it was constantly falling in his eyes, but I hated cutting his hair. I had ever since he was a baby.
It was a mixture of Finn’s and mine. Not quite red, but not my brown either. It wasn’t as curly as Kali’s—there was only a slight wave—and it had the same texture as Finn’s thick, silky strands. Whenever I cut it, he looked so much older.
“I’m hungry,” he shouted, still running.
“When is he not?” I muttered. “He’s growing like a weed.”
Finn nodded. “I was thinking the same thing the other day. He’ll stay here a few nights and then I hardly recognize him when it’s my turn.”
Max was one of the tallest kids on his youth basketball team, and his frame actually filled out his peewee football pads. There was no doubt about it, he’d grow up to have Finn’s broad shoulders and chest. He’d be tall like Finn too.
Max’s only trait that was one hundred percent mine was his eyes. Both he and Kali had my brown eyes.
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Finn’s deep blue irises were his and his alone.
“Mom,” Max huffed, opening the back door. “Let’s go.”
“Okay, okay. Let’s unload your stuff from the truck first so Dad doesn’t have to wait around for us.”
“No, that’s okay.” Finn jerked his chin to the Jeep. “You guys go. I’ll unload.”
“All right. Thanks. I’ll shoot you a text about drop-off on Monday.”
“Sounds good.”
I’d nodded good-bye and had taken three steps for the Jeep when Finn called, “Molly?”
I turned. “Yeah?”
He smiled. “You always wanted a Jeep. I’m glad you have one.”
“Me too.” I waved, not letting my gaze linger on my ex-husband for too long.
Finn was wearing his normal summer attire of a navy Alcott Landscaping polo, jeans and gray tennis shoes. His clothes used to be covered in grass stains, his hands marred with dirt. He’d come home to me smelling like sweat and sunshine and we’d go at one another without hesitation.
Those days were just memories now. Still, he was dangerously handsome, standing with his legs planted wide underneath the bright May sky. It was a good thing the kids and I were driving away. Too much time with Finn and my mind would start to replay those old scenes, the ones where his lips felt so soft against mine.
“Ready?” I focused on the kids, who were jumping into the car. When we were all loaded and the windows rolled down, I reversed out of the driveway, giving Finn one last wave before driving away.
I caught his wave in the mirror as he stood in the yard that had once been ours.
We’d been divorced for six years and three months, and damn it, Finn still looked like he belonged in that yard. Like Beluga, that house was an artifact that should probably have been buried too. I wouldn’t move the kids, so it was one burial that would wait until they were in college.
“Well? What do you guys think?” I asked them.
“This is so much cooler than the van,” Max yelled out his open window behind me.
