The Last Autograph (A Reluctant Kiss #3)

Chapter 19

19

Fresh from the shower, Molly stood naked in front of the bathroom mirror, massaging her scars with a jade roller. Ever since puberty, she’d experienced a lot of interest from men, and she’d often responded to that interest out of naivety and, occasionally, loneliness. However, after her breast reduction before leaving for New York, she hadn’t much felt like dating.

At times, Molly wondered if her subsequent dry spell was a direct result of the surgery. Because while the change had been huge—both physically and emotionally—subconsciously, did the scars make her feel less desirable?

Determined to quell that opposing narrative, she pushed the thought aside, slipped on her bra and panties, and grabbed her phone off the nightstand.

Molly: What should I wear?

Jake: Dress casual. Bring a jacket. I’ll be there soon.

Molly: OK. And I have your apron.

Jake: Keep it. It suits you.

Despite her uncertainty, Molly smiled at his reply. It was something she didn’t have in her kitchen, a proper apron, but she’d still return it at some stage.

Molly: We’re not visiting your mother, are we?

Jake: Not today.

Casual? Both frustrated and relieved, Molly raced back into the bathroom to apply light makeup , then threw on off-white baggy jeans, flats, and a baby-blue sweater. Obviously, there would be no fancy late lunch, and she was starving.

Outside, a haze hugged the autumn sun, and the day hummed with bees collecting the last of the nectar from Gloria’s garden. Jacket in hand, Molly strolled up the driveway, second-guessing everything about this cozy little meet-up, especially after his mother’s reference to Ava.

Jake pulled into the curb a few minutes later, wearing a helmet this time, and cut the engine. “Afternoon.”

“Are you serious? I’m not riding pillion on that.”

“Why not?” He offered her a helmet from his handlebars, his expression almost playful. “It’s the best way to travel on a warm day, so get over yourself and hop on.”

“Are you always this rude?”

He stared at her. “I’ve lived in Paris for almost ten years.”

“And that’s your excuse?”

He sighed. “Right, well, shall we take your car then, princess?”

Molly thought of her beat-up Suzuki Vitara parked in Gloria’s garage. She’d bought it off a surfer in Tulloch Point the week she arrived back from the States, the only vehicle she could afford at the time, and while it was cheap, you could hardly call it cheerful. She accepted the helmet and hopped on behind him. “Never let it be said that I’m not up for a challenge. And princess? Seriously? What are you, sixteen?”

“Noted. No princess.” He glanced over his shoulder as she clicked the strap into place. “Ready?”

“Yep.” Molly slid her hands around either side of Jake’s torso, his skin warm through the cotton of his top. And as she leaned in close, Jake smelled as she’d imagined he would—freshly showered and minty.

As they rode north around Carter Bay and climbed Whitman Avenue, leading to the hillside suburbs, the exhilaration of riding pillion cleared the hesitation from her mind.

Jake turned into a street shaded by a canopy of trees and stopped in the driveway of a modern townhouse nestled amongst a mature garden. As he cut the engine, Molly took in their surroundings. “Where are we?”

“My place.”

She climbed off the scooter, removed the helmet, and stretched her shoulders back as she cast an eye around the peaceful neighborhood. “You live here?”

“I do.” Jake took her helmet and stepped onto the path leading to the front door. “Coming?”

She hesitated. “Is there anyone else home?”

“No, I live alone.” His serious expression did nothing to steady her nerves. “It’s okay, you’re perfectly safe.”

Screened by a black-washed horizontal slatted fence branded with a large brass number eight, the elegant two-story residence stood back from the road. Still unsure of his motives, Molly lingered by the mailbox. Lying in bed that morning, she hadn’t been too sure what to expect of Jake’s afternoon invitation, but arriving at his place on a Vespa wasn’t it.

She pulled her phone from her bag. “I just need to send a quick text.”

“Okay.”

Molly: At Jake’s. 8 Silkwood Crescent.

CeCe: Copy that. Is afternoon delight on the menu? What about his GF???

Molly: Stop it. He just wants to talk. And I am not about to enjoy any kind of delight with someone else’s man.

Sharing their location with each other whenever alone with a boy was something the cousins started when living in Tulloch Point as teenagers, and Molly had kept it up over the years.

Jake pulled a set of keys from his pocket and opened the front door. He glanced back at her and gestured inside. “After you.”

Although her instincts told her everything would be fine, that didn’t stop the nervous flutter in her stomach as she stepped over the welcome mat. Because while Jake seemed an okay guy, if a tad grumpy at times, Molly reminded herself that he was Jesse’s twin, and considering her history with Jesse, that made for complications or, as he’d said a few days before, confusion.

Jake stood back and waited for her to enter the hallway, and when he ushered her into the living room, past a gallery of brooding gray-scale artworks, he left the front door wide open.

