by Devney Perry
“Morning, Finn,” Jimmy greeted.
“Hi, Jimmy. How are you today?”
“Doing just fine. Be better if the Rockies could hire a damn pitcher.”
Randall scoffed. “They don’t need a pitcher. What they need are a couple of players who can hit the damn ball.”
Jimmy rolled his eyes. “Do you know anything about baseball?”
“Clearly more than you if you think the Rockies have any hope of a winning season with their lineup.”
Jimmy twisted in his seat, glaring at Randall as the two prepared for one of their daily showdowns.
Today’s was baseball. Tomorrow would be the stock market. I’d been here a few weeks ago when the pair had shouted at one another about which smell better represented Montana: juniper bushes or sage brush.
Molly had been the one to break up that fight, threatening to revoke their second-dessert-free privilege if they didn’t shut the hell up.
It was coincidence that had brought Jimmy and Randall together. The two of them lived at The Rainbow, a local retirement home. When Randall had started coming to The Maysen Jar, he hadn’t known that his neighbor Jimmy was a relative of its owner.
Jimmy was Poppy’s grandfather-in-law. He’d been Jamie’s grandpa and had stayed close to Poppy after Jamie’s death. Since Jimmy didn’t drive and Randall did, they came to the restaurant together each morning. They’d drink coffee and eat and bicker. My theory was they both lived to piss the other off.
Poppy loved having them, not only because they were a part of her family, but because they provided free entertainment for the restaurant’s patrons.
Owning a restaurant had been Poppy’s childhood dream and The Maysen Jar was exactly her style. It wasn’t big. She’d bought an old, two-stall mechanic’s garage and converted it into a warm, open and thriving café.
The cement floors, which had been covered in oil splotches, were hidden underneath a hickory herringbone wood floor. The actual garage bay doors had been ripped out and replaced with floor-to-ceiling black-paned windows. I wasn’t sure how many buckets of grime and grease she’d cleaned away.
If I hadn’t seen the original, I wouldn’t have believed this place was once a garage. She’d transformed it, only keeping the original exposed red brick walls and leaving the tall, industrial ceilings open. Black tables and chairs filled the room. The counter at the back was the home base where people could order coffee or meals from the display case.
It was trendy without being hip. It was classic without being stuffy. It was Poppy mixed with an undercurrent of Molly.
Molly’s touch was everywhere, probably only noticed by me. It was in the way the menu cards were stacked neatly by the register. How underneath this counter, the shelves were organized with bins and containers for silverware rolls or extra napkins. How the tables were arranged so the center aisle was wide enough to walk down with a bussing bin propped on a hip.
That was Molly. She put others first, and here, others meant Poppy, employees and customers.
She’d set up this business as best as possible to ensure Poppy’s success. Molly had done the same for Alcott Landscaping when we’d started it together. Back when it had just been her, me and a couple of lawn mowers. She had an eye for efficiency and had helped our business take off.
Molly had a gift for keeping things organized, yet relaxed and fun. She infused love and family into everything she did. Alcott had lost a touch of that lately.
More than a touch, if I was being honest.
“Okay.” Mom came back around the corner from delivering the finished latte. “What can I get for you?”
“I’d take a coffee.”
“You got it.” Without asking for specifics, Mom whipped me up my favorite caramel latte. I wouldn’t tell Mom this, but Poppy’s version was better. “So, what are you doing here? I thought you’d be at work.”
“Just wanted to stop in and say hello. I had a slow morning.”
I was lying through my teeth. My to-do list was growing faster than wet grass on a sunny day, but work was impossible for me at the moment.
After leaving Molly’s, I’d gone home to shower and change. Then I’d gone into the office, hoping to get ahead for the day. I’d spent an hour staring at the screensaver on my computer while images of last night had run through my mind.
Her long hair on those white pillows. My white pillow. The smooth skin of her thighs caressing my hips. The tickle of her fingers as she ran them up and down my spine.
My cock twitched just thinking about sinking inside her again.
What the hell had we been thinking? It had been so long and fuck, I’d missed sex with Molly. It was so easy and natural. The years fell away as we drifted into that familiar dance.
I’d gotten lost in her last night.
No matter how many days or months or years went by, Molly was still unforgettable. The best I’d ever had. The way she felt beneath me, her fingernails digging into my shoulder blades as I rocked us into oblivion, was like nothing else in the world.
That meant something, didn’t it? That we’d been just as good last night as we had all those years ago? It shouldn’t mean anything. We were divorced. It was just damn good sex. That was all. Right?
Bottom line? Too much had happened to destroy our relationship. There were other things from the past that were unforgettable.
And unforgiveable.
“Finn.” Mom waved her hand in front of my face.
I blinked. “What?”
“I asked if you wanted some breakfast to go with your latte.”
“Oh, um, sure. Overnight oats, please.”
“Are you all right?” She walked down to the refrigerated display case and took out the jar for me. “You look tired.”
“I just got up early.”
“You work too hard.” Mom sighed. “When was the last time you took a vacation?”
“It’s been a while.”
