The century-old villa reminded her of home, and as she pressed the doorbell, the muffled thump-thump-thump of bass had her humming along to “Love Shack” under her breath.
The door flew open. “Molly, you came!” Mason leaned in for a hug and squeezed her tight.
“Of course I did.”
He beckoned with both hands, his easy laugh filling the space between them. “Come in, come in. You know what? It’s been way too long.”
“It has. How have you been?” She offered him a gift bag filled with biscotti, organic olive oil, and a bottle of Lime Tree Hill’s limoncello.
“Great. And you didn’t have to bring anything.” Mason peeked inside. “Aww, Molly. That’s amazing! Thank you so much.”
“It’s just a little something.”
Mason practically pulled her along the hall and into the kitchen, where several people she didn’t know were engrossed in conversation. “Come and meet my man. He’s a little on the shy side, so you might have to do most of the talking. Oh, and Todd and Kristy are here and most of the contestants from the bake-off weekend.”
And Jake?“Really? I can’t wait to see everyone again.” And she meant it. Although Molly had enjoyed being part of the bake-off team, she’d seen hardly any of them since that weekend.
She mingled, engaged in a deep and meaningful conversation about the nation’s state of affairs with Mason’s husband, Niko, downed shots with the rest of the bake-off contestants, and danced to eighties music: the Fine Young Cannibals, Cher, and Bon Jovi.
Ten p.m. came and went, then eleven, but Molly didn’t care; she was having too much fun. Besides, Kristy had offered her a ride home, and she wasn’t ready to leave just yet either.
A little unsteady on her feet, Molly stepped through the French doors and onto the back verandah, where she discovered a small table loaded with platters of bite-sized desserts. She picked up a lemon-and-blueberry tart and walked out onto the lawn, the custard swirling on her tongue. The air held that distinct chill of a late August frost, and all around the garden, tall trees were dressed for the occasion in fairy lights: some white, some gold.
The music changed to a Lisa Stansfield classic, and Molly swayed to the beat, her arms outstretched as she sang along with several other bake-off contestants.
When she turned back toward the house, there he stood—Jake Sinclair, watching her as he leaned against a verandah post, head canted and a knowing grin on his lips.
Tipsy, Molly stared up at him. She longed to run her fingers through the hair curling around his nape, skim her palm across the bristle of his beard, and kiss him like she meant it. Surrender to nostalgia for old times’ sake.Just once.And yet…
She moved forward. Six unsteady steps, then four more ascending onto the veranda.
“Molly.”
As he held her gaze, the world around her vanished. He raked his fingers through his hair, and once again, she wished she could do the same, perhaps even give it a playful tug.
“I was hoping you’d be here,” he continued.
“Really? And why’s that?”
Jake closed his eyes for a second, as if her words frustrated him, then grabbed her hand and ushered her inside.
He let go when Kristy appeared in the kitchen doorway. They made small talk, Jake back to his usual charming self while Molly stood unsteadily at his side.
Kristy turned to her. “Hubby’s just saying his goodbyes. Meet you back here in fifteen?”
“Okay. Thanks.”
As soon as she walked away, Jake led Molly into a compact office off the kitchen and shut the door.
“What are you doing?” Molly whispered. “We can’t be in here.”
He crossed the room to the small sash window and shut the blind. Turned back to face her. “I just want to talk.”
“I hope it won’t be too deep and meaningful.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I’m kinda drunk right now.” She giggled. “And I don’t trust myself to be discreet.”
