“And the second?” she asked.
“Come to the beach with me?”
She smiled now, her face finally relaxing. “What? On the Vespa?”
“I have a truck. It’s in the garage.”
“I can’t. Not today.” Molly sat forward in her chair. “And I really should get going.”
He remained sitting for a moment, then got to his feet. “Okay. I’ll give you a ride.”
The truck in question was a nineties Toyota double cab that looked like he’d swapped it for a crate of beer with a sheep farmer in the Rata River Pub up-country.
Jake opened the door for her, and she slipped inside. The smell of freshly polished leather lingered, and as Molly studied the cab’s interior, she was impressed. Immaculate—just like the man himself.
They traveled down the hill in silence, but as Jake idled at an intersection, he cast her a sideways glance. “Annabelle said you lived in New York until recently. What’s it like being back?”
Molly relaxed at this common-ground conversation etiquette. “Good. I love being home. New York’s a wonderful, crazy city, but for a country girl like me, it was kind of daunting and, if I’m honest, a little lonely at times. It’s so busy, like the week before Christmas all year round, but still, I enjoyed it mostly. How about you? Do you plan on heading back to France?”
He shrugged. “Depends on how things pan out here.”
She gazed across Carter Bay, the sky now banked with rain clouds, wondering whether he meant with the patisserie or life in general.
“Were you in a relationship in New York?” he asked.
Molly raked her fingers through her hair and shifted her attention to the traffic in front of them. “Not for long. The last guy I dated found my Kiwi accent irritating after a while and suggested I visit a vocal coach. I thought he was joking, but no. He was deadly serious.”
He took a left into her street. “It is pretty strong.”
“It is not! You’re just used to listening to all those French girls. Who can compete with that.”
As he pulled into her driveway and cut the engine, Jake chuckled, and for a moment, Molly wondered if he might lean over and kiss her. She longed to turn the tables and make that move herself, but in her world, the male always instigated the first kiss. Anything else seemed out of sync.
“Did you love him?” he murmured. “Jesse, I mean.”
Molly’s cheeks heated as his soft words flowed over her.Honesty without apology.“I was so obsessed with him that it physically hurt.” She stole a glance his way. “He was mysterious and fun, and I’d never felt an infatuation like it. But for whatever reason, he removed me from his life, and over time, I learned to accept that. Sometimes, I wondered if he realized how much he’d saddened me by ending it the way he did. And I’ve asked myself that question many times—whether I loved him—but romantic love is fraught with uncertainty at twenty, don’t you think?”
He shrugged. “It can be.”
“How old were you when you first fell in love?”
“Sixteen, but that doesn’t count.”
“Why not?”
“Because I was too young to know better.”
Molly tossed his statement around in her head. Was he referring to Alexia? “So what are you looking for… relationship-wise, I mean?”
Jake turned to face her and offered a slow smile. “Fireworks.”
After an awkward goodbye, Molly watched Jake reverse onto the street and drive away. Pulling her jacket tighter, she glanced at the sky, that blanket of rain clouds now catching a stiff westerly breeze, and as she opened her door, her mind raced with rogue thoughts she failed to restrain.
Fireworks!
If Jake thought she was confused before, it was nothing compared to the confusion she now felt.
She grabbed her phone out of her bag when her text alert chimed, glad to see CeCe’s name on the screen. Some days their text exchanges where the one thing that kept Molly grounded.