Brenna had planned my last vacation. She’d begged me to spend a weekend skiing at Big Sky this past winter. The maybe I’d given her had been interpreted as a yes, and she’d taken it upon herself to plan the whole thing.
Brenna had booked a romantic weekend away for us at a local ski resort. Except somehow our wires had gotten crossed, because it had turned out to be my weekend with the kids. Our romantic weekend had turned into a weekend with only me and the kids because Brenna had pouted and gone back to Bozeman.
Max, Kali and I’d had a blast skiing and staying up late in the pool.
That had been the second time she’d gotten annoyed about me having the kids on a weekend. The third time had been last weekend, when she’d wanted to sleep over but I’d told her no because the kids were there.
She’d thrown a fit, so I’d called it off.
I didn’t have a place in my life for a woman who didn’t want to spend time with my kids. A woman who couldn’t respect that I wasn’t ready for certain things in our relationship. It wasn’t entirely her fault but I’d made my position clear. She’d chosen to ignore me.
“Finn.” Mom placed her hand over mine. “You are all over the place today. Take a vacation. Please. Work will always be there.”
“I know. I’m cutting back.”
She frowned. “Really?”
“I’m trying to cut back,” I admitted.
“Try harder.”
She’d said the same thing to me almost every week since she and Dad had moved to Bozeman. It was wonderful to have them closer, especially for the kids, but they had a lot more insight into my life.
And Mom—much like Jimmy and Randall, who were still arguing next to me—didn’t hold back her opinions on my lifestyle. Dad didn’t either.
They thought my business had caused a rift in my marriage that had eventually led to complete and utter destruction.
I didn’t agree. Sure, I’d gotten busy, but I’d been providing for our family. Molly knew that too.
My phone buzzed in my pocket—a text from my landscape d
esigner, Bridget. She was having trouble figuring out a retaining wall for a property we were landscaping along the Gallatin River. I thumbed through the pictures she’d sent and texted back a couple ideas.
Then I dove into my breakfast and sipped my latte before it got cold. “Is Molly here?”
I hoped my question came across as casual, not the reason I’d come in here today. The last person who needed to know I’d had sex with Molly last night was my mother.
“I haven’t seen her yet, but she’s probably in the back with Poppy.”
I swallowed the last drink of my latte and pushed up from my stool. “I’m going to head on back there then. I need to talk to her about something.”
“Everything okay with the kids?” she asked.
My family knew that Molly and I didn’t do much anymore but talk about the kids. Our once-epic relationship had been reduced to conversations about pickups, drop-offs and the kids’ nights at her place versus mine.
“Kali and Max are great. I just need to visit with her about some schedule stuff.”
It was worth the lie. The truth would send Mom into a tizzy. She’d get her hopes up that Molly and I might reconcile. Worse, she’d get Poppy’s hopes up.
My sister had lived through enough heartache, so she didn’t need to be on the roller coaster that was Molly and me.
That ride had ended.
I pushed through the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the restaurant and found Poppy at her workstation, pressing circles of pie crust into miniature glass jars.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” She looked up, her hands covered in flour. “What are you doing here?”
I shrugged, sticking with the same lie I’d told Mom. “I had a slow morning at work.”
“Did you get breakfast?”
I nodded. “Mom fed me.”
Since the divorce, everyone’s top concern was my meals. Even though I’d taught myself how to cook—and pretty damn well—I was constantly given casseroles and frozen meals to reheat. It hadn’t gone unnoticed that they showed up the night before the kids were with me.
But the kids and I loved Poppy’s and Mom’s cooking, so I hadn’t put a stop to it.
“Is Molly here?” I asked.
“She’s in the office.”
“Thanks. I’m going to sneak back there.” Leaving her to the pies, I went to the office, rapping my knuckles on the door before going inside.
Molly was at the desk behind a laptop. Her eyes widened as I walked inside. “What are you doing here?”
I closed the door behind me. “Well, you kicked me out before we could talk this morning, so —”
“There’s nothing to discuss.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “It was a one-time lapse in judgment.”
“Yeah. I guess.” She was completely right, but her words didn’t settle with me.
I walked over to the wall Poppy had covered in corkboard squares so she could pin up a ton of pictures. I wasn’t ready to turn tail and leave this conversation, but I also needed a few moments because I had no idea what else to say.
Most of the pictures on Poppy’s wall were of her and Cole and their kids. There were some of me. Some of Molly. There were even a few from college, when Molly and I had been inseparable, when there hadn’t been a party we all hadn’t attended together.
When Jamie had been alive.
Damn, I missed that guy. I bet he’d tease the hell out of Molly and me for hooking up last night.
I wasn’t sure how Poppy could come in here and see his picture. It gutted me every time I saw his face and remembered he was gone. I still remembered his mother’s scream the night I’d called to tell his parents that their son had been murdered.
I forced my eyes away from a photo of Jamie sitting behind Poppy on a snowmobile. I scanned more photos, hoping Molly would be the one to break the silence.
I smiled at MacKenna’s and Brady’s faces. Even though she’d had a horrific few years, Poppy had made it through and was happier than ever with Cole by her side. With those two beautiful kids.
