Chapter 2
2
On those moody Mondays when alone in her tiny apartment in New York, Molly had often pondered how she’d react if she ever saw Jesse Sinclair again. Cool and unaffected? Composed and detached?
After all, it had been no more than a fling. A summer flirtation where, obviously, she’d been just another girl from the rowdy crowd, one who meant nothing to the drummer who’d reminded her of every rock-star crush she’d ever had.
Apart from their last night together, Molly’s recollection of that fateful summer was vague, or so she’d repeatedly told herself over the years. So the heat coiling in her belly and flutter in her chest when she spotted him astride a Vespa as she crossed the road that morning took her completely by surprise.
His outfit of khaki shorts, a casual linen shirt, and boat shoes was very different from his tight jeans and branded T-shirt look of eight years before. Less band guy and more relaxed businessman—the kind Clifton Falls seemed to attract as work-weary corporate types sought a more balanced lifestyle in the provinces.
On any other day, Molly probably wouldn’t have noticed him. She’d had enough unwanted attention from men to know not to stare at strangers. But when she glanced his way and caught him looking, her step faltered. Because even though eight years had passed, their once-shared intimacy—every expression, every nuance—had remained in her thoughts for those times when she’d asked herself why. The long hair was gone in favor of a more conservative cut, but otherwise, with maturity gently seasoning his features, he looked good. Extremely good. Jesse had never been a traditionally handsome man, but his magnetic personality and easy smile had drawn her in from start to finish.
And, oh, what a finish it was.
There’d been many times over the years when she’d wondered if he’d recognize her if their paths ever crossed by chance, but there was no mistaking his reaction. Jesse Sinclair recognized her, even if he struggled to put a name to the face.
And now, on yet another Valentine’s Day where there’d be no cards or chocolates or red roses—not that she cared, of course—all Molly could think about was the drummer from her past who, despite telling her he loved her, had ended their association almost as soon as it began.
“You okay, Molly?” Beth, one of the women in her group, asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
She smiled at her friend. “No ghost. Just an apparition from my past.”
“Who, Vespa Guy? Do you know him?”
Molly shook her head as if that might clear the sight of him from her mind. “I thought I did once, but that was a lifetime ago.”
“He works at that new patisserie on the corner of Seaview and Fifth Avenue,” one of the others offered.
Patisserie? Molly knew the one. She drove past it most days but, in spite of her passion for all things sweet, hadn’t yet been inside.
“I was in there last week,” Beth added. “He’s kinda hot in that broody way, so naturally, I snuck a peek.”
Molly laughed. “Naturally.”
“Well, what’s a girl to do when a sexy guy in an apron presents her with a delicious pastry? Look the other way and pretend not to notice?”
Still smiling, Molly strolled with her friends through the sunken garden and along the boardwalk, thoughts of Jesse Sinclair front and center as the rest of her group chatted back and forth.
They stopped at the bandstand, their usual goodbye point, and as the others headed off in their different directions, Molly found an empty bench seat and sat for a moment, wanting to arrange those restless thoughts into single file in her mind and march them off out into the ocean.
The balmy February dawn warmed her bones, and as she gazed across the bay at the threatening rain clouds to the north, Molly smiled, then tilted her face to the sky and closed her eyes. Moving to Clifton Falls from New York was always going to be a major adjustment, but she was happy here—content.
Sure, she’d enjoyed her time overseas, the bustle of big-city life, the food and the fashion, but Molly could never imagine settling in the States. It didn’t feel like home, and as time passed, she’d found herself increasingly overwhelmed by a sense of distance.
So, now that she was back, would she ever pluck up the courage to visit the patisserie, acknowledge Jesse when he said hello, and leave with no hard feelings attached or projected?
Of course she would. That’s what adults do, isn’t it? Recognize, address, move on.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and Molly opened her eyes again. With hands a touch shaky, she pulled it out and read the text from her cousin.
CeCe: Fancy something a little tarty for V Day?
Molly: Sorry NCD. I have a Zoom call first thing and a full day today. Tomorrow?
CeCe: Yeah, OK. Fig Leaf? Or I’ve heard that new patisserie on Seaview Road’s good.
Molly hesitated as she reread the words new patisserie— once, twice. Again, her visceral reaction to the knowledge that Jesse was working in Clifton Falls surprised her. And in a patisserie. She hadn’t even realized he was a baker.
Molly: Okay. Let’s check out the patisserie.
She hit send before she had the chance to change her mind. And, despite her earlier bravado, the regret was immediate. Nothing good would come of catching up with him again after all these years. That chapter of her life had been closed a long time ago.
CeCe: My day’s looking kinda full. Is 3:15-ish OK?
As Molly rose from the bench and strolled along the boardwalk toward her car, her reckless heart skipped a beat. She could do this.
Molly: Great. See you then.
CeCe: And you have mail. I’ll bring it along.
