Chapter 15 #2
Her befuddlement must have been clear, because Athena plopped herself down in Janel’s spot and immediately explained, “I know
meeting us en masse can be a lot.”
Well, Molly couldn’t really deny that. “Only in the best of ways.”
“Oh, good.” After a quick glance over her shoulder, toward the corner of the room where Matthew and Karl were now talking,
she turned her full attention back to Molly. “So . . . tell me more about life out in LA. Is it all tacos and sunshine and
glamour, like I imagine?”
Molly laughed. “Tacos and sunshine, yes. Glamour, no. Since I work from a home studio, I generally wear my pajamas all day
and don’t bother brushing my hair.”
“Aka ‘living the dream,’” Lise murmured.
Athena tilted her head, eyes bright with curiosity. “Was your studio hard to build?”
“Not especially.” Putting everything together had only taken three days, even without much help from Rob. “It’s modular, so
it sort of snaps into place?”
“That’s really cool.” Athena pushed her cat-eye glasses up to the bridge of her nose. “Would it come apart easily too, if
you ever needed to move it?”
“In theory, yes.” According to the manufacturers, as well as the online testimonials of several other narrators. “Although
I’ve never personally tested that claim.”
“And you’ve been in Los Angeles since college?” When Molly nodded, Athena made a thoughtful humming noise. “I can’t even imagine
living in such a large city. You must have an enormous circle of friends there.”
Molly’s smile faded, despite her best efforts, and the couch squeaked when she shifted her weight.
Rob did in fact have a large social network. Not Molly. With the divorce, their theoretically mutual friends had all fallen
his way, and thank heavens for that. At the risk of sounding very sour grapes-y, he was welcome to those self-important blowhards.
She’d always kept a certain distance from them for a reason.
“I . . .” Her lips pursed, but she forced herself to tell the truth. “Not really. It’s . . . it’s hard when you work from
home.”
Lise’s soft right thigh nudged Molly’s left. A gesture of silent support.
“I bet.” From behind her smudged lenses, Athena’s warm hazel gaze studied Molly. “You know, I haven’t lived in Harlot’s Bay
all that long. I learned one thing pretty quickly, though: If people here care about you, they don’t stop caring. Even when
you do your best to drop off the face of the Earth, they’ll still try like hell to be there for you. In certain cases, to
the point of committing illegal acts.”
Her tone was fondly reminiscent, her smile sweet as she caught her husband’s eye.
Molly blinked at her, befuddled once more.
“Wait.” Lise leaned forward and craned her neck to see past Molly to Athena. “What’s this about illegal acts?”
“Trespassing, for example. Breaking and entering too.” Without elaborating further, Athena got back on topic. “Anyway, Molly,
my point is this: If you ever find yourself needing a friend—in Harlot’s Bay, in California, or wherever you go—all you have
to do is contact one of us. We’ll come running.”
Something about the sincerity in the other woman’s voice caused Molly’s eyes to prickle.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, then ducked her head and stared at the carpet for a few seconds, struggling to regain her equanimity.
“I was just thinking . . .” Lise’s hand rested gently on Molly’s forearm. “I bet we can even set things up so you can attend
the Nasty Wenches meetings virtually, Mol, if you’d be interested in that.”
Molly murmured another thank you, unsure what else to say.
She shouldn’t be interested. Why the hell would anyone participate in a book club meeting from across an entire continent, after having
met most of the members only once?
The problem: She was interested. More than interested. Eager.
For the first time since her divorce, her isolation out in LA no longer felt benign. She’d tried so hard to insist that she
didn’t need companionship, didn’t need anyone other than herself, but . . . she should admit the truth, at least in the privacy
of her own mind.
She was lonely.
And even once Janel returned to the couch and called the meeting back to order, Molly couldn’t banish a persistent, uncomfortable
thought.
She might leave Karl and Harlot’s Bay. She might have excellent reasons for doing so.
But the possible future she might have had with him, in this place . . . it might not ever leave her.
Since Lise had a deadline fast approaching, she hugged Molly goodbye and left quickly at the end of the meeting—and as soon as Karl spied the empty couch space, he dodged his crowd of concerned Wenches and claimed the spot for himself.
Tired eyes ringed by dark circles, arms folded over his barrel chest, he waited with barely leashed impatience for Janel to finish chatting.
He clearly wanted a private conversation with Molly. Janel clearly didn’t give a damn.
“Have you considered getting your own espresso machine?” The other woman bounced on her cushion a little. “Because I have
to tell you, it’s transformative. I don’t know what I’d do without mine.”
Honestly? Janel owning an espresso machine explained a lot.
“I do like fancy lattes, as I’ve recently discovered,” Molly admitted.
“That’s what I heard!” Janel grinned, looking highly amused. “Gourmet sandwiches too, if the local gossip is correct.”
“Town of damn busybodies,” Karl mutter-shouted, and Molly rubbed her ringing ear.
Janel ignored him. “What’s your favorite latte flavor so far?”
“Lavender white chocolate.” The thought of re-creating that deliciousness at home was tempting, but . . . “My kitchen’s kind
of compact, unfortunately. I’m not sure I have the counter space for another appliance.”
The revelation didn’t dampen Janel’s enthusiasm even one iota. “If you want to try out mine, you’re welcome anytime. Or if
you want to just hang out and catch up, that’s great too. My husband’s bowling league meets on Thursday nights, so—”
“I’m gonna go.” Karl heaved himself to his feet with a sigh, exhaustion stamping crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes. “See
you at the bakery tomorrow, Dearborn?”
“Yes. Definitely.” Directing an apologetic smile at Janel, she stood too. “I’ll walk him to his car, then be right back.”
To her surprise, Karl raised a staying hand. “I’m good. You stay and chat.”
Despite his beard, the small smile curving his mouth wasn’t hard to see—or interpret.
He might be impatient for her company, but he was pleased by his night’s work, and for good reason.
After he’d ensured her attendance, everyone in the Nasty Wenches book club had amply displayed the kind of warm, fun, and supportive in-person community she could have .
. . if she left behind her entire life in California.
Her quiet, lonely life. Where no one could hurt her, because no one truly reached her. Where her blood pressure kept creeping upward and her headaches turned ever more vicious, both conditions likely exacerbated
by her isolation.
But she could make friends out there if she really tried, obviously. Finding necessary social outlets didn’t require uprooting
her entire existence. Besides, if she moved to Maryland and things went bad with Karl, this ready-made community might disappear
too. It was too much of a risk. Right?
Bending down, Karl pressed a quick, firm kiss to her mouth. “See you soon.”
That kiss, Molly reflected as he strode away, was like everything else that evening: a taste of what could be. What she could
have if she did what he wanted and stayed in Harlot’s Bay long-term.
His tactics might not be subtle—but she couldn’t say they weren’t effective.