My smile dropped when I landed on a more recent photo. I hadn’t been in here for months, but now I wished I’d stopped in the back more often. The picture was of Brenna and me playing board games at Poppy and Cole’s place. It didn’t belong on this board.
Why would Poppy put that up on her wall? She hadn’t even liked Brenna that much. Maybe it was her way of telling me that she’d been trying to get to know my girlfriend.
It didn’t matter now. I yanked on the bottom of the picture, tearing it free from its pin, then I crumpled it up in one hand and tossed it in the trash can next to the desk. When I looked at Molly, her brown eyes were waiting.
“I’m sorry about your breakup,” she said gently.
“It’s fine.”
“Is that why you stayed for dinner last night? Because you were upset?”
“What? No. Things with Brenna haven’t been going well for a while. Like I told you, it was time.”
“You seem upset.”
I ran my hand over my jaw. “I’m not upset.”
“Well you just killed that picture. It seems like you’re upset.”
“I’m not upset.”
“It’s okay if you are.”
Fuck. Would this woman ever listen to me? “I’m not upset!”
My voice bounced off the walls and I immediately regretted raising my voice.
Molly scowled, then turned back to her laptop. “Fine. I’m busy. I know you probably are too. Since there isn’t anything else to discuss, you should probably get back to work.”
“Kicking me out again?”
She pursed her lips, positioning her hands over the keyboard. “I’ll have the kids call you before bedtime. Thanks again for mowing my lawn last night.”
That fucking lawn. What a disaster it had turned out to be. I blamed it for getting us into this position.
“Molly.” I sighed. “I’m sorry. I just . . . I’m not upset about Brenna. Really. I’m sorry I yelled.”
“I don’t want to fight, Finn.”
“Neither do I.” We’d done enough of that while we’d been married. “I’m off this morning. Last night was, well, I don’t know.”
“It was a mistake.”
“Was it?”
Her eyes snapped to mine. “What do you mean?”
“Was it a mistake?” I’d been wrestling with that question for hours.
“We’re divorced. Divorced people shouldn’t be having sex with one another. It’s too complicated.”
“It didn’t feel complicated.”
She blinked at me, her mouth falling open. “What are you saying?”
“I don’t know. I just know that last night was the best I’ve slept in years. And not just because I missed my pillow.”
The corner of her mouth turned up. “I couldn’t get rid of that pillow. I thought about it, but I just couldn’t.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.”
“Maybe you should take it with you. That way you’ll have it at home.”
Home.
The image that popped into my head at that word was her house, not mine. The place I’d lived for the past five and a half years had never felt like home. Taking my pillow wasn’t going to change that feeling.
Has another man slept on my pillow? That thought hit me hard and fast, sinking like a rock in my stomach. The kids hadn’t mentioned Molly dating anyone since our divorce. Poppy certainly hadn’t told me. But maybe Molly was hiding it. Maybe she’d had someone else in her life and I’d never even known.
Was it Gavin?
Had he mowed her lawn, then spent the night? I wouldn’t let myself think of Molly with another man, her neighbor included. The other man, the only other one I knew about, was hard enough to live with. I’d spent years trying to block out visuals of another man’s lips on her neck, his fingers in her hair.
If another guy had slept on that pillow, I sure as fuck didn’t want it back.
“Okay.” She dropped her gaze to her lap and picked at a fingernail. This was what Molly did when she was thinking her words through, so I braced. Normally this was when she said things I didn’t want to hear. “I don’t know what happened last night.”
“You don’t remember?” That was a blow to the ego. We’d both had quite a few glasses of wine, but she hadn’t been blackout drunk, and I thought I’d done a pretty good job of making her toes curl.
“No. I remember what happened. I just don’t know why it happened.”
“I don’t either.” I walked to the desk and sat on the edge. “Were you lonely?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “Were you?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Then I guess we were two lonely people having sex to feel a connection to another person.” I hated the sound of that. It was not the right explanation.
Molly grimaced. “That sounds pathetic.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
“Gah.” Molly’s fingers dove into her hair, pulling at the roots. It was her telltale sign a rant was coming. “What are we doing? We were finally figuring things out. Getting into a routine with the kids. Being around one another without fighting. Things have been so much easier lately. You even mowed my lawn. It’s almost like we’ve been . . .”
“Friends.”
Molly dropped her hands from her hair, which then fell over her chest as her shoulders collapsed forward. “Did we just undo six years and three months of hard work?”
Six years and three months. She’d been keeping track of how long it had been since the divorce. So had I.
“I don’t have a good explanation for last night,” I told her. “It happened. I’m not sorry for it. But I don’t want things to be awkward between us.”
“Me neither. I can’t take it. Neither can the kids. I think the best thing is to forget it ever happened.”
Forget? Not likely. At least not anytime soon. But for Molly, and for our kids, I could pretend it never happened. “Okay. If you think that’s best.”
“Well, don’t you?”
“I, uh . . . yeah. Yeah, that’s best.”
Wasn’t it? We were finished. So, yes. It was for the best.