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Unfortunately, that Pollyanna approach was shadowed by nearly crippling guilt that she was desperately trying to keep at bay. It wasn’t that Tate was pressing her for anything really, and other than that one detail, she didn’t have anything to hide.

That one detail, though, was enough. She should just tell him, get it out there and deal with it, but she couldn’t. Not that she was ashamed—which honestly, she was, a little—but she didn’t want that nastiness touching her shiny new life.

Not knowing how Tate might react to the news was also enough to make her hold her tongue. Talk about screwing stuff up right out of the gate.

So the guilt was there, welling up every now and then to choke her. But the happiness was there, too.

It was really hard to hold both the emotions in her mind at the same time. It gave her a headache just trying.

“Those look like some really deep thoughts.”

She jumped and opened her eyes to find Tate staring down at her, his forehead wrinkled in concern.

I have to tell him. Just say it.

This wasn’t how she’d wanted to have this conversation. And she certainly didn’t want to have this conversation naked.

“Yeah, they are.” She sat up and pulled the afghan from the foot of the bed around her shoulders. Then she took a deep breath, fortifying herself.

Then she realized that she might not
need
to have this conversation. They’d had sex, but that alone didn’t create a relationship with Tate that required her to tell him all her innermost thoughts or anything. She didn’t even know whether this was going to go anywhere, so why was she twisting herself into knots over it? This was
her
struggle,
her
problem, and in a way dragging Tate into it wasn’t only unnecessary, but also unfair to him.

This was about
her
, not him. She was overthinking this.

She’d be stirring up a lot of crap and angst over what might not turn out to be anything more than just a fling.

There’d be a time to tell him, and she’d know when that was. She just had to get out of the mind-set she’d been in for so long—the one where the guilt and blame and everything else was always hers to carry. Hell, she’d talked about this in therapy, but it hadn’t made sense until just now.

She didn’t owe people explanations about her life or her choices.

Just like that, a huge weight lifted off her shoulders. She felt like a brand-new woman.

Which, in a way, she was.

“Molly? You okay?”

Tate looked wary and confused, and she realized she’d left him hanging there during her epiphany. “I’m hungry.”

His eyebrows went up. “Those deep thoughts were about food?”

“Yeah. There’s none in my kitchen. I wasn’t expecting company today.”

Tate laughed and rolled onto his back. “Boy, you take food seriously.”

“Almost as seriously as I do coffee.”

“Well then, I guess I better feed you.” He groaned as he pushed up to a seated position. “Provided I’m able to move.”

“You just had a nap. You should be raring to go,” she teased.

Tate took the challenge, stalking her across the bed, only just missing her as she rolled off it and to her feet. Defeated, he collapsed face-first onto her duvet and groaned.

Her clothes were at the foot of the bed—the shirt was inside out, but they’d been in a hurry—and she slipped into them quickly. Then she tossed his pants at him. “I’m going to go feed Nigel. Get dressed.”

Tate’s grumbling followed her out of the room.

Nigel was on the back of the sofa, glaring balefully at her bedroom door. “Don’t be grumpy,” she said, stopping to nuzzle her forehead against his. “You’re still my main man.”

As if he understood and was mollified by her words, Nigel threw a smug glance in the direction of the bedroom and followed her into the kitchen. When Tate appeared a few minutes later, Nigel merely sniffed at him before returning to his dinner.

Tate sighed. “Your cat hates me.”

“My cat hates everyone. But yeah, he probably hates you the most. You were sleeping in his spot.”

“Jeez, I save his life and he begrudges me a nap in your bed.”

“I thought I saved his life?” she teased.

“With my help.” Tate wrapped his arms around her and she relaxed back against his chest as he nuzzled the side of her neck.

This moment was perfect. Bliss. She deserved it and, more importantly, she’d
earned
it. She wanted to just savor it for a minute.

