Chapter 3
3
The card Molly assumed was a wedding invitation sat forgotten in the manila envelope until after work the following day; when it suddenly dawned on her that she’d almost tossed it in the wastepaper basket without giving it a second thought.
She dropped the card-sized envelope beside her laptop on the island and closed the window above the kitchen sink. The rented tiny house, nestled between rhododendrons and hydrangeas at the end of Gloria’s driveway, was scarcely big enough for a two-seater sofa and coffee table, let alone a dedicated place to sit and create. So, on the one day a week that Molly worked from home, she’d set up her laptop on the small kitchen island and spend most of her time staring out at Gloria’s flower garden, searching for inspiration.
For the remainder of the week, she worked in SpinWeb Media’s newly renovated downtown office. Her title: Media Marketing Executive.
When she made the decision to move to Clifton Falls for a parental leave contract, CeCe and Luka suggested she come live with them, but Molly, never wanting to be a third wheel, politely declined. Besides, she rather enjoyed living alone. There was something liberating about having your own space, even a small one.
Molly picked up the envelope. With no return address or cursive font, it didn’t look like a wedding invitation. She prized open the back flap and slid out the card. On its front was a moody photograph of a run-down boat shed perched at the end of a jetty overlooking a misty lake.
Hands shaking for reasons she failed to fathom, Molly opened the card and read the message inside.
Sweet Molly,
Our parting forever stilled my heart.
Love,
Jesse xxx
Pulse racing, she pulled out a chair and sank onto it. Took a swig from her water bottle. Reread the words and then flipped over the card to see if there was anything on the reverse.
Nothing.
At first, she was touched by his gesture. It was as much of an apology as she’d ever get, albeit eight years too late, so she’d accept it with a dose of grace and a generous pinch of WTAF.
However, the following day, when she woke with the words of the card still in her head, the expression “mildly pissed off” would have best described her mood, and as the day progressed, mildly turned into extremely.
Who did Jesse Sinclair think he was? Swanning around on his Vespa, holding her gaze as if he had the right… and that knowing smile of his at the patisserie. It seemed his ego was as robust as ever.
But as the days passed, Molly knew she had to see him again, even if only to lay a few ghosts to rest. Because sending her that card after all these years was akin to him ripping open a wound he’d inflicted and dousing it with lemon juice.
Forever stilled his heart? Seriously?
A week later, as she drove past Petrie Patisserie on the way home from work, the urge to confront Jesse got the better of her.
Molly parked across the road under one of the Norfolk pines lining the route. It was almost four; they’d be closing in a few minutes.
She’d carried that card in the side pocket of her bag everywhere she went, even opening it to reread it on several occasions. Now Jesse could have it back and shove it anywhere he deemed fit—although Molly would gladly offer a suggestion.
She took a deep breath and pushed through the door, and as it closed behind her, a woman looked over and smiled in greeting. “What can I get you, love? There’s not much left, I’m afraid, but the éclairs are a house specialty.”
Molly returned her smile. She loved éclairs, but today was not a sweet-treat kind of day. “I was wondering if Jesse was here.”
The woman shifted her stance and frowned. “Jesse?”
“Tall”—Molly waved a hand above her head to make her point—“broad shoulders, wavy brown hair.” Perfect teeth.
She appeared confused. “I’ll see who I can find.” She turned and stepped into the rear of the store. It had a one-way mirror that overlooked the front counter, and as Molly checked her reflection in the glass, a shiver ran down her spine. Was Jesse back there watching her from his position in the kitchen?
The woman returned what seemed like minutes later. “I’m sorry, but the boss isn’t here right now. Can I pass on a message, love? What’s your name?”
The boss? Molly hesitated. Should she give her name? Perhaps not. “Thanks, but I’ll catch him some other time.”
Back in her car, Molly rested her hands on the steering wheel, her sight focused on the ocean across the boardwalk as her heartbeat slowed. Doubt crept in. Had she acted too hastily? What good would confronting him do? And now, with Jesse unavailable, maybe a rethink was in order.
She’d just pulled into her driveway when CeCe texted to say that Luka had been called into work and extending a pizza-and-dessert invitation. Molly smiled at how, after a shitty day, that particular combo sounded perfect.
Carter Bay Road was only a short drive from the CBD, but with every home in the area built on an acreage, it had a country feel to it that Molly loved.
With a container of home-baked brownies in one hand and a bottle of red in the other, Molly walked straight in through the open entry door, down the hallway, and into the family room.
“Your timing’s perfect.” CeCe leaned in for a hug. “Pizza’s in the oven.”
“Yum. I’m starving.”
They chatted about their day, Molly trying to erase Jesse Sinclair and her visit to the patisserie from her mind. By the time they sat down to eat, she’d almost succeeded.