Molly: Thanks.
She slipped her phone back into the pocket of her hoodie, muttering a firm “pull yourself together, Parker” under her breath, and unlocked the driver’s door of her Suzuki. As she slid behind the wheel, Molly told herself there was no need to contemplate any future dealings with him. Jesse was just a guy from another time, another life.
However, as she drove away from the waterfront, thoughts of their last time together tiptoed into her mind, and Molly berated her body for acting this way without her permission.
Traitor.
The following day, Molly arrived at the patisserie a few minutes early, still nervous at the thought of seeing Jesse behind the counter, despite having stern words with her inner self that she could do this. She slipped inside and glanced around, then relaxed when she saw no sign of him.
The interior wasn’t at all what she’d expected. With compact marble-topped tables and cane chairs spilling out into a leafy courtyard overlooking the bay, the place had a cute Parisian vibe—alluring and intimate. Molly inhaled deeply, the smell of freshly baked pastries a pleasant distraction from her otherwise anxious state.
CeCe joined her moments later, and they ordered at the register before settling in the courtyard beside a rocky pond speckled with goldfish. Her cousin reached into her bag and pulled out a manila envelope, which she slid across the table. “Postal delivery for one Molly Parker.”
“Thanks.” Molly studied the envelope, her brother’s chaotic handwriting stirring the first pang of homesickness she’d experienced since moving to Clifton Falls weeks before. She knew what the mail would be. According to Patrick, two business-sized envelopes and a card addressed to her had arrived in the family mailbox back home in Tulloch Point. She assumed the card was an invitation to a friend’s wedding in Melbourne and the other envelopes—probably her credit card statements.
She set the mail on the empty chair to her left.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” CeCe asked.
“No. It can wait until I get home.”
“Speaking of, how are you settling in at Gloria’s?”
Gloria Conte, a flamboyant older woman and now Molly’s landlady, had been friends with CeCe’s mum, Andrea, for many years, which was how Molly had ended up renting the tiny house at the bottom of her garden. “Good. I miss having a bathtub, but other than that, it’s all I need right now. And the garden’s gorgeous. I’d be hard-pressed to find anything better.”
“And your Valentine’s Day? Did a secret crush arrive on your doorstep with a dozen reds and a chilled bottle of Mo?t?”
“As if I could keep that under wraps.” She smiled. Apart from the lack of sex, not having a man in her life at the moment didn’t really bother her. However, Valentine’s Day held an exception to that assertion. “But I did stumble across someone from my past yesterday. And I mean almost literally stumbled.”
“Really? Who?”
Molly looked up as the server set their coffees on the table. She took a sip, her thoughts turning to Jesse. Desperate to share her traffic-light experience, she wondered if CeCe would recall the “Molly and Jesse” backstory. “Do you remember a guy named Jesse who lived in Tulloch Point the summer you met Luka? He played in that country rock band, the one with the ridiculously hot lead singer.”
“Um. Didn’t several of your exes play in bands?”
Molly chuckled. “You make me sound like some serial groupie.”
“Unintended.” CeCe’s expression softened. “Oh yes, you mean that guy who tossed you the L-word then, as soon as the sex was over, exposed his cold shoulder and told you to leave?”
“Yes. What a guy.” In spite of her efforts to pretend otherwise, memories of that night still hurt more than they should. But nobody likes rejection, especially when it comes out of left field. “I saw him stopped at the lights by the sunken garden yesterday morning. Almost tripped over my sneakers.”
CeCe waited while the server delivered their cakes and then continued, “And you’re sure it was him? It’s been what…? Eight years at least.”
Eight years and three weeks. “Almost certain.”
“Did he recognize you?”
“I think so. Well, he stared for a moment—frowned. The long hair’s gone, but that face was so familiar. Last I heard, he was in Europe. But his family lives here, or at least they used to. He went to Clifton Falls High.”
“What’s his surname?”
Molly leaned closer and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Sinclair. Jesse Sinclair. Ring any bells?”
CeCe shook her head. “Not really. Why are you whispering?”
“Because he works here, apparently.”
“Here?” CeCe tapped an index finger on the table. “As in, right here in this very space?”
“Yep. But no looking back, right?”
Eyes wide, CeCe cradled her cup and grinned. “Given that Luka was my second chance, I don’t really subscribe to that clichéd view. He could be worth a quick look, don’t you think?”
“Nope. There will always be exceptions, and you guys are it for me, but we had our moment. I can’t imagine what we would say to each other after all this time.”
At the sound of a text alert, Molly opened her tote, pulled out her phone, and checked the home screen. She switched it to silent before slipping it back into the side pocket. Patrick’s text could wait. And as CeCe tucked into her ricotta and coconut torte, Molly wondered what life was like now for the insta-love crush of her early twenties.
Jesse Sinclair. Even his name was perfect.
