The lawyer’s expression softened further. “Why don’t you take some time to think it over? Speak to Jake. It might help set your mind at ease. Then, once the dust’s settled a little, we can talk again. There’s no urgency at this point.”
Suddenly desperately thirsty, Molly stepped forward, unsteady in her heels as she struggled to understand what Ms. Sutton meant by “no urgency.”
“Molly, are you all right?”
“Yes. It’s just…” She fished in her bag for her business card and held it out to the lawyer. “Here.”
“Thank you. May I pass on your details to Jake, or will you call him?”
Jake? Vespa guy? Baker of fine French pastries? The man who looked so much like the lover from her past that she could scarcely think straight when their eyes met that Valentine’s Day morning? The guy she’d been so rude to at the bar… “I…”
“As I said, he’ll help fill in any blanks.”
“I guess. I mean, okay, give him my number.”
“Great. We’ll be in touch.”
With tears still threatening to fall, Molly pushed through the door and out into the long corridor. She looked up, searching for a restroom sign.
In the dimly lit room, Molly leaned on the counter and studied her reflection in the mirror, her pallid complexion surprising her. Jesse was dead. What a tragic waste of such a talented man, and how devastating for his family and friends.
Even so, she couldn’t quite come to grips with her reaction. It wasn’t as if Jesse had been the love of her life; that particular guy hadn’t made himself known yet, and lately, she’d begun to question if he ever would.
However, there had been times in the past—while alone and melancholy—when Molly still wanted to make that call. The one where, even though inappropriate, she and Jesse would reconnect. She’d told herself it would be to say hi for old times’ sake, but her main objective was to understand, to ask the big “why,” and accept his apology with the grace that came with time and maturity.
But then common sense would prevail, and she’d slip her phone back into her bag or pocket or spot on the nightstand, shoving Jesse to the back of her mind, where he belonged. After all, if he wanted to get in touch with her, he would have.
A long time ago.
Confused and overwhelmed, Molly walked the few blocks back to the office to collect her car, her thoughts in turmoil.
Not to speak ill of the dead, but looking back, Jesse had been a complex character—one with a definite edge. He’d kept her at arm’s length until it suited him, sometimes not contacting her for days. But he’d also had a sweet side to his nature that would draw Molly in with just a look, a touch. As if he understood her at soul level, and that knowledge gave him a unique power over her.
In her late teens/early twenties, insta-love had been Molly’s thing, and Jesse was no exception. She’d fallen in lust the first time their eyes met, and by their third date, she’d mulled over the name Molly Sinclair repeatedly while contemplating where they’d live in the future.
However, their ending was as abrupt as their beginning, and, not that she’d admitted it to anyone other than CeCe, Molly hadn’t slept or eaten for days after he’d cast her aside. In the weeks that followed, she’d isolated herself from friends and stayed off social media while searching for a truth she could stomach.
Suffice it to say, her involvement with Jesse Sinclair was a major catalyst for change in her twenties, although that change hadn’t come easily. Why she kept involving herself with band guys who didn’t give a shit once the sex was over was something the younger Molly had failed to comprehend.
But, true to her word, Jesse Sinclair was the last band guy Molly ever fell for. And while one or two—possibly six at the very most—musicians came and went after the fact, the liaisons were always on her terms. By the time she turned twenty-five, Molly had ditched the groupie scene altogether, vowing to implement smart decision-making going forward.
As she unlocked her car door and slipped behind the wheel, Molly mentally reviewed the many questions she should have asked Annabelle Sutton.
Questions she’d now have to ask Jesse’s twin.
Once home, Molly kicked off her shoesand, withthe tiles cool beneath her feet, opened the fridge door to grab a ginger beer. Held in place with a butterfly magnet, the flyer for the upcoming wine and food festival captured her attention.
She rolled her neck from side to side, attempting to release the day’s escalating tension. Initially, the prospect of being a bake-off contestant had excited her, but with everything that had happened over the past few hours, the competition now seemed so trivial, almost indulgent.
Still, she’d given her word and couldn’t back out at this late stage. The rehearsal was the following Tuesday, and the tents and stalls were already being erected in Petrie Park. This festival was a big deal on the Clifton Falls calendar of events, with Mitch and CeCe right in the thick of it.
Molly pulled the tab on the can and took a seat at the island, the soda spicy on her tongue as she mulled over the past eighteen months. After living and working in New York, returning to New Zealand when her visa expired was a huge adjustment. And as Molly sat alone in her pocket-sized kitchen, the depth of her restlessness, while not unexpected, surprised her all the same.
She reached into her bag and pulled out Jake Sinclair’s business card. Not ready to make contact so soon after the afternoon’s events, Molly would have a snack, followed by a hot shower, and then decide later how best to approach him.
Or if she’d even approach him at all.
6