“Oh, I forgot. I have something for you.” CeCe rose from the table and grabbed a flyer from the sideboard.
Molly wiped her hands on her napkin, took the offered leaflet, and scanned its contents. “The Clifton Falls Wine and Food Festival, Petrie Park Bake-off. Sounds great. Are we going?”
CeCe sat down again. “It would be rude not to since Lime Tree Hill’s a major sponsor. And…” She inhaled deeply. “We were wondering if you’d consider being a contestant.”
“What, in the bake-off?” Molly took another bite of pizza, savoring the fresh taste of mozzarella and basil on her tongue. “And who’s we? You and that brother of yours?”
“He knows how much you love to bake. And it’s only two days. He’s going to call you about it, but I wanted to give you a heads-up. You know how persuasive Mitch can be.”
Wasn’t that the truth? Mitch, CeCe’s older half-brother, and his wife, Tayla, owned Lime Tree Hill, one of the largest citrus fruit operations in the district. An all-around good guy, Mitch knew how to get what he wanted with little more than a smile.
“Is Tayla entering? She’s a great baker.”
“Not this time.” CeCe pressed a finger to her lips and smiled. “She’s been a tad peaky lately.”
Molly leaned back in her chair and appraised her cousin’s amused expression. “What? No way. She’s pregnant again?”
“Did I say that? I did not say that. You’re putting words into my mouth.”
“You’re useless at keeping secrets.”
“But they’re safe with you.” CeCe grinned and sipped her wine. “Anyway, getting back to the bake-off. Thoughts?”
“Is it my kind of thing—a baking contest?”
“Course it is. It’s a great way to get your name out there too, you know, in case you want to go freelance later.”
“Yes, good point.” Molly ran her gaze over the flyer again. “The proceeds go to charity. That’s a plus.”
“I watched it last year. They attach a huge tent to the main kitchen of the Culinary Institute, and the judges were hilarious. And you should see the setup—it’s just like MasterChef .”
Molly looked up. “Will you do it with me?”
“Pfft. Don’t be ridiculous! You know banana muffins are about my limit. So, are you in?”
“It does sound like fun.” Molly glanced down at her empty plate, then reached for another slice. “Guess I could think about it.”
“Great. I’ll pencil you in.”
With that, her fate was sealed. Whenever CeCe sharpened her pencil, the outcome was set in stone.
Molly’s thoughts turned to the card in her bag. Initially, she’d wanted to keep it to herself, but with a glass of red warming her insides, she decided to seek her cousin’s opinion. “While we’re alone, I have something to show you.”
“Yeah? What?”
“Remember that envelope of mail you brought to the patisserie last week, the one I almost left behind? Well, guess what was inside.”
CeCe sat back in her chair and waited.
“A card… from the man himself.”
“Who? Jesse? What did it say?”
Molly rose from the table and removed the envelope from the side pocket of her bag. She handed it to CeCe, then watched as she pulled out the card and opened it.
“‘ Our parting forever stilled my heart .’ You have got to be kidding me. You hear nothing from the guy in eight years, and now he’s here, baking pastries and sending you love notes? Is he serious?”
“It’s a bit weird, isn’t it?”
“A bit? It’s more than a bit.”
“And another thing that’s never made any sense,” Molly continued. “A month after he dumped me, he sent me a pair of autographed drumsticks. No note, no return address, just the drumsticks.”
“What? You never told me that. Do you still have them?”
“I didn’t tell anyone. They’re in Mum and Dad’s attic. I’ve no idea why I kept them all this time.”
“In case he became famous?”
Molly chuckled. “Anyway, I went back to the patisserie today to return the card, but he wasn’t there, and I spent every minute of the drive over here trying to figure out why I felt the need to see him at all.”
“Closure?”
“Why is life always about closure? I’ve had more damn closures than I care to remember.”
CeCe slipped the card back into the envelope and held it out to Molly. “Just ignore it. No good will come of you being reactionary. Perhaps after he saw you at the lights that day, he just wanted to set the record straight.”
Molly shook her head. That had been her first thought as well. “But the card’s postmarked December, and I first saw him again on Valentine’s Day.”
“December? Where’s it been all this time? Hanging out at the post office?”
“Patrick’s not the most organized. It will have sat on the back seat of his truck for weeks.” Molly rose from the table and collected their plates. “Anyway, enough about Jesse Sinclair and his poetic reflection. What’s the dessert deal?”
“I may have a tiramisu to tempt you.”
“Yes! Who needs sex when you have tiramisu?”
“So you haven’t had any for a while, then?”
“What? Tiramisu?” Molly chuckled. “It’s been so long that I hardly remember what it feels… I mean, tastes like.”