Chapter 4
FOUR
JOSH
Molly leads me to a coffee shop just down the street from the center.
My fingers itch to grab a camera as we walk past the eclectic mix of Chars life—hipsters scrolling on their phones, homeless men huddled in doorways, and hapless mothers juggling strollers and toddlers.
Professionals in suits weave through the chaos, while bejeweled men and perfectly primped women cluster in clucking groups.
I’ve been away too long. I’d forgotten how, in Chars, wealth and poverty crash into each other on every corner, simmering beneath the city’s thin veneer of progress. Ethnic tensions and racial disparities linger in the air, the unspoken backdrop to change.
“Is here okay?” Molly’s question pulls me back from my musing.
She tucks a thick, satiny curl of chestnut hair behind her ear, the movement casual yet captivating.
Her hair’s shorter now than it used to be, brushing just below her shoulders.
I’ve become abnormally obsessed with watching it move, the way it catches the light and skims her skin.
I like to imagine brushing it back, replacing the soft caress of her hair with my lips.
“Josh?”
I give myself a mental shake and look up at the glass-fronted coffee shop. Painted letters swirl across the window, and inside, I see warm wood tones, low lighting, and antique metal fixtures. I glance at Molly, raising an eyebrow in question.
She smirks, lifting one shoulder in a little shrug. “They’re pretty good.”
We step through the doors, and I’m hit with the strong, bitter scent of roasted coffee beans, mingling with hints of vanilla and chocolate. The soft murmur of voices drifts over the grinding of beans and the acoustic music playing low in the background.
Molly heads straight for a small booth tucked into the back corner, and I follow, fighting to keep my eyes from straying to her legs.
There are two freckles on the back of her left leg, just under the bend of her knee. They’ve haunted me for years. I have this recurring fantasy—one I can’t seem to shake—of pressing my lips to those little dots as I strip the clothes from her body.
Pull it together, man.
Today will not be the day I let my feelings for Molly slip.
I’ve kept them locked away for over a decade, ever since the first time I realized I was completely and utterly screwed when it came to her.
Lusting after my best friend’s little sister has become second nature by now, a skill I’ve perfected over the years.
But lately? It’s been slipping.
I slide into the booth across from her, forcing my attention on the menu she’s already scanning. “What’s good here?” I ask, my voice a little rougher than I intend.
Molly glances up, her lips curving in a soft smile that makes my heart stutter. “Depends. Do you want something sweet or something that’ll keep you awake for three days straight?”
“Surprise me,” I say, leaning back and trying not to drown in how much I’ve missed her.
She waves down a barista, her confident ease making the simplest moments feel effortless. And me? I sit there like a fool, watching her, pretending I’m not imagining what it would be like to kiss the smile off her face.
We order coffees, awkwardly watching each other from across the booth. This feels like uncharted territory—unknown waters I know I need to explore, even if I’m not sure what I’ll find.
I watch Molly rub her belly, a small frown creasing her forehead.
“I’ll be right back,” I say, slipping out of the booth.
“Are you alright?” Molly asks, watching me in surprise.
“Yep. Give me five minutes.”
I head back outside and up to a store I saw as we entered the café. It takes me only three minutes to make my purchase before I return to the booth.
Molly looks up from her phone, eyeing the camping store logo on the bag.
“Are you okay?” she asks, reaching out to touch my arm. I slide back into the booth, savoring the feel of her fingers against my skin.
“Yeah, this is for you.” I hand it over, watching as she peeks inside. It’s a small gel pack that when cracked generates heat.
“I don’t understand.”
I gesture to her stomach. “For your cramps. It gets really hot. Sam and I used them when we were camping in Alaska last month. Would have frozen my toes off if not for those buggers.”
She blinks, staring at me for a beat. “You bought me a hot pack?”
“Yeah.”
She glances down at the bag again. “Oh.”
I don’t get to question her reaction as the waitress returns to drop two mugs of coffee and a brownie on the table before whisking off to the next customer.
I wrap my hands around the mug, letting the warmth seep into my palms. Across from me, Molly breaks the gel and places it against her abdomen before lifting her mug to take a sip of her coffee.
As I watch, her eyes fluttering shut as she makes a low sound of pleasure.
I try not to notice the way it sends a jolt straight through me.
“What do you normally teach in that class?” I ask, picking up my fork and cutting the brownie in half.
