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“I’ll talk to you later, Sam.”

He heard her sigh again, but he wasn’t going to argue with her. Hanging up before he lost his temper and said something he’d later regret was the best idea. Yes, he knew he might be being a jerk, but it was hard to be rational right now. It was weird that Molly was married, but he was convinced it wouldn’t have been as bad if she’d just
told
him.
That
was the part he just couldn’t be rational about.

While his mood hadn’t been what anyone would call “good” at all today, he’d now lost any interest in playing poker tonight. Not that the poker table was a particularly prime place for anyone to grill him about Molly, but he didn’t really want to sit around with a group of
people who wouldn’t
ask
him anything but would most likely be wondering about it all the same.

He wasn’t in the mood to deal with that tonight at all. Sliding the phone back in his pocket, he walked back over to Quinn. “I’m going to have to bail on tonight, sorry.”

Quinn’s eyebrows went up. “So we’re going to go kick his ass after all? Do you need backup?”

He laughed. It was said as a joke, but Tate knew the offer was sincere if he said the word. “I’m not going after Molly’s ex. Sam just reminded me of some stuff I need to take care of. Tell Sophie I said thanks for dinner.”

“Will do. And good luck.”

“Thanks.” He shouldn’t need it, not for this at least, he thought, pulling out his phone again and looking for the number. But he appreciated it nonetheless.

He needed all the luck he could get these days.

•   •   •

Molly had dreaded today, fortifying herself with positive mantras while dragging her feet across town to open Latte Dah, hoping for the best but steeling herself for the worst.

The first surprise came with the morning pastry delivery from Miller’s Bakery. Joe Miller normally did his mother’s deliveries, so Molly was taken aback to see Joyce Miller herself arriving with the boxes ten minutes before she even opened the doors.

It was easy to underestimate Mrs. Miller. She was a sweet-looking, unprepossessing woman in her mid-sixties, the soft grandmotherly type, smelling of fresh bread and cinnamon and all the fabulous things she cooked in her bakery.

But underestimating her was a stupid move people only made once. Not only could Mrs. Miller rip someone down a size without even raising her voice, the
woman had serious clout in this town. The Millers might not be as obviously influential as say, the Tanners, but Molly had the distinct feeling, if not the solid proof, that the Millers—and Joyce Miller, specifically—pulled a hell of a lot of strings in Magnolia Beach, and her “opinions” might as well be carved into Moses’s stone tablets.

Her mouth went dry. She liked Mrs. Miller, but she was not ashamed to admit she was also slightly intimidated by her, and Molly was afraid of what this impromptu visit might bode. Plastering a smile on her face, she unlocked the door. “Good morning, Mrs. Miller. This is a lovely surprise. Joe’s not sick, is he?”

“He’s fine. I just had a craving for a good cup of coffee this morning and thought I’d kill two birds with one trip.”

“Of course. I’ve got a fresh urn of dark roast ready—it’s organic and fair trade—but I can easily start something else, or maybe I could make you a cappuccino? Or perhaps a cup of tea?”
Stop babbling.

“The coffee is fine.” She settled onto a stool at the counter as Molly got a cup. “How are you doing?”

She was not even going to pretend she didn’t know exactly what Mrs. Miller meant by that. “I’m okay.”

“You certainly gave us all a surprise.”

“Trust me when I say that was
not
my intention.” She placed the coffee in front of Mrs. Miller and busied herself getting milk and sugar.

“But goodness, Molly, that man . . . He’s quite obnoxious.”

She bit back a smile. “Well, now y’all know why I’ve been trying to divorce him.”

“The bigger question is, why did you marry him?”

There was no judgment in Mrs. Miller’s voice, and relief swept over Molly. “I was young and stupid?”

Mrs. Miller actually smiled at that. “We were all
young and stupid once. Do you think you’ll be getting that divorce soon?”

Molly refilled her own cup. “I remain eternally optimistic.”

“Good.”
That just seemed too easy.
“May I give you some advice?”

As if “no” was a possible answer.
“Of course.”