But then he abruptly let her go. “I’m about to get very distracted,” he explained, “so if you really want to eat, we’d better go find food now.”

Everything seemed different. Somehow brighter and clearer than it had been yesterday, as silly as it might seem to believe.

It was a perfect evening, and Tate held her hand as they went back downtown in search of food. They bought a bucket of boiled shrimp and took it to the park for an impromptu and slightly messy picnic. Tate told her the-rest-of-the-story stories about some well-known Tate and Helena shenanigans—including a hysterical incident involving the late Mr. Cutter’s goats that Molly was going to have a very hard time
not
mentioning to Helena the next time she saw her.

And the whole time, Tate kept smiling at her, kept
looking
at her as if she were some kind of amazing creature, and actually listening with interest when she spoke.

It was awesome. The best date she’d ever had.

And Molly could honestly say that when Tate kissed her later that night, she saw fireworks.

She was “there.”

•   •   •

Tuesday morning was a little slow, but that was to be expected. The whole town had a celebration hangover. Since Molly was feeling a little bit of that herself, she wasn’t complaining. Her nose and shoulders were sunburned from Saturday, she was sore in several muscles she’d forgotten she had from Sunday’s and Monday’s adventures, and she hadn’t gotten to bed until late last night.

Well, she’d gotten to
a
bed early enough, just not
her
bed and not to sleep.

When she thought about the weekend, it had that movie montage feel, complete with cheesy sound track. And it made her smile at the oddest moments, something that had not gone unnoticed by her customers.

And there was nothing she could say when they asked why she was in such a good mood.

She was dusting the pictures on the wall when the chime over the door rang. Looking up, she saw Helena. Other than a couple of quick waves as they passed each other on Saturday and Sunday, it’d been nearly a week since they’d seen each other, much less had time to talk.

Helena usually came in at least once or twice a week now for a chat and a chance to work undisturbed at her favorite table, but Helena was missing her laptop case today. That plus the wrinkle between Helena’s eyebrows meant something was definitely not good.

Tossing the feather duster behind the counter, she met Helena halfway. “Hey. What’s up?”

Helena grabbed her elbow and moved her toward the back. “I need to talk to you.” She kept her voice low, even though the only customer in the place was all the way by the front window and wearing headphones. Molly was worried, but before she could say anything, Helena added, “You and Tate?”

How does she know already?
Surely not from Tate. He didn’t seem the type to go bragging, not even to Helena, even if he’d had time to do it.

“Please.” Helena rolled her eyes as if Molly had actually said something. “More than a dozen people saw you two kissing at the fireworks show last night. I had four e-mails about it before midnight.”

Damn it. They’d been in the shadows, all the way in the back of the crowd, and everyone
should
have had their eyes on the sky. They hadn’t been hiding, but she’d thought they’d at least been discreet. Or unnoticed.

There’s no such thing as a secret in a small town.

“So everyone knows?” Since she was still coming to grips with it all herself, she wasn’t sure she wanted the news to spread far and wide just yet. She wanted to enjoy it quietly and privately first.

“Pretty much. Or if they don’t know already, they will soon enough. I mean, this isn’t ‘rock the foundations of Magnolia Beach’ big, but it’s still pretty damn interesting. And why did I find out secondhand? How long has this been going on?”

“It’s new,” she assured Helena, who still didn’t seem appeased. Molly was almost afraid to ask, “What are people saying?”

Helena understood. “Nothing bad, I promise,” she said, patting Molly’s arm and flashing a big smile. “I mean, we’re talking about you and Tate. What’s not to
love about it? Any cattiness will come from the broken-hearts crowd, and that will be easily identifiable as sour grapes.”

The broken-hearts crowd. Tate was pretty eligible and would fetch top price at a bachelor auction—not that Magnolia Beach would ever hold such an event. She’d been through a bit of that cattiness before, though, back when she’d started dating Mark. It was petty crap, but it wasn’t fun, either. “Hmm.”

