Chapter 8 Molly
MOLLY
“That cupcake is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Chase gasps like I’ve deeply offended him. “It’s a work of art.”
“Her shower theme is baby farm animals, not Silence of the Lambs.”
We’re back at the house after making our rounds in town—the florist, two restaurants, the coffee shop, and a local boutique that uses my flowers for their displays.
To my surprise, Chase did wonders for my self-esteem with how genuinely impressed he seemed by my popularity around town.
The popularity of my flowers, anyway. His reaction was so encouraging, for a moment I completely forgot I was supposed to hate him and found myself inviting him in for a sandwich and to help prep my contribution to the baby shower.
I should have taken him at his word that he can’t decorate because he’s a terrible cupcake artist.
“You grew up on a farm.” He points a finger at me. “My version is more realistic than the Charlotte’s Web fairy tale.”
A laugh bursts out of me. “What do you know about Charlotte’s Web?”
“That’s some pig,” he answers, holding up the cupcake frosted in pink icing that looks more like a mutilated animal than a storybook creature.
I feel my smile widen. “Luke loves Charlotte.”
“Me, too.” Chase places the cupcake on a plate and wipes his hands on a nearby kitchen towel. “He might hate me, but we have the same taste in children’s literature, at least with Wilbur and the gang.”
“I’m going to give you an A for effort,” I say. “But you’re forbidden from putting that thing in the carrier with my cupcakes. I’ve got a rep to protect.”
“I heard,” he agrees. “My sister told me all about Molly McAllister’s domestic diva talents. Wouldn’t want to tarnish your reputation.”
“I appreciate that.” Ugh. Why do I sound so prim and proper? Not that I should want to sound any other way with Chase. Definitely not flirty.
It’s hard to remember that when he’s so ridiculously appealing.
But it’s more than his rockin’ body and movie-star smile that have had me on the verge of melting all day.
Okay, I’ll admit I spent far too much time watching his forearm muscles flex as he did everything from shifting the manual truck into gear to toting my flower buckets like they weighed about as much as a feather.
I actually thought about asking him to roll down his sleeves when it felt like I was having a premature hot flash—centered right between my thighs.
However, my body’s reaction is nothing compared to the cartwheels my heart has been doing.
Because I’m a sucker for anything sweet, his inherent kindness—and the fact that he doesn’t even seem to be aware of it--gets under my skin most of all.
I understand he’s helping me out of an obligation to my late husband and his mother, but Chase has more than made up for the missed breakfast this morning.
Half the time, he seems to know what I need before I’ve said a word.
Considering how much we had to do, he made what could have been a difficult few hours feel effortless.
And while several people recognized him in town—hometown hero and all that—he deferred questions about himself and kept the attention on me and my flowers.
During my marriage, I tried so hard to carve out my own place in our small mountain community, desperate to be seen outside of Teddy’s shadow.
It wasn’t like I picked up the mantle of tradwife because I thought creating pretty or nice things made me special.
It came naturally, just like growing flowers.
But no matter what I tried or how much of an effort I made with his friends or coworkers, it was always the Teddy show.
My life became impossibly small, and I stood by and watched as every piece of myself was whittled away until only scraps were left.
When the twins started preschool, I tried bringing in some extra money by catering local events.
But every time I booked a job, Teddy would either get sick or be called out of town for some far-flung guiding gig.
I couldn’t even make it to the book club I was invited to join with some local moms because my husband couldn’t commit to watching his children for a couple hours a month.
Both he and his mother made it clear that I chose to have the babies—our babies—and he’d done as much as I could expect of him by agreeing to marry me.
I channeled my creative energy into school volunteering, a habit I’ve continued since moving to Skylark.
Sure, decorating cupcakes for a class party is small potatoes, but it was the first thing that gave me some reason to feel capable of creating something beautiful that also matters to someone else.
“If my disfigured piggy can’t be part of your perfect barnyard…” Chase starts to unwrap the cupcake, a smirk curving the edge of his full lips.
“Did you do a bad job on purpose so that you could get an early taste?”
His eyes take on a mischievous glint. “Sweetheart, do I look like a man who has to resort to unscrupulous means to get a taste?” His affronted tone is ruined when he gives me a slow wink.
