Chapter 21
Collin
Does a person’s happiness impact the relative passage of time? This is a theory I feel like scientists or physicists or whatever branch of the sciences deals with time theory should investigate.
Because, from where I sit, happier than I’ve ever been in my life, the days leading up to James’s wedding absolutely fly by like I’m in some kind of time warp.
I make it my personal mission to be up before Molly, waiting with a cup of coffee and a kiss.
She is not a morning person. And yet Morning Molly might be my favorite version of her.
She drags herself out of her room with eyes heavy-lidded from sleep, yawning big, hair either sleep-mussed in a crooked ponytail or wet from a shower, leaving dark blooms on her shirt.
She’s mumbly and sometimes a little grumbly, but more like a cute little baby dragon than an actual grumpy human.
Honestly, for Molly’s sake, she’s lucky that Kalli doesn’t open at five or something like a normal coffee shop in a city might. No one in Sheet Cake is running off to a job needing a jolt of espresso to get them moving at the butt crack of dawn.
I send Molly off to work every day with a sack lunch. Because this, apparently, is my new identity: man playing house.
The first day, she took the lunch I held out and stared at it, fixated on the brown paper bag with still-sleepy eyes. “What is this?” she finally whispered.
“This,” I said with a chuckle, leaning forward to kiss her cheek, “is called a lunch.”
“I know what it is. But … why?”
“Because I didn’t want you to be hungry,” I said.
The way she looked at me then, like it was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for her, only made me want to do more things for her. Because if she’s emotionally shocked by a sandwich, some fruit, and a cheese stick in a brown paper bag, then I want to see her reaction to bigger things.
Although I might have to work up to it because an actual grand gesture might send her into a coma.
While Molly’s working at the coffee shop, I’ve been trying to keep myself busy and avoiding Thayden’s phone calls. He’s been blowing up my phone since the night Molly and I first decided to really date.
I know it could be good news, but it’s more likely bad news, and I’m just not ready for my happy bubble to burst. I’d rather spend my days thinking about Molly when I’m not with her and enjoying my time—and her lips—when I am.
I offered my services to help James get ready for the wedding, but as it turns out, he just wants me for my body.
As in, the use of my body’s heavy lifting skills.
After the second or so hour of moving heavy bags of malts from one room to another, I picked up on the fact that this has absolutely nothing to do with his wedding and everything to do with James seeing how much unpaid manual labor he could make me do.
As I left Dark Horse, I told a smirking Winnie—clearly aware of what her fiancé was doing—to text me if she actually needed help with the wedding.
Feeling aimless, I spent time every afternoon napping and drove out to my field at least once a day just to see if inspiration would hit. It didn’t. But I did send Molly selfies of me with Cookie, and I noticed when she got home that afternoon, she’d changed one of them to be her lock screen photo.
Because I’ve got nothing but time on my hands, I find creative ways to greet Molly when she gets back from work. The first day, I got a fancy dinner from Sheet Cake’s only steakhouse and was dressed in a suit, with a formal dress I picked out with Lindy’s help waiting for Molly.
The next afternoon, I set up a disco ball with flashing lights and started blaring music the moment she opened the door, pulling her into an impromptu dance party.
Which was great until one of the neighbors called to complain and Chevy showed up at the door with a smirk, telling us we’re in violation of Sheet Cake’s noise ordinance.
Another day, I filled the loft with candles and had low instrumental music playing. “Welcome to the Graham Spa and Resort,” I told her. “Would you like a glass of wine before or after your massage?”
“Collin,” she protested, hands on her hips, “you can’t keep doing—mmm. Okay. Fine. You can keep doing that.”
Apparently, all it takes to stop her protests is a really good deep tissue massage in her shoulders. Within twenty minutes, she was asleep on the makeshift massage table—a.k.a., the couch—drooling a little.
I plan to drive her out to see Cookie the next day and even have apples and carrots—which I learned from Google are as good a treat for cows as they are for horses—but we get interrupted by Lindy and Pat.
Before I can tell Molly about my plan to visit Cookie, Pat and Lindy burst inside without knocking moments after Molly walked in.
Almost like they’d been waiting to pounce.
“You haven’t posted on social media in days,” Lindy announces in dramatic fashion. “People will start to wonder.”
“We thought you could use some help with filming,” Pat says. “I had some ideas.”
“I’ll use your phone, Molly. If that’s okay,” Lindy says. “Should I use any specific app or just the regular camera?”
“Um, the camera is fine. I can edit everything later.”
Molly and I exchange a