Molly: Done, bossy boss-man.
Ev: You wouldn’t have me any other way.
Molly: Accurate.
“Hey, Molly!” I look to see the bartender with a broad smile on his face, like he’s glad to see me. “How are you doing, Molls? God, it’s been forever.”
He’s right. It has. And there’s a very good reason for that.
“Hey, Chase,” I greet my ex, though it feels weird to call him that. We dated years ago. And by dated, I mean that he crashed at my place and mooched from my fridge for a couple of months.
He was in a band when we met, and he was awful. So, when he told me he’d always wanted to be a tattooist, I encouraged him. Clearly, music wasn’t the right career for him. Sadly, body art wasn’t either. But, I met my dear friend Nick when Chase apprenticed there, and Chase and I parted ways amicably.
He sets an Old Fashioned down in front of me and grins. “Who do you think you’re fooling, Molls? It’s your favorite.”
He’s not wrong, so I nod and thank him. “And I’ll take a strawberry daiquiri, too,” I add.
“The hell you will. You dating some pussy who drinks girly drinks?”
There is so much wrong with that statement that I don’t even know where to start. “I’m here with my sister.”
“Ah, cool.” He turns to make the drink, and I wonder what the hell I ever saw in him, besides his good looks.
After collecting our drinks and settling the tab, I make my way back over to Ash, whose eyes are laser focused on the bar.
“Was that Chase?”
“Yeah. You remember him? You were, what, sixteen when we were dating? And we weren’t together long. I can’t imagine you met him more than a few times.”
She takes a sip of her fruity drink. “Thanks. And of course I remember him. He’s too pretty to forget.”
“He is pretty, but…”
“And he’s needy. And that’s your weakness, Molls. Just like mine is douchebag jocks.”
Leave it to my twenty-one-year-old sister to sum us up in just a few sentences.
I open my mouth to protest, though I’m not sure what I’ll say. Girl’s got a point. So, instead, I take a sip of my drink.
Molly’s in the driver’s seat now, and as always, she looks good in my car. We just came from a meeting with a caterer and are now headed over to Nick’s to meet up with Simon and the guys for a taste-testing.
After Molly explained our unique situation, we were able to take some samples along in a cooler. Apparently, Dunc and his wife did the same thing at a different place. Gavin picked up a bunch of food from their favorite bar, not because those guys cater, but because, apparently, no get together is complete without crab dip and wings from Trick’s.
So we’re all going to eat the food and help Simon decide on what the menu should be.
“Are you sure we don’t need to worry about a cake? I’m pretty sure that’s a major consideration,” I ask. Granted, a trio of wedding planners handled my nuptials, but I remember the cake being a pretty big deal.
“No, that’s taken care of. Nan, Simon’s grandmother, has that under control. She makes the cakes for all of the special occasions in their family, and this wedding is no exception.”
We pull up in the back of Nick’s studio and park. I haul the cooler up the outside steps to his apartment.
“Hey!” We’re the last ones here, and the food is all spread out on Nick’s kitchen island, and a woman, I can only assume is Betsy, is bustling around labeling everything.
“Hey, Molly.” She smiles. “Your stuff goes here, where it’s labeled Dorfman’s.”
“What’s with the little cards everywhere, Bets?” her husband asks.
“So we know what came from where, Babe, and we don’t get it all confused. We’re voting, remember? This is not an all-you-can-eat buffet, Dunc. This is a survey. I need your objective opinion.”