I shake my head even as sparks skitter along my skin. He lifts the fully unwrapped cupcake toward me. “First bite is yours.”
It feels strangely intimate to allow him to feed me.
“You go ahead,” I say, pulling back slightly. “I know what my cupcakes taste like.”
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “That sounds like baking innuendo. I’d be a real goner if you used a British accent.”
I breathe out a small laugh. “What do you know about British baking?”
“There’s a lot of downtime on the circuit.” He studies the grotesquely decorated cupcake. “I’ve watched my share of baking shows. Obviously none of their expertise rubbed off on me, and I absorbed nothing about technique, but I appreciate watching other people make things pretty.”
“You’re seriously a fan of baking competitions?”
He shrugs. “They calm me down. Have a bite, Molly. It wouldn’t feel right if you don’t enjoy this monstrosity along with me.”
The way my mouth is watering suddenly has nothing to do with the cupcake. Still, I lean forward and take a small bite, then dab a bit of icing off my upper lip with the pad of one finger.
I watch his chest rise and fall and try not to reveal my own physical reaction, but damn, that’s a good cupcake.
“It needs a smidge more salt,” I say, because self-critical is my go-to.
Chase frowns and pops the rest of the cupcake into his mouth. His eyes drift closed, and he lets out a small moan. “Fucking perfection,” he whispers and licks his lips.
I swallow back a moan and come close to swallowing my tongue.
Perfection. This moment is perfect, all right. Perfect and dangerous.
“I’m glad you approve.” I try to sound all business when my body is thinking about anything and everything but business. I distract myself by adjusting the cupcakes in their holders and put the lids on the two plastic carriers. “We should go so we’re not late to the party.”
“We’ll take my truck.”
“Sure.” I sound like I’ve just run a sprint, and he gives me a sidelong glance as he stacks the carriers one on top of the other.
“Perfection,” he repeats. “I wouldn’t change a thing.” Something in his tone makes me think he’s talking about more than just cupcakes.
He leaves the door open after he exits, so it’s easier for me to get out. The porch steps remain challenging, but I manage to get down before he returns to help. I hate being dependent on him, even if he’s working off a debt by helping me.
We’re mostly silent on the drive into town, and I wonder if I imagined that moment in the kitchen.
“Everything okay?” he asks when I take my phone from my purse as we near the school.
“I’m going to call the secretary and ask her to help me carry the cupcakes inside.”
He shakes his head. “I’m going in with you.”
“To a teacher’s baby shower?” He must be joking.
“You might need help, and that’s my job.” The words sound too casual.
“Come on. What’s the real reason? Are you interested in or already dating one of the teachers?” I have no right to feel jealous, but the emotion spikes in my chest just the same.
“Hell, no,” he says with a laugh. “We’ve already covered that my sister works at the school. Do you know what she’d do to me if I tried to date one of her coworkers?”
“I take it she wouldn’t approve?”
“You’re familiar with castration, right?”
My eyes widen, and I can’t help but smile. “I think I could be friends with your sister.”
“A terrifying thought,” he murmurs as we enter the school parking lot. “I’ll drop you off and then park and bring in the cupcakes.”
“You don’t have to, Chase. You’ve gone above and beyond this morning, so—”
“Does Luke have friends?” he asks, the words spoken so gently, I almost miss them.
“Of course he has friends. He’s a great kid.”
One thick brow arches in my direction as he pulls to a stop in front of the school’s main door. “Besides Laurel?”
“Well, his sister is his best friend. That’s how it is with twins. They have a bond.” He continues to stare, and my chest tightens with the familiar defensiveness that comes from being judged and coming up lacking. “Why are you asking that?”
“I’m trying to get a sense of the situation. Hard to believe, but I was also a seven-year-old boy at one point.”
My heart pounds against my ribs as I force myself to sit perfectly still. I refuse to let Chase see how his casual observation has rattled me. I’m a good mother. It’s the only thing I’m certain of. With one question, Chase has made me doubt even that.
“Leave the cupcakes at the front office,” I say as I climb out of the truck and struggle to pull the crutches from the back seat.
He starts to unbuckle his seatbelt. “I can help with—”
“I don’t need help right now,” I say through clenched teeth, trying—and mostly failing—to pretend his words haven’t cut deep. He thinks my son is a situation. That can’t be true. Can it?
