Chapter 13 Molly
MOLLY
The next afternoon, Chase is busy helping a friend move some cattle or a horse or something equally cowboy-coded, so I text my friend group to ask for a ride to The Roasted Sky, my favorite coffee shop.
I’m heading into town for a meeting with a bride who wants me to design a bouquet and the table centerpieces for her upcoming wedding.
It’s different than what I normally do with the flowers I grow, and my first inclination was to refer her to the local florist who handles almost all the special events in town.
But apparently, they referred her to me because my aesthetic aligns with her vision.
I didn’t even know I have an aesthetic, but who am I to deny it?
This is the new me. The one who will build a good life for my kids. Not just for them, but for me as well.
However, even new me can’t pretend yesterday afternoon didn’t mean anything, or that it’s not a big deal that Chase and I kissed and stuff.
The good kind of stuff.
If I close my eyes, I can still feel the heat of his touch. And I want more.
I’m terrified that makes me a fool, but I can’t seem to turn off my yearning.
Last night and this morning, Chase did his best to keep himself busy with the kids and the farm without talking directly to me.
Like he wanted to pretend yesterday never happened.
So that’s what I did, too. Because I’m very good at pretending.
Although he apologized profusely for being unavailable today, a little part of me thinks it was another excuse to avoid me.
But I don’t have to pretend anything at my meeting. It’s nice to be seen and appreciated. The bride, Mariel, shows me her inspiration board, and I share ideas for her bridal bouquet and the mason jars of cut flowers she wants on each table.
Mariel is from Nebraska and has flown in for a few days with her mom to plan the wedding. They have the kind of close relationship and easy camaraderie I’ve always envied.
Life with my mother wasn’t easy. I was five when she overdosed, and I still wonder whether it was accidental, like my grandparents told me. Or did life—and me—become too much for her?
“Once you choose the date and secure a venue, we’ll be able to plan in more detail.” The bride is the same age as me, but seems years younger.
She offers a weak smile. “I hope I can find a venue that’s both available and affordable. I didn’t realize how expensive getting married would be, especially with a short planning window.”
Her hand drifts to rest on her still-flat belly, and I understand.
This isn’t just about a wedding. They’re getting ready for another new chapter of life.
She mentioned earlier that she and her fiancé had been planning a long engagement, but finding out she was pregnant sped up the timeline.
I remember that urgency, the mix of joy and uncertainty.
“I’m so grateful we found you. Your flowers are so beautiful and…” She laughs softly. “I can actually afford them.”
“I’m getting an expanded version of my business off the ground,” I tell her with a smile that comes easily. “So I appreciate you giving me a shot. If you need an affordable venue, you could host the ceremony and reception at the farm,” I offer before I think better of it.
“You do events?” Hope brightens her eyes.
I swallow hard. “I’ve been planning to expand the business to include events.” By plan, I mean the idea popped into my head a few seconds earlier. But it’s still a plan. And Linda doesn’t have to know.
“You’d have to rent linens and tables. I don’t have a liquor license, so—”
“That’s okay,” she says.
Her mother seems less certain. “Do you have any experience hosting events?” she asks, one brow raised like she already knows the answer.
“I’ve been focused on the flowers,” I say. “But I’m buying the property from my mother-in-law to more readily expand my offerings.” I sound surer of myself this time. “The farm is truly beautiful. I think you’d love it.”
“This would solve everything.” Mariel shares a look with her mother.
“I’ll need a couple of days to work up the numbers, but if you allow me to use the photos from your reception on my website and promotional material, I’m prepared to give you a discount.”
Off rates I don’t even have, but they don’t seem to realize that.
“Of course,” the bride agrees without hesitation.
“Sweetie, you haven’t seen the space,” her mother says, placing a hand on the girl’s arm.
“I have pictures.” I pull out my phone and queue up the album with the photos of the farm. “I’ve always loved taking photos of the flowers and barn through the seasons.”
A flutter of pride bubbles up as I hand over my phone, like I’m showing these women a secret place in my heart. It feels as if some part of me took the photos because I knew this was meant to be.
“It’s spectacular,” Mariel whispers, and her mother’s features soften.
“It does have the kind of rustic look you want.”
“Daddy would have loved it, Mom.” Her voice catches.
