When she said she loved me, I wanted to jump onto the roof and shout it to the neighborhood below.
But, unfortunately for me, it wasn’t that kind of declaration. It was more of the “I love you, but…” variety.
Standing here, staring at the water, I feel a sense of peace. And I know now that I’ll take her love in whatever form she wants to give it—conventions and expectations be damned.
The fact is that I like my life a hell of a lot better when Molly’s in it.
They’re working on the elevator at Chesapeake Shores, and the sound is unholy, so I’ve relocated my office to Drip, my favorite coffee shop.
I’ve been here an hour already, and I’ve spent at least half that time debating on whether I should send Ev a text of his cat sweatshirt—now in hot pink!
Gah. Are we there yet? Are we at that place where we can send silly texts?
I need Ava’s sage advice right about now, but it’s not even 10 a.m., and I doubt her chemistry teacher would appreciate the interruption.
I could ask Delilah, my favorite barista, for advice. But, unlike me, she’s actually working, so I should probably leave her to it.
You know what? Fuck it. I’m sending the text because I want to send the text. And I’m not the kind of gal who sits around, wondering whether she should text someone. I’ve been up in my feelings for too damn long. And it’s time to take some action.
I take a pic of the sweatshirt hanging on the wall and shoot it to Ev, along with a text.
Molly: Need one in pink?
Two seconds later, I get a response.
Ev: Hell no.
Molly: Don’t come crying to me when they’re all sold out in your size.
Ev: I’ll drown my tears in the purple one. That’s what I use it for. Well, that and mopping up spills.
Molly: Blasphemy. That poor cat.
Satisfied with our conversation and my ability to shake off this funk I’ve been in, I finally get some work done.
I don’t know where Ev and I are headed or what will happen between us, but I’m not afraid of the future anymore.
I order a bagel for lunch, and Delilah, bless her heart, keeps my teacup full all day long. At five o’clock, I pack up and head out to my car, shocked to see Ev, leaning against his, in the parking lot.
“I took a chance that you’d still be here. So, when I drove by and spotted your car, I stopped.”
“You can’t blame me. It’s the best coffee shop in town.”
“True, but you hate coffee.”
“But I don’t hate chocolate croissants.”
“What else don’t you hate, Molls?” There’s a vulnerability beneath his smile, and it absolutely kills me. But I’m not quite ready to have this heavy conversation in a coffee shop parking lot.
“That’s a long list, Ev. But it starts with donuts.”
He smiles, and God, how I’ve missed that.
“How do you feel about boats, Molls?”
“Pretty damn good, actually.”
His smile grows impossibly broader. “You are damn near perfect, Ms. Randall.”
