Hopeful Romantic
Molly
“So, he was a dick, then…sweet? Sounds like trouble to me,” Brent, my brother’s boyfriend, chimes in from his place by the display case, helping box orders. Mitch was wise enough to ask him to help us out this morning with Jodie being out sick.
“He’s not trouble,” I protest, cashing out another customer. “He’s…complex.”
“Red flag,” Mitch says from the ovens, pulling out another batch of sugar cookies. “Remember what you said about Nathan being ‘complicated’?”
I frown. Why would he bring that up right now? “That was different.”
“How?” Brent asks, tying a perfect bow on a heart-shaped box. “Nathan was emotionally unavailable and stringing you along. This guy literally yelled at you yesterday for delivering an invitation.”
I hear his concern, I do, but I have this thing where I can’t help but see the good, give a chance or two, not judge a person by a first, or second, impression.
And I could see it in Luke’s stern gaze; he didn’t mean it.
And he did smile when I threw caution to the wind and asked if he would come to the party tonight.
“He apologized. And he saved us from the elevator.” I switch to pink frosting, trying not to think about how Luke’s arm felt around my waist. Strong, solid, safe. And his leather and clean linen scent. Sigh. “He was actually really sweet when I started to panic.”
“The bar is so low it’s underground,” Mitch mutters.
Brent chuckles. “Ouch.”
“I’m just saying, a grouchy electrician isn’t exactly Prince Charming material.”
Brent snorts. “The electrician thing is kind of hot, though. Guy who’s good with his hands, knows how to fix things…”
Mitch throws a dish towel at him through the order window and I laugh.
“I’m just saying what Molly’s thinking.”
My face heats. “I wasn’t thinking about his…hands.” I absolutely was.
The way he worked on that panel, confident and focused, explaining what he was doing in that low voice…
“She’s thinking about them now,” Brent whispers-yells to my brother.
“Gross,” he hollers back.
“Can we please focus?” I gesture at the chaos around us. Every surface is covered in boxed or unboxed treats, and the phone hasn’t stopped ringing all morning.
“We can,” Mitch says, but he’s got that protective big brother look. “But in all seriousness, Molly… You just got your heart stomped on by Nathan. Maybe jumping into something with a guy living across the hall isn’t—”
“I’m not jumping into anything.” Though the thought has already crossed my mind once or twice. “And we were trapped together in a high-stress situation. According to Sandra Bullock in Speed, relationships based on traumatic shared experiences don’t tend to last.”
“Hmm, fair. Though I think it was Keanu who wasn’t up for Speed 2, not to fault their on-screen relationship,” Brent adds helpfully.
“Speaking of that elevator…” I lower my voice. “Is it weird that it broke down at the exact moment we both got in?”
Mitch and Brent exchange glances.
“You don’t think Danny would…” Mitch starts.
“That sweet old man would never,” Brent says, but he’s grinning at the very thought. “He is sly, that one.”
“He’s been trying to set Luke up since he moved in,” I point out. “And he was awfully quick to appear when the doors opened. Almost like he was…waiting.”
“Or he heard the alarm,” Mitch says reasonably.
“At five in the morning? On a Saturday?” I shake my head. “Plus, he didn’t look surprised we were stuck. He looked kind of…excited?”
“Danny, the secret puppet master of love,” Brent muses. “I’m into it.”
“You’re into any matchmaking scheme,” Mitch says fondly.
“True. Remember when I tried to set you up with that guy from my gym?”
“That was last week. We’ve been together for five years.”
“I know, but you could use more friends.”
I tune them out, focusing on the steady stream of customers. But my mind keeps drifting back to this morning. The way Luke said my name in that rough voice. How he held me close. The way he laughed—actually laughed—and his smile…
I try not to think about what happened after. The way he pulled away, the coldness in his eyes when he said—
No. Nope. Not thinking about that right now.
“Earth to Molly,” Mitch says, and I realize I’ve been holding the same cupcake for a full minute.
I suck in a nervous breath, willing the tears away. One cry on my favorite holiday is one too many, I’m not going to make it two. “Sorry.”
“You’re going to see him tonight, aren’t you?”
I shrug. “Maybe. If he shows up.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
I think about those few seconds when I hugged him, how he’d frozen like he didn’t know what to do with even a moment of physical contact.
The way he’d said his ex cheated on him, like the words physically hurt.
How he’d been so careful to keep me calm even though he clearly wanted nothing more than to escape that elevator.
“Then he doesn’t,” I say simply, lamely hiding my dismay at the very idea he won’t. “But I think he might.”
“Why would you think that if he told you no multiple times now?” Brent asks, genuinely curious now.
“Because he smiled,” I say with a smile of my own. I know it sounds ridiculous, but when you know a man for two years and he never smiles, when he finally does… A girl tends to get her hopes up. Just a little.
Mitch sighs, that long-suffering big brother sigh I know oh so well. “Molly…”
“Leave her be.” Brent glares at my brother, bumping him in the shoulder as he passes. Mitch huffs, returning to the cooled puff pastries that need to be glazed.
The phone rings and I’m thrown into another rush of customers and last-minute orders. Meanwhile, my mind won’t stop wandering off to a certain someone. And tonight, if he shows up, maybe we can—
“You may want to tone down the daydreaming, Molls,” Brent whispers, glancing over his shoulder toward the kitchen. “Your hopeful romantic aura is showing.”
I snort. “I don’t have a—”
“You do,” he confirms with a wink. “It’s cute, but historically leads to disappointment.”
Before I can protest, a customer from earlier returns, claiming to have been given the wrong order. As I take down the details and rush to find her order, I catch my reflection in the display case glass.
Brent may be onto something with the wistful look in my eye and my flushed cheeks, but even if I am a hopeful—not hopeless—romantic, on this Valentine’s Day, I don’t think that’s such a bad thing.