The two women explained earlier that they chose Colorado because Mariel’s late father had always dreamed of living in the mountains.
Just as the family was preparing to move, when Mariel was still a girl, he was diagnosed with ALS, and they stayed in Lincoln.
Having the wedding here is her way to make it feel like he’s part of the celebration.
“You’re welcome to come check it out. The barn isn’t quite reception-ready at this point, but you could get a feel for the space.”
“I already know it’s perfect. Thank you for such a generous offer.”
I nod. “I think it’s going to work out for both of us.”
“We need to head to Denver to catch our flight,” her mom says.
“Take your time deciding,” I tell the bride.
Mariel shakes her head, smiling. “I don’t need to look at any other venues. I know this is the right place.”
When they leave, I sit at the table for a few more minutes, pretending to take notes on our conversation. In reality, my hand is trembling too much to put pen to paper.
I just pitched a new business idea and made the farm feel special to someone else. A step toward becoming more than the person I want to become.
Baby steps count.
When my breathing returns to normal, I glance at my watch. Avah is picking me up in five minutes, and I can’t help but wonder when, and if, things will go back to normal with Chase. Do we even have a normal to return to?
He was as into the kiss as I was, I remind myself as I pack up my bag and wave to Sally, the coffee shop’s owner.
I refuse to let my doubts creep in and ruin that moment with him. Because it was spectacular.
So what if it doesn’t lead to more. At least I have confirmation that a mom whose perky breast days are behind her can get her groove back.
I hate that I let the issues with Teddy, and the distance that expanded between us, make me think less of myself. But, sheesh, old habits are hard to break.
I text Avah that I’m ready and walk out into the sunshine. I’m getting better with the crutches, even though I still feel like I could fall at any moment.
And I almost do when somebody runs into me.
“Oh, hey, Molly. Sorry about that.” The tall man with a crop of thick brown hair and hipster vibes adjusts the messenger bag slung over one shoulder.
His tone is equal parts distracted and friendly.
“They say you shouldn’t text and drive, but I guess you shouldn’t text and walk down a sidewalk either. ”
I smile at Bryson Elias, who happens to be my mother-in-law’s realtor. His father owns the company, but Bryson is doing more and more with the business.
Maybe this is another stroke of serendipity.
“I’m glad I ran into you,” I tell him, offering a smile. “Or that you ran into me. I wanted to talk about the farm and Linda’s plan for putting it on the market after her trip.”
“Of course.” He nods and adjusts the thick black frames perched on his nose. “Skylark’s loss is the Albuquerque community’s gain. My wife will be sad not to have your flowers on our table all summer.”
I nod. “Thank you for saying that but—”
“For the record, Dad and I both told Linda that the farm would sell quick. She doesn’t need to make the deal with Chase Calhoun. I get that she has sentimental feelings, given his friendship with Teddy, but she’s leaving money on the table. I’m sure of it.”
I blink and glance up at the blue sky overhead, then blink again when spots appear in front of my vision like I’ve been looking at the sun for hours.
“I’m not sure I follow, Bryson. What deal with Chase?”
“The plan to sell it to him as a pocket listing.” He looks at me like I’m slow on the uptake, and when I don’t respond he continues, “Because he’s helping you and the kids while she’s away.”
My heart begins hammering in my chest, but Bryson’s smile widens.
“You don’t have to pretend with me. Linda made it clear Chase doesn’t want to publicize their agreement because he’s not ready for word to spread that he’s retiring. I haven’t told a soul.”
I find myself nodding even though there’s nothing remotely agreeable about the words coming out of his mouth.
“Chase Calhoun is retiring,” I repeat. “And buying my—Linda’s farm.”
“It’s hard to believe, right? I can’t help thinking he’s going to change his mind,” Bryson says. “I guess even the best bull riders have to hang up their chaps or spurs or whatever they hang up at some point. It’s a big get for Skylark that a hometown hero like Chase wants to settle here.”
He leans closer. “If the wife and I got to choose, we’d pick you both. Have you considered leasing part of the farm from him for your flower operation?”
“We haven’t discussed that.” My voice is hollow because everything I considered is like crops decimated by a hailstorm after what Bryson just shared.
I don’t know why it’s such a shock, but Chase knows that I want to buy the farm.