She patted the stool next to her, and Molly sat. “Don’t hide. Don’t slink. If you’re going to try to keep a secret, you have to be prepared to brazen through once that secret comes out. And in small towns, secrets always come out eventually.”

“I know. That’s why I’m here today. I’m just going to have to face the shame.”

“The shame?” Mrs. Miller’s eyebrows knitted together. “I can understand your embarrassment, but shame? Why are you ashamed of yourself?”

“Because I lied to everyone.”

Mrs. Miller’s laugh caught her off guard. “Honey, no one has to tell the truth all the time. Imagine the disaster that would be. No one ever asked you if you were married, did they?” Molly shook her head. “Then you’re not a liar.”

“I’ve been told that’s splitting hairs.”

“So?”

Molly blinked in disbelief. Until just now, she’d have said Mrs. Miller had the strongest moral compass possible. Therefore her words seemed . . . surreal. “But dating Tate rather implied that I was single.”

“True, but you’ve been separated a long time, right? And considering how unpleasant your hopefully soon-to-be ex-husband is, who can blame you for trying to find some happiness?”

“I figured most people would . . . I mean . . .”

“Expecting to wear the scarlet letter, are you?”

She sighed. “Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Miller just laughed and shook her head. “And once again, each generation thinks they invented sex and all the possibilities therein. I’ve lived in this town my entire life, child. I know things you can’t begin to imagine about people you’d never suspect. If I have to start handing out big red letter
A
’s to people, this town’s going to look like the stands of an Alabama home game.”

Molly clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the giggle. “Surely not,” she managed to say after a moment to control herself. “Not here.”

“People are people, Molly. And throwing stones is a dangerous practice. Particularly in a small town where—”

“There’s no such thing as a secret,” Molly finished for her.

“Be easy on yourself,” Mrs. Miller said, giving her a comforting pat on the shoulder. “It’ll all be fine.”

Molly spent a good portion of the morning reeling from that statement, and an equal amount wondering at the ongoing proof it might be true. Business certainly wasn’t hurting, and while tourists could be credited with part of that, there were plenty of regulars coming in as usual. There were no ugly looks coming her way, only polite inquiries into her health as she’d been “sick” the day before, and a few whispered conversations when her back was turned.

And since good manners kept people from bringing up unpleasant topics directly, she was mainly able to carry on business as usual.

Then Sam showed up for her shift.

It was an awkward reminder that while the town in general seemed willing to if not
forget
, then at least outwardly
ignore
the entire situation, the one person who couldn’t was Tate. And while Sam might like her, blood was always thicker than water.

And while she was trying very hard to not think about Tate right now, Sam’s presence made that impossible. At the same time, this wasn’t Sam’s fault, and it wouldn’t be fair to put her in the middle.

“Hi, Molly. I’m glad you’re feeling better today.”

“Thanks. And thanks for working overtime yesterday.”

“No problem.” She paused, twisting her lips as if she wanted to say something. Molly just waited, wiping down the counters. Finally Sam shrugged. “Tate’s got a good heart. It just works against him sometimes.”

And I hurt him.

Molly nodded.

“So is there a special today?”

And at that, the day was officially surreal. She’d expected . . .
some
thing from Sam. Granted, she was Sam’s boss, so berating her wasn’t one of Sam’s options, but Sam must like her job a hell of a lot to not have
anything
to say about it. Not believing it, but not questioning it too closely either, Molly could only shake her head as she went to unpack the new coffee shipment that had arrived.

Not that it negated the utter humiliation and shame she felt at being exposed like that in front of everyone or the knowledge that people were gossiping about her behind her back even if they weren’t calling her a harlot and a liar to her face, but it made things more bearable.

And honestly, she’d learned long ago to accept small favors for the blessings they were.

She let Sam go home early as a thanks for all the extra hours and stayed behind to finish the last of the cleaning up by herself. She moved quickly, ready to get home to the wine in her fridge that would reward her for surviving today.

Just as she went to turn off the lights, though, there
was a knock on the door. Adam Tanner was peering in. Concerned, she went to see what he was doing there.

“Hey, Molly. I’m glad I caught you before you left.”