The kids cheer as I enter the classroom.
I have a reputation as the cupcake mom. Laurel waves to me from her seat at one of the low tables, surrounded by friends.
Luke sits on the brightly patterned rug at the front of the room, but there’s a noticeable gap between him and the cluster of other kids listening to story time.
My stomach drops to my toes. My son has friends.
The classroom is already decorated with streamers and balloons in a rainbow of pastel colors. Aimee Bradshaw, the twins’ teacher, hasn’t found out whether she’s having a boy or a girl, so we’ve kept the theme gender neutral.
The door opens again, and I swallow back a groan as Chase follows the school’s principal, Amanda Sinton, into the room.
Sure, Chase is famous in Skylark. The rodeo is a big deal here, especially for long-time residents, but I’m surprised at the reaction he receives, as if he’s a movie star who just walked into his big premiere instead of a cowboy walking into a first-grade class party.
I don’t think it’s the kids who have Chase eyeing the door as if he wants to ensure he has a clear escape path.
The expressions on the faces of the female teachers and mothers gathered in the room range from mildly curious to downright voracious.
They’re looking at him like he’s the last chocolate chip cookie at a church potluck.
“Happy baby shower,” he says to Aimee with a genuine smile, then clears his throat. “I’m honored to celebrate with you.”
I hobble forward, cursing my injured ankle for the millionth time. “I told you to leave them at the office,” I remind him in a hushed tone.
His gaze holds mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch. “I tried, but the principal insisted I deliver them myself.”
“How do you know Chase Calhoun?” one of the mothers asks the teacher, not even bothering to pitch her voice low.
“I don’t.” Aimee presses a hand to her basketball-sized belly. “But based on the way he or she is kicking, I think my baby is a rodeo fan.”
Chase smiles at the mom who asked the question. “I’m here because I’m helping Molly.”
“He’s the twins’ nanny,” Amanda clarifies, sounding astounded at the idea of it. I’m not a fan of our principal. She gives off total mean-girl vibes. But hearing her announce that information like breaking news, and watching Chase give a matter-of-fact nod, still makes my chest skip a beat.
My daughter giggles with her friends while Luke’s gaze stays firmly planted on the carpet between his crisscross applesauce legs.
“Do you know Chase Calhoun?” One of the other boys scoots closer and elbows Luke. “Is he teaching you to ride?”
Luke blinks and glances up, clearly shocked to have earned the attention of several of his classmates. He looks toward me and then at Chase.
“Anytime Luke wants a lesson, I’m here for it,” Chase tells the boys with a wink.
My son’s cheeks flame bright pink, but he doesn’t contradict the cowboy. Not when his peers are so obviously impressed.
“How about those games?” I say to the other class mom, sensing Luke needs a little break.
“Sure. Let’s get started.” She claps her hands, and the students quiet as they wait for her instructions. “Split up into teams of four. Our first game is the Dirty Diaper Challenge.”
I smile and nod, even as my skin tingles. Chase is staring at me, so I turn my head slightly, like that will make the intensity of his focus less noticeable.
What I focus on instead is my son standing between two groups of boys.
Boys who are arguing over who gets to claim sweet Luke as part of their team.
He looks like a deer caught in headlights, and I’d bet money he’s never experienced being wanted this way.
My mind races as I think of all those playground moments I’ve pushed aside.
Watching Luke build stick forts alone while Laurel commanded armies of giggling girls.
My son reading quietly at recess while other kids played tag.
Always walking a step behind his sister and her friends.
Oh, no. Chase is right. My son doesn’t have friends.
Emotion bubbles up inside me as my heart hurls itself against my ribcage. I’ve sacrificed so much of myself because I wanted my kids to have the unconditional love I never did from my troubled mom or my grandparents, who became reluctant and resentful guardians after her death.
I thought I could love the twins enough to ensure they’d never feel like outsiders looking in. Or wonder if they truly belonged somewhere, the way I spent most of my life worrying.
It may have worked with my daughter, although more likely, she takes after her naturally self-assured dad. How have I been so blind to the fact that Luke might be struggling socially? And why did it have to be Chase who pointed it out to me?
The man’s ability to home in on every single way I’m lacking is annoying as hell. It’s like he’s a heat-seeking weakness missile, and I’m sending flares into the night sky.