There’s no guarantee I’ll succeed, but he knows I’m trying.
Here I am, finally pushing open a new door to walk through, only to have it slammed in my face.
Chase must have gotten a big kick out of me sharing my dream, thinking that I’m as much of a fool now as I was when I first arrived in Colorado.
A white BMW SUV pulls to the corner, and I say goodbye to Bryson.
“Do you need help with the crutches or your bag?” he asks.
“I’ve got it.”
I’m so sick of people thinking I need help.
Avah is halfway around the car, but I hold out a hand.
“I’ve got it,” I repeat and open the back door to load the crutches inside.
“Alrighty then.” She goes brows-up. “What’s got your panties in a twist?”
I clench my hands into fists as I sink into the plush seat.
“Chase isn’t helping me because he owes the McAllisters.
At least, that’s not the only reason. Bryson just told me he and Linda struck a deal.
If he helps me while she’s away, she’ll sell him the farm.
The same farm I want to buy from her as part of my bucket list challenge. ”
“He can’t buy it,” Avah says as she pulls away from the curb. “Because you’re buying it.” She glances over at me. “Do not cry, Molly. There’s no—”
“Crying in flower farming,” I finish with a shaky laugh then dab a finger under my eye when a tear spills over. “You make it sound easy.”
She points a finger at me. “You’re making it too hard. Going after what you want doesn’t have to be so difficult. I believe in you. We all do.”
As much as I appreciate the support, it feels like climbing a mountain with my crutches might be easier.
I hate the fact that I never truly learned to rely on myself.
I went from the crappy one-bedroom apartment my mother and I shared, to the cramped attic spare room in my grandparents’ house, to Teddy’s cabin in the woods, to my mother-in-law’s house.
How pathetic is that?
I’ve never once lived on my own. I’ve never paid a utility bill.
So maybe this was bound to happen all along.
Whether it was Chase or some other buyer, I’m not sure why I ever thought I could make something of myself alone.
We don’t talk on the way back to the farm.
Avah seems to realize I need a few minutes to process this new piece of information.
“We’re going out tonight,” she says into the silence as she turns down the long driveway.
“I’m not asking Chase to babysit,” I mutter. “I’m going to text that I don’t need his help for the weekend.”
Except I do. But I’ll pull up my big girl panties and figure it out.
Avah stops in the middle of the gravel drive and grabs her cell phone from the console. She punches in a number, and a moment later, Sadie’s voice is on speaker.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“Do you and the Playmaker have plans tonight?” Avah asks without preamble, even as I shake my head.
Sadie laughs. The Playmaker was her husband Ian’s nickname when he played in the NFL, and while she doesn’t usually call him that, the rest of us still enjoy it.
“Riva’s going to a school dance, so our night will involve Ian pacing the front hall. We offered to chaperone, but that was a hard pass from her.”
“How do you think he’d feel about Luke and Laurel pacing alongside him?” Avah asks. “Molly needs a babysitter.”
“I don’t,” I say quickly. “It’s fine.”
“We’d love a twin sleepover,” Sadie answers Avah, ignoring me. I get that a lot.
“Seriously,” I protest. “You don’t need—”
“You need a night out,” Avah insists.
“Ian has been looking for an excuse to make his famous—according to him—bananas foster waffles,” Sadie offers, and I hear the smile in her voice. “You’re doing me a favor.”
“I need to deci—”
“We’re going axe throwing,” Avah says into the phone.
Sadie laughs. “That’s a brilliant idea. Text me when the kids are home from school, Mol, and I’ll swing by to pick them up.”
Okay, I have to admit that in my current mood, a night off while hurling weapons through the air might be just the ticket.
“If you’re sure—”
“One hundred percent,” Sadie says before her voice is drowned out by the sound of barking in the background. “I need to run. Text me later.”
“That was bossy, even for you,” I say with an eye roll as Avah disconnects the call. “Axe throwing?”
“You have some aggression to work off. I can’t think of a better way to do it than with beer and axes. I’ll even print a picture of Chase to hang on the target.”
“I think I’ll be able to imagine him in my brain just fine,” I assure her.
“This isn’t over, Molly. Not if you don’t want it to be,” she says.
I want to believe her. Almost as much as I want to believe in myself.