“Little Molly’s all grown up,” he said, amazed she was here.
The woman in front of him nodded.
“I haven’t been called that in a long time. I guess you’re surprised to see me.”
“I am. Pleasantly.” He decided a handshake wasn’t right for the situation. After all, this was Molly. He held out his arms. “For old times’ sake?”
She came the half step forward and he embraced her. She was warm and cushioned, and holding her wasn’t halfbad. But she seemed a little stiff and awkward, so he moved away and motioned for her to take a seat on the leather sofa placed in the corner of his office. Then he crossed to the wet bar by the bookcases.
“Soda? Wine?”
She shook her head. “No, thanks.”
He settled next to her and rested one booted ankle on the opposite knee. He didn’t have many unexpected visitors, and certainly not any blasts from his past. The intrusion didn’t bother him. If anything, he was curious. “What brings you out here?”
She sat with her hands in her lap, her fingers twisting together. “I’m not sure. I guess it was an impulse on my part. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. It’s been years.”
She nodded. “Fourteen. Not that I’ve been keeping track.”
“You’ve grown up. You were always an adorable kid, but now you’re a lovely woman.” The line sounded smooth and sincere. Lines had always been easy for him.
She laughed. “And you’re still as charming as ever. The truth is, I was homely, but I’ve improved some. I’ll never be a cover model, but I’m okay with that.”
He studied her. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d thought about Molly, or even Janet, who at one time had been the love of his life, or so it had seemed when he was twenty.
She angled toward him. “I was talking with my sister and your name came up. I wondered how you were doing and I was heading out this way, so I thought I’d stop by. Is that too weird?”
“Not at all. I’m glad you did. So tell me about Molly Anderson. You’re still using the same last name, so either you’re not married or you’re modern and independent, refusing to be shackled by society’s expectations.”
She gave him a smile that didn’t seem to reach her eyes. “Not married. Let’s see. I have a degree in accounting and I’ve been working as an accounts receivable supervisor for a telecommunications company in Mischief Bay. I have the usual habits, both good and bad. I hear you’re doing well.”
He motioned to the office. “I design motorcycles. I didn’t know I could make a living at something I love, so I’m generally happy.”
Except for right now, he conceded, but he wasn’t going to think about the decisions he had to make. Molly was an unexpected and surprisingly delightful distraction. He was suddenly pleased she’d looked him up.
He glanced at his watch. It was nearly noon. “If you have time,” he said, “I’d love to take you to lunch. There’s a great place about a mile down the road. Not much to look at, but they have the best hamburgers in the county.” He grinned. “We can catch up with each other’s lives, and I won’t even make you ride on a motorcycle to get there.”
“Sounds great,” she said.
Thirty minutes later they were in a window booth of the restaurant. Santa Claus, painted on the glass beside them, ate a cheeseburger while Rudolph looked on, licking his lips. The waitress had already brought them drinks and taken their order. Carols played softly in the background, and it was early enough in the season that they hadn’t grown annoying yet. Molly was working her way through a margarita, while Dylan sipped his beer. He didn’t usually drink in the middle of the day and he still had lots of work waiting for him back at the office, but he’d joined her when she’d ordered her drink.
As he watched Molly, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Something about the way she kept glancing at him made him wonder why she’d come to see him. Her body was stiff, as if she were uncomfortable. She’d dodged all but his most basic questions, as though she didn’t want to talk about her personal life.
He felt the attention of the other patrons. The town was small enough that everyone knew everyone else, if not by name then by sight. He didn’t bring many women to this place, and those he did bring were nothing like Molly. He had a definite type—leggy and brunette. He’d formed a fondness for that kind of woman when he’d dated Molly’s sister, Janet.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Molly said.
Dylan shook his head. “I doubt that.”
“You’re wondering why I’m here. I mean, I’m sure it’s nice to see me and all, but what do I want?”
Good guess on her part. Possibilities flashed through his mind. Money? A job? Sperm? The last thought almost made him smile. It didn’t matter how many years had gone by—there was no way he could imagine little Molly asking anyone for sperm.
“Actually, I do want something,” she said, and reached for her purse. She dug around inside and pulled out a small item, then tossed it on the table. “Sort of.”
Dylan hadn’t known what to expect, but he was stunned when he saw a gold wedding band lying on the dark wood. “This is so sudden,” he said, going for the joke because he wasn’t sure what to say.
“It’s not what you think,” Molly told him.
“Good, because I don’t know what to think.”
“Do you remember the ring?”
He picked it up. “Of course.” He’d only ever bought one wedding ring in his life. It had been for Janet, back when he’d known that if he had to try to go on without her, he would die. Obviously, he’d been wrong. Time was a great healer. So were life’s lessons.
“I got it for your sister,” he said.
“Then you gave it to me, the day she got married.”
He nodded. Thinking that actually seeing part of the ceremony would heal the last of his wounds, he’d gone to the church. Molly had come out to tell him goodbye. He recalled tossing her the ring, but he couldn’t remember why.
She drew in a deep breath. “I didn’t want you to go. There were assorted reasons, but the only one I was willing to tell you was that you’d promised me an adventure when I grew up. So you handed me the ring and said that when I was ready for that adventure, I was to bring this to you.” She cleared her throat. Color stained her cheeks, and she ducked her head so that she was staring at the table. “Well, I’m ready if you’re still willing.”
Molly felt as though someone had installed a blender in her stomach. As if the almost violent sloshing and churning weren’t enough, she had the horrible feeling she was going to throw up. Now that would be a pleasant visual for Dylan to remember.
Nerves, she told herself. It was just nerves. That and tequila on a very empty stomach. Whatever had she been thinking? The problem was, of course, she hadn’t been thinking. She hadn’t allowed herself, because no normal, sane person would have asked Dylan what she’d just asked him. She wouldn’t be surprised if he excused himself and called 911—asking that they bring those people in the white coats.
She forced herself to look at the way his dark eyes had widened slightly. He didn’t exactly look ready to bolt, which was very nice, considering. She doubted she would have been as polite in his position.
She cleared her throat. “If it makes you feel any better, I can’t believe