Molly stifled a “wow” under her breath. With its floor-to-ceiling windows inviting the outside indoors, his place was tidy and tastefully decorated, if rather sparsely, and an atmosphere of calmness prevailed. “Your home’s incredible.”

He dropped his keys on the kitchen island. “Thanks. I never intended to buy property when I returned from Europe, but this place fell into my lap through a colleague of my mother’s. It’s compact, but it feels like home.”

As Jake moved to the kitchen and flicked on the kettle, Molly smiled at his compact reference. His home was easily five times the size of hers and the ceilings twice as high. She gazed longingly at the three-tiered cake stand on the table, filled with tiny cakes, sandwiches, scones, and pastries. “What’s all this? High tea?”

“It’s my specialty. Besides, after that introduction to my mother the other day, I figured you could do with a sugar hit.”

“What does your mother do?”

“She’s a realtor.”

Molly nodded as she pictured Hazel Sinclair playing the real estate game.

“What would you like to drink?” he asked from the kitchen.

“Peppermint tea, thanks.”

“Are you okay? You seem nervous.”

Jake’s observation was spot-on because, although the more she saw of him, the less his personality mirrored Jesse’s, there was no denying that Jake’s connection to his brother couldn’t be ignored. “Why did you bring me here?”

A soft smile lifted his expression, offering a suggestion Molly couldn’t quite grasp. As she’d witnessed during the bake-off weekend, a smile from Jake was rare, yet here he was, shining his light her way as if she deserved it. “So we could eat cake and talk. Why did you come?”

“Curiosity.”

He reached into a cabinet for cups and saucers. “Ah, curiosity takes us places we seldom imagined going to, don’t you agree?”

“I’ve never considered that, but I guess you’re right.”

While Jake busied himself in the kitchen, Molly glanced around the room. At one end of the living space, pinecones and smooth, round logs nestled in an open fireplace, and to the side, paperbacks lined the top shelf of an otherwise empty bookcase. She wanted to peruse his collection but was interrupted by Jake setting their tea on the table.

They sat across from each other in comfortable wishbone chairs, modern floral cups paired with boldly colored saucers resting between them. Jake pushed the cake stand toward her. “Please, help yourself.”

Too nervous to eat right at that moment, Molly held his gaze. “You said you wanted to talk to me about something?”

In the silence that followed, he tapped a forefinger lightly on the table. “The confusion thing aside, I feel there’s an awkward energy between us.”

Her thoughts immediately turned to his mother but then shifted up a gear. “Is this about you rejecting me at SpinWeb, because now, my boss has assigned me to that steakhouse on Marina Terrace.”

Jake’s knowing smile told Molly he was familiar with the business and its less-than-stellar reputation. “I bet you’re up for the challenge. They have some interesting offerings on their menu.”

“They do. Pity I don’t eat steak.”

He paused. “Anyhow, it’s nothing to do with your job, but I’m pretty sure you already know that.”

Jake was right, but apart from a wild fluttering in her chest, Molly remained perfectly still while waiting for him to continue.

“It’s about Jesse. Out of respect for his memory, I’ve some questions I’d like answers to. Anything we discuss stays in this room, so I hope we can be honest with each other. Despite your past impression of me, I am prepared to listen.”

Past impression? What about her present impression? Her growing attraction to Jake aside, Molly doubted she’d ever feel relaxed around him. She longed to grab a tiny cake off the plate and inhale it—anchor herself before speaking—but the timing was off. “What would you like to know?”

“That night at the bar, when you slapped the card down in front of me, you were obviously angry at Jesse. Help me understand why.”

“Isn’t that redundant under the circumstances?”

“Jesse may be gone, but he’s still an integral part of me.”

“Of course.”

Molly fiddled with the handle of her cup, then looked up. Jake sat back in his chair, one hand stroking his stubble, the other resting on the table. Ever since their first conversation at the patisserie, she’d wanted another chance to set the record straight, but lately, it hadn’t seemed so important. “I didn’t understand why, after eight years, he’d reach out, and in such a cryptic way. It seemed cruel and… unnecessary.”

Jake frowned at her “cruel” comment but didn’t address it. “Did you ever think of him over the years?”

“Of course I did.”

“But you didn’t care enough to get back in touch?”

Molly shook her head. She’d seen this day coming, and now that it had arrived—despite his previous comments—she suspected Jake was out for blood, perhaps only a drop, but blood, nonetheless. “He gave me no option.”

Jake leaned forward. “Meaning?”

With those deep brown eyes staring into her soul, Molly struggled to think straight. She swallowed against the dryness in her throat, her tea still too hot to drink. “Our last night together, we’d been to a gig at the local pub, and afterward, he invited me back to where he was staying. We’d had a great night, or so I thought. I got up to use the bathroom around five, and when I returned, Jesse told me to leave. I sat on the bed, waiting for him to change his mind, to explain, but he turned out the light, rolled over, and said nothing more.”