“Business and finance,” she says, setting her mug down. “Last semester they learned how to assess business decisions, build marketing plans, design project timelines and product launches, recruit—practical things they’ll need if they secure a job. This semester is all the financial aspects.”
I lift a forkful of brownie to my mouth, pausing to ask, “Are they all employed?”
She shrugs. “Some of them. They’re—”
“Ahlemna,” I interrupt, groaning as the taste of the brownie hits me. It’s rich, moist, and decadently chocolatey, the kind of dessert that makes you close your eyes and savor it. I swallow, immediately diving in for another bite. “This is the best brownie I’ve ever had.”
Molly bursts out laughing, deep and throaty, the kind of laugh that makes the world seem brighter.
I can’t help but grin.
Maybe I should write a rom-com, I think, half-wondering how Sam would react to that.
“I told you this place was good,” she says, still smiling.
“You said good, not nirvana.”
Her grin widens as she picks up her fork and takes a bite of her half. I watch the fork lift to her lips, momentarily transfixed by the way her mouth curves around the brownie.
“Don’t look so distressed,” she chuckles, catching my expression. “We can order another one.”
I make a mental note of the address. These guys are about to gain a new regular.
“Anyway,” I say, forcing myself to focus, “back to your students.”
She swallows her bite, letting out a small sigh. “It’s hard to explain.”
“Try,” I encourage, leaning back in my seat.
Her brow furrows as she searches for the words.
“They’re a mix,” she says. “Some are employed, some are unemployed. Some are caring for kids, siblings, or parents. Others work under the table. They’re just kids trying to survive the shitty hand life dealt them.”
I tap the side of my mug, thinking. “You know my ma wasn’t so different from those kids.”
She smiles, soft and knowing. “Who do you think signed me up for the classes?”
I grin back. Of course, it was my mother.
While money ran deep on my father’s side, my mother’s family had come from a humble background, working tirelessly to build generational wealth.
It wasn’t until my mother started modelling—that the extended family began to thrive.
My grandparents, always savvy, funnelled her income into manufacturing organic goods.
By the time demand surged in the early ’80s, they were ready to deliver.
The company thrived, and my uncles now run it with ma taking a cut of the profits.
They’d invited Peter and I to join them, but there were enough cousins and extended cousins to fill any leadership gaps. Besides, we had our own legacies to build.
“What are your plans this weekend?” Molly asks, licking the tines of her fork clean.
It takes more effort than it should to tear my gaze away from her tongue and answer the question.
“Pete said we’d do something. I’ve got a video catch-up with Sam, a script to start, and Ma wants me to attend confession.
I assume it’s because she’s worried for my eternal soul and not because she wants me to donate to their new school. ”
Molly giggles, soft and sweet. “You’re not getting out of that.”
“Never,” I say, grinning. “I respect the back of my head too much.”
I can’t count the number of times her palm met the back of my head growing up.
“You deserved to be spanked,” Molly says with a snort.
“I did,” I admit, smirking. “Every single one.”
“Especially the one after finding Felicity in your room during junior year,” she teases, raising an eyebrow. “Remind me, what exactly were you two caught doing again?”
“A true gentleman never kisses and tells,” I say, pretending to zip my lips.
“You know,” she says, leaning forward just slightly, her eyes sparkling with mischief, “for the number of times you got caught, I would’ve assumed you’d learn to lock your door. Unless…” She quirks an eyebrow. “You enjoy exhibitionism?”
“Wow.” I lean forward too, lowering my voice. “You’ve caught me.”
She laughs, her cheeks flushing slightly, and I can’t resist adding, “And I like that you did.”
The waitress approaches, breaking the moment, but the laughter lingers between us.
“Anything else?” the waitress asks, clearing our empty brownie plate.
I glance at my watch, then back at Molly. “Another brownie?”
She nods without hesitation.
Soon, a warm, gooey brownie arrives on the table, and we dive in as the conversation shifts to my work.
“Sam’s got things under control in Alaska,” I say, breaking off a piece of brownie with my fork. “But I need to do something different with our next project. As much as I love the heavy dramas, I’m feeling…” I trail off, searching for the right word.
Molly props her chin in her hand, tilting her head as she watches me. “Not to go all Marie Kondo on you, but what’s sparking joy?”
I chuckle, rolling the brownie across my tongue while I think about her question.