Back then, she’d insisted to anyone who’d listen that her taste in men had matured to the extent that she held the word “discerning” in high esteem and wouldn’t fall for just any musician who showed an interest.
And yet…
Jesse showed an interest, and despite her new mantra, Molly fell hard and fast. Unfortunately, it was over as quickly as it began. She still had no idea why, but there was nothing she could do about it. The choice wasn’t hers to make. After all, when a person shows you who they really are, you should believe them—well, according to the voices of wisdom on social media.
And Jesse the Band Guy had definitely shown Molly who he was. Apathetic and obstinate, with a pinch of vanity for extra added spice.
Now Molly’s days of dating band boys were long over: her status—single by choice but still looking with mild interest. Drummers and guitarists need not apply. She sipped her latte, contemplating how the term “shitty love life” from her earlier years was still applicable today. Who would have thought?
“Anyway, he was just another dud in a long line of duds, so don’t worry about it. I did really like him, though. He was so damn sexy.”
CeCe chuckled. “Yes, I recall you mentioning that at the time. Actually, more than once.”
They sat and talked for the next half hour, and as the minutes ticked toward four and their conversation moved on from exes to more important topics, Molly relaxed. Because, while her friends had claimed Jesse worked here, there was certainly no sign of him.
With their plates and coffee cups empty, CeCe glanced at her watch. “Right, I think they’re about to close, and I have a movie date with my sexy husband at seven, so there’s a hundred things I need to do before then.”
They stood and made their way to the entrance, where CeCe opened the door. Molly was about to step outside when someone behind them called, “Excuse me?”
She turned. Dressed in chef whites, checkered pants, and a black cap with its bill facing backward, Jesse Sinclair stared down at her. “You forgot this.” His voice was soft as he offered Molly the manila envelope. He didn’t address her by name, but once again, his expression screamed recognition.
A swarm of butterflies stirred in her stomach and fluttered toward her heart. It wasn’t until CeCe cleared her throat that Molly released herself from his gaze.
“Of course.” She took the offered envelope and slipped it into her tote. “Thank you.”
When she looked back up again, his lips kicked up a fraction. It was a smile she didn’t recognize, but over the years, even mannerisms could change.
“You’re very welcome.”
As they hit the pavement, Molly outwardly kept her cool. It had been eight summers, and she turned twenty-nine in a few weeks; he should no longer affect her in that way. And yet…
“Holy shit, he does look kind of familiar now I know the connection.” CeCe grinned. “He’s aged well. Nice teeth too. You should definitely ask him out.”
“Stop it. He’s probably taken anyway.” Molly chuckled. Even so, she struggled to think straight as Jesse the Band Guy once again took up residence in her imagination.
“Just saying.”
Back home in her tiny house, Molly kicked off her shoes and settled at the two-seat island to read her brother’s text.
Patrick: Hey. Some legal firm called the folks’ landline today looking for you. Thought it was a scam so cut the call. I’ll let you know if they call back.
He went on to apologize for not sending her mail sooner, but without a single responsible bone in his body, Patrick had always done things at his own pace: slow and unsteady. Her parents had jetted off to North America for an Alaskan cruise six weeks prior and, rightly or wrongly, with Patrick between jobs and living at the family home for the summer, had left him in charge of their affairs. He’d probably driven around with Molly’s mail on the back seat of his Ford Ranger for weeks.
Molly reread the first part of his text, then picked up the manila envelope.
After opening the first envelope and confirming it was indeed her currency challenged credit card statement, Molly moved to the counter and poured hot water from the kettle into her special china teacup, the one and only Jesse Sinclair still muddling up her thoughts.
The outside of the second envelope gave no hint of its contents. A post office box address occupied the top lefthand corner, and on the right, an ordinary postage stamp, almost unheard of since email took over worldwide communication.
While her green tea cooled, Molly ripped open the flap, removed the letter, and skimmed over the firm’s letterhead. It wasn’t another statement after all.
Falls Legal . She’d never heard of them, but that didn’t mean much. Clifton Falls was a thriving provincial city, and as a recent semi-permanent resident, Molly was still finding her way around.
Dear Ms. Parker,
I’m writing in regard to a matter concerning one of our deceased clients.
Please contact our office at your earliest convenience to arrange an appointment so we can discuss your involvement.
Sincerely,
Annabelle Sutton
LLB (Hons) LLM (Hons)
Annabelle Sutton. Puzzled, she glanced at the date in the top lefthand corner—the first week of December. It was now February fifteenth.
Molly scanned the letter for the second time. One of our deceased clients . Who could that possibly be? Besides Mr. Tilly, who’d lived across the street from her parents’ place in Tulloch Point until he died on the morning of his ninety-fifth birthday, leaving behind seven cats, Molly couldn’t think of anyone who’d passed away recently. So why would they be contacting her?
Unless… Mr. Tilly had left her one of his cats.