“If you’re after coffee, I’m afraid I’ve already poured everything out, and I don’t have anything to offer. I could make you a cup of tea?”

“I actually came by to talk to you. Do you have a second?”

“Of course.” She went to one of the comfy overstuffed chairs and sat, motioning Adam toward the other. “What’s up?”

“I might be overstepping a line here into your personal business, but please don’t shoot me for it.”

“I think all my personal business is on display at the moment anyway, so I can’t really take it out on you.” It was weird, though, because Adam Tanner might have been one of the
last
people in Magnolia Beach she’d figure would have any interest in this.

“I’m not a divorce attorney—”

Molly jerked. She’d forgotten for a moment that Adam was an attorney of any sort, and this impromptu meeting took a scary turn.

“But from what I’ve heard, there’s just something not right about what’s going on with yours.”

That
was not what she’d expected. “What do you mean?”

“It doesn’t make sense to me. It shouldn’t be taking this long for it to happen. Can I ask you a couple of questions?”

A spark of hope lit in her chest. She wasn’t going to fan that spark into a flame or anything, but it was nice to hear Adam say she should be divorced by now. “Sure.”

“Is there money—a settlement, alimony—something like that you’re fighting over?”

“No. At first, yes, I asked for alimony, but I didn’t
have a job then.” It was weird to be discussing this so openly, but it was good, too. She wasn’t hiding anymore. “But once this place started turning a profit, I decided I didn’t need it, and it wasn’t worth the battle. I withdrew the request a long time ago.”

“Money and kids are the two things that usually slow down divorces. I don’t see why yours would be stalled, then, if that’s not an issue.”

She gave Adam a few highlights of her divorce saga, but she trailed off when he started shaking his head. “No offense, Molly, but your lawyer sounds damn near incompetent to me.”

She felt her jaw go slack, but Adam either didn’t notice or was too polite to comment on it.

“If you’re willing, I’d like to take a look at your paperwork. Do you have copies?”

“Of course. I’ve kept everything the lawyer sent me. It’s all at home.”

“I’ll walk with you. I’ll look it over tonight and, if you’d like, make a few phone calls tomorrow. I can’t guarantee anything, but I think you need a second opinion.” He shot her a small smile. “Assuming, of course, you want to be done with this. And him.”

That spark of hope caught fire, and she pushed to her feet. “Let’s go.” Gathering her stuff, she said, “I’d really appreciate anything you could do. I’m thrilled you even want to try. I’m so tired of just sitting around
waiting
. I know Helena probably played a future-sister-in-law card for this, but I’m so—”

Adam was shaking his head. “Actually, Tate called me.”

She stumbled a little. Way for Tate to prove her wrong. He’d said he would have tried to help, and sure enough, he’d come up with a way. She’d decided earlier today that she needed to call Mr. McCallan and try to light a fire under him, but she hadn’t thought to simply
get a second opinion. Maybe she would have, once she was thinking straight again.

He steadied her on her feet. “I told him it was a horrible violation of your privacy—”

“No, it’s much appreciated. Just a little surprising.”

“Why? He’s got a vested interest in your divorce. I can easily see why he’d want to help you get it done and dusted.”

Adam must not know how angry Tate was with her. But then why would Tate involve himself? “Maybe.”

All this new, bubbly hope put a spring in her step, and the walk back to her house could not have been more different from the trip out this morning.

She’d dreaded today, yet it had turned out pretty darn good in the end.

Then, exactly like on her
last
really good day, Mark showed up to ruin it, his SUV sitting in front of Mrs. Kennedy’s house where she’d see it the moment she turned onto her street. She should have expected it, really, but she’d held on to the hope that since Mark wasn’t hanging around Latte Dah or trying to contact her, that must have meant he’d left town. After all, she’d been clear she wasn’t going home to Fuller, and he’d achieved his goal of humiliating her, so what was really left for him to do? “God
damn
it.” Mark must have been watching for her, because the door opened almost immediately and he climbed out of his SUV.

Adam looked over at her. “He just shows up everywhere, doesn’t he?”

“I’m going to kill him.”

“I’m not a criminal attorney, either, but I will strongly advise you not to do that.”