Helena snapped her fingers. “Focus, please. I still want to know why I didn’t already know about this.”

“Like I said, it’s new.” She wasn’t sure what she should or shouldn’t say. She was excited, sure, but now she was smack-dab in the middle of dangerous territory. Helena was her friend—possibly her best friend—but this was
Tate
, and, BFF or not, Helena’s inner Mama Bear was not to be taken lightly. How could she have forgotten that very important fact?

Because Tate’s tongue is a thing of wicked beauty and magic
.

“I knew you two would be great together.” Helena was practically preening. “
So
 . . . tell me all about it.”

“Have you talked to Tate?” Molly didn’t know whether they should have an official story or not. It certainly hadn’t occurred to her to think of one. Hell, who’d have thought the news would spread
this
quickly? How much did Tate and Helena share? How much should
she
share, considering Helena knew both of them? Damn, they’d jumped from “not interested” to “mind-blowing sex” pretty quickly, which she didn’t think Helena would judge her a slut over . . . but all bets were off when it came to Tate.

“I called him this morning, but he didn’t answer. Jenny said he was in surgery.” She waved a hand dismissively. “When? How?
Details
.”

Molly stood, stalling as she tried to think fast. “Do you want some coffee?”

Helena’s eyebrows pulled together. “Sure, I guess, but . . .” Following Molly behind the counter, Helena stopped her before she could pour. “Am I missing something? I’m the only one who seems giddy here.”

Once again, Molly was overthinking, worrying out of habit instead of remembering that things were different now.
She
was different now. She needed to get used to that. But right now she needed to temper Helena’s excitement before she got too carried away. “I just think you need to hold back on the giddy.”

“Why? Did something happen? I mean, you were kissing, and I know Tate’s a good kisser—”

Molly bobbled the cup, but caught it in the nick of time.

“Only once. A long time ago. Very brief,” Helena explained quickly. “You like him, though, right?”

“It’s Tate. What’s not to like?” That was vague, but true.

“And he likes you.”

She couldn’t stop the smile. “I think so.”

“I
know
so
.
So what’s with the dithering?”

“It’s all
very
new. Like Saturday night new.” There was no point mentioning the night with Nigel or the next night at his place after dinner. “Give it some time, maybe, before we start analyzing anything?”

Helena laughed. “I’m not saying y’all have to get married right away—”

Molly dropped the cup and it shattered on the floor. Coffee splashed everywhere, barely missing Helena’s feet. “Damn.” Kneeling, she started to pick up the pieces.

Helena knelt to help, too, not seeming to make a connection between her words and Molly’s reaction, thank goodness. “Well, I think it’s great, and y’all make
an adorable couple. I will try to keep my giddiness under control.” Her lips twitched. “For now.” She stood and tossed the cup pieces she was holding into the trash and passed Molly a towel. “But just remember whose idea this was. Don’t be surprised when I gloat later.”

Molly managed a smile, but she was still reeling a little. Helena was already on the other side of the counter, picking up her stuff. “What about your coffee?”

“I’m good, actually. I really just came for the intel,” she admitted. “Gotta run.”

Off to interrogate Tate, probably.
She wondered if she should text him a warning.

Nah. He’d been handling Helena far longer than she had. He could fend for himself. And anyway, if Tate was caught off guard and said something interesting, Helena would be back here PDQ to follow up—that much she was sure of.

While she was ready to date, she wasn’t sure she was ready to date
publicly
, in a small town, for everyone to witness—and offer their opinions, too. She’d certainly gone from zero to sixty, and though she didn’t really regret it, she could wish she’d moved a little more cautiously—or at least circumspectly. Nothing like jumping right into the deep end.

The bell over the door jingled again, and she looked up to see Sam on her way in, a huge knowing smile already wreathing her face. Sure, news traveled fast, but jeez, had there been an announcement in
The Clarion
today or something?

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.