Gathering her thoughts, Molly recalled walking home to the dawn chorus that morning, strappy heels in one hand and suede clutch in the other.

How hopeless life seemed at that moment.

“I had no idea he was ill, and in hindsight, it makes me incredibly sad he thought so little of me—that he believed I was so shallow I’d walk away if I knew.” Molly finally sipped her tea, her appetite lost in the subject lying before them like playing cards. “But perhaps if the tables were turned, I would’ve acted exactly the same way.”

Jake held his focus steady but remained silent. It allowed Molly time to express herself at her own pace, and that was the reason she continued.

“I convinced myself he must have been seeing someone else. I mean, he did tell me he wasn’t, but…”

“I gather from what little Jesse said about you that you didn’t know each other for long?” Jake appeared to skip over her last words without validation.

“A few weeks… six at the most. I met him at a party when he first arrived in Tulloch Point. We had this almost secretive fling. I didn’t really meet his friends, and apart from a brief introduction to CeCe, he didn’t meet mine. Back then, I was the queen of insta-love. Jesse said what I wanted to hear, and I believed him. The crash back down to reality was so unexpected, I never saw it coming.”

Once again, Molly cast her mind back to that day. Despite lack of sleep, she’d driven out to Sandwater Bay around sunset and sat in her old Toyota for what seemed like ages, her sight fixed on the horizon as an angry wind whipped across the sand dunes, devastated by the callousness of his delivery.

“I was barely twenty, and there were always boys—men, plenty of men—interested, but Jesse seemed different. Charming, sometimes aloof, but also familiar. I trusted him. But back then, I trusted a lot of guys.”

“As opposed to now?”

She hesitated. “People aren’t always what they seem, as you know, and some of us give our trust too lightly, especially when we’re young and frivolous.”

“I agree.”

“I did try to contact him that first week, but my calls and texts went unanswered, and a few days later, he blocked me on all platforms.” Molly smiled sadly. “So, yes, I thought about him… often. It’s hard to leave people behind when you’re younger, don’t you think?”

Jake nodded in understanding. “It can be.”

“It’s like you’ve failed because that person doesn’t want you in their life anymore, and you never quite know why. That rejection hurts like a wound that never fully heals.”

“It wasn’t just you. Jesse alienated himself from most of his friends—he just didn’t have the energy to deal with the fallout. The tried-and-true stuck around, while others turned up late to his funeral in dark suits and sunglasses, then left as soon as the booze stopped flowing.”

“I wish I’d known about it. I would’ve been there in a heartbeat.” She looked up to blink back the tears and reached into her bag for a tissue. “I visited his grave a couple of weeks ago. That was hard… but also cathartic.”

Jake nodded. “I haven’t been back since the day of his funeral. Makes it all seem too real, and I don’t want to remember him as just a headstone in some country cemetery.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

“I’m sorry I misjudged you. It may not have been apparent, but for a while there, I didn’t trust your motives.”

“Oh, it was more than apparent, don’t you worry about that.”

“And here’s me thinking I was being subtle.”

As his smile helped her relax, Molly leaned forward, her fingers intertwined in her lap. “I’m not comfortable with the bequest.”

“Why’s that? I thought you discussed it with your father.” He picked up his cup and took a sip, his gaze fixed on her as he waited for her reply.

“Yes, I did. But given the amount, it should go to your family, not me. I don’t deserve to be included in his will. I’m just a girl he used to know. No one special.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” Jake placed his cup back on the saucer. “You obviously meant a lot to him.”

She frowned at the thought. Her father had said much the same thing. But when it came to Jesse, so much had never made sense—not only the bequest but also the card and the autographed drumsticks.

Molly went to tell Jake about them, then changed her mind. She’d gift them to him one day, maybe if she left for the UK in the new year, but right now, the sight of those sticks bought her a semblance of peace for some unknown reason. But then, not everything needs to be explained or understood. And that had always been the essence of her time with Jesse.

No explanations, no understanding.

“Speaking of my family,” Jake continued, “I’m concerned about Mum’s reaction to you the other day. She’s hurt that Jesse never mentioned you and convinced herself you knew he was dying and chose to stay away in spite of the fact.”

“Just like you’d convinced yourself?”

“Maybe. But I’m more accepting than she is.”

Molly tucked that statement away for later. “Why don’t people bother to ask before passing judgment?”

“Because sometimes there’s no comfort in the truth.” Jake leaned back in his chair, but his gaze persisted. “And I’m sorry we didn’t discuss this sooner.”

“Thank you. And thanks for inviting me here and giving me the chance to explain. I loathe miscommunication.”

Jake nodded. “Yes, me too.”

“As for your mother, grief can cloud a person’s perception, I get that, but I’m not here to hurt anyone. I just want to live my life as best I can, and some days, that’s a challenge.”