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“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 to 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

“D
o 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?”

“That’ll work. Don’t get up,” she said as he started to lever himself up. “I’ll get them.”

“Blue container on the counter,” he called after her. The T-shirt only just covered the curve of her butt, displaying a long, lovely length of thigh as she walked.

She came back carrying the container, one cookie with a bite missing already in her hand. Sitting next to
his feet at the other end of the couch, she chewed and swallowed. “Oh my God, this is so
good
. It might just be the best thing I’ve ever had in my mouth.”

“Really?” He wagged his eyebrows at her, earning him a frown.

“Seriously, where’d you get these?”

“Iona made them.”

“Do you think she’d let me sell them in Latte Dah?” Taking another bite, she closed her eyes and chewed, a blissful look on her face.
Damn.
That was the same look she got when she . . .

He forced himself back to the conversation. “She might. You certainly won’t be finding them here any longer.”

“Why not?”

He sighed and stacked his hands behind his head. “Because of you.”

“Me?” Her eyebrows pulled together in confusion. “What did I do?”

“Me.” At her look, he laughed. “It’s Iona . . . Well, she . . .”

“Oh.” Understanding dawned on Molly’s face. “These are ‘please love me’ cookies.”

That’s one way to think about it.
“‘The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach’ and all that.” He sighed. Tomorrow was Iona’s regular day to come, and since there was no way Iona didn’t know about Molly by now, his chances of delicious pot roast and fresh cookies were slim to none. “I won’t be surprised if Iona goes on strike. When she gets even a little bit jealous, my quality of life goes downhill. The fact I’m actually
seeing
you, though, might push her into quitting outright.”

Molly’s mouth twitched. “Does she have actual reasons to be jealous?”

“You mean, have I given her reason to think I’m interested? No.”

“Iona’s a lovely young woman—and a hell of a cook, obviously. You could do worse.”

“She wants to get married, though. The sooner the better. In fact, she might have monogrammed towels already.”

Molly coughed. “Oh.” She set the container over on the coffee table, and the neckline of the T-shirt gaped, giving him a view of her cleavage. “Well, that means she probably won’t want to do business with me, either. That might be for the best, though. I’d end up eating more of these than I sold.”

“Yeah, well, I’m going to starve to death and my house will be condemned within a week.”

“You could learn to cook and clean for yourself, you know.” Molly seemed completely unsympathetic to his plight. “You’re not helpless.”

“I don’t want to spend what free time I have cooking and cleaning.” He knew he sounded spoiled and probably petulant, but it was true.

“I can’t say I blame you.”

“You don’t think I’m lazy?”

“Life’s too short. There are so many things that suck but still
have
to be done, whether you like it or not. If you don’t
have
to personally deal with something, why waste that time when you could be doing something you do like?”

“That’s a great philosophy, but not likely to help me with Iona.”

She shrugged. “You’re on your own there. Sorry.”

He pushed up onto his elbow. “If you could off-load one thing out of your life and have someone else deal with it, what would it be?”

Molly thought for a moment. “Realistically speaking? Or anything at all?”

This could be interesting. “Whatever.”

“Running. If I could figure out a way for someone else to run and yet I’d still reap the benefit, I’d
totally
outsource that.”

That surprised him. “Running is worse than cooking or cleaning?”

“I don’t particularly like doing that, either, but . . . I don’t know.”

“What?” He nudged her with his knee.

“I couldn’t have someone in my house like that. I’d feel . . . ‘invaded’ is not the right word. Maybe exposed? It’s like letting someone read your diary—only they know all your real dirt and bad habits.”

“Somehow I don’t doubt that if I kept a diary, Iona would have found it and read it.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“Nothing at all?”

“Nope. I’m an open book. Ask me anything.”

Her eyes narrowed, and he suddenly feared he was about to have to confess to all kinds of things that should be covered under some sort of statute of limitations. “I don’t believe you,” she said after a very long minute. “Everyone has parts of themselves and their lives they want to keep private.”

“I grew up in a small town with two nosy sisters. I don’t know what the word ‘privacy’ means.”

“I
also
grew up in a small town with two nosy sisters,” she reminded him. “That’s all the more reason to want to have parts of your life that
aren’t
public knowledge.”

He sat up and moved down to her end of the couch. “So what are your secrets?”

“What makes you think I have secrets?” she challenged.

“You just said—”

She shook her head. “I said ‘private.’ There’s a difference. Not wanting everyone to know all your business isn’t the same as keeping secrets.”

“Tell me something private, then.”

Molly seemed to be weighing the options. “I tried to paint Nigel’s toenails once. It didn’t go well.”

He scooted another inch closer. “No. More private than that.”

“I sleep with a night-light. I don’t like the dark.”

“That’s a little better.” He leaned in and kissed her right where her jaw met her ear. “Come on now, you can trust me to keep your secrets. Tell me something no one else knows.”

At that moment, he felt the change, as if she’d flipped a switch, distancing herself from him and the conversation.
Damn.
He pulled back and saw that her eyes were shuttered and withdrawn. He’d gone too far. They’d gotten so comfortable recently that he’d forgotten that there were parts of her cordoned off as no-go zones. It bugged him that she still wasn’t ready to trust him with those secrets, but he didn’t want to back her into a corner, either. Quickly, he tried to backpedal. “Never mind. I’m just teasing you.”

Then she smiled, but it was that smile she always gave everyone, not the genuine kind he’d seen and come to love. Oh yeah, he’d stepped in something. She stretched and glanced over at the clock, and he knew what was coming next. “It’s getting late. I need to get home.”

Damn it.
He put a hand on her leg to keep her in place. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to pry. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

“I know. And I’m not trying to be all ‘Lady of Mystery,’ either. There are just some things I don’t want to talk about.”

“And I won’t ask again. If you want to tell me, you can, but—”

She nodded. “Thanks.” Patting his hand, she scooted off the couch, adding, “But I really do need to go home and get to bed. It’s later than I thought, and Monday mornings are always busy. People need their fix to start the week.”

He watched her as she went upstairs to get her clothes without comment, not wanting to dig the hole he was in any deeper.
Helena tried to warn me.
But this was more than just idle curiosity on his part. The pieces of the puzzle he had were starting to worry him—not about her, but
for
her.

The self-help books, the desire for privacy, the facade she presented to most people, the estrangement from her family—he didn’t need to be a therapist to know that all equaled something bad that Molly wanted to forget. Whatever it was, though, she wasn’t letting it destroy her. She wanted to be happy.

And if he wanted to keep her, he’d have to back off. He just wished she trusted him enough to tell him. To let him help. It was so frustrating to know there was something but be unable to do anything about it.

When she came back down a minute later, the shuttered look was gone and the color was back in her cheeks. He caught her hand as she passed by to get her keys. “Hey—”

She put a finger against his lips. “We’re good. Really.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” She rose up on her toes to give him a quick kiss. “I’ll see you later.”

He didn’t want her to leave. “I’ll walk you home.”

Molly rolled her eyes. “It’s two blocks. I could be home in the time it takes you to get your clothes on.”

He cupped her face between his hands and kissed
her, wanting that kiss to help him make sense of his own thoughts.

The one thing he did know, though, was that he was going to have to play it her way. And that meant backing off and letting it go. He had to earn her trust, and that was the only way to really do it.

It wasn’t easy, though.

•   •   •

Today was a good day.

There was nothing Molly loved more than a full house at Latte Dah. Every business owner liked to see business booming and money going into the till, but having a crowd at Latte Dah was like having a big family gathering where she got to play the matriarch.

The point of a coffee shop wasn’t coffee, after all; people could make perfectly decent coffee at home. People came here for community and companionship and conversations, and she got to be right smack-dab in the middle of it all.

The adult Bible study group from Grace Baptist was in the front corner, and the talk had long moved from the holy to the earthy—grandchildren, taxes, where to catch the best fish. There was a group of young moms, their babies napping in strollers, two moony-eyed teenagers who, based solely on the slightly awkward body language, had to be on a first or second date, and four members of the historical society with their heads together in serious conversation. A few sunburned tourists and folks on laptops were mixed in and sharing tables, and Molly just wanted to give everyone a big group hug.

This
was why she’d opened a coffee shop. Not for her love of coffee—which
was
genuine and true—and not because Magnolia Beach didn’t have one before she’d opened hers. She loved the
idea
of a coffee shop,
and Latte Dah had surpassed even her dreams for its acceptance among the locals.

Jane, who’d started wearing her apron strings tied beneath her tiny baby bulge to show it off, was behind the counter while Molly made a sweep through the room grabbing dirty cups and visiting briefly with customers. Quinn Haslett was already here in his official capacity as editor/photographer/reporter for
The Clarion
, nursing a cup of coffee and chatting with the director of the women’s shelter as they waited for everyone else to arrive. The big cardboard checks, one for the county animal rescue and one for the women’s shelter, sat close by, already bearing her and Tate’s signatures in black marker.

Duncan and Jessie had been right. After all was said and done, the funds raised from the Children’s Fair had exceeded last year’s amount by over five hundred dollars, and both charities would be getting sizable donations.

She’d done it. It had nearly killed her, but she’d done it. And the amazing part was no one seemed surprised that she
had.
She’d always been the screwup, the one who couldn’t be trusted to properly organize a kegger in a brewery, and yet she’d done this. She’d exceeded expectations, and it wasn’t because the bar had been set ridiculously low. It was the most incredible realization that these people didn’t underestimate her—and something that she hadn’t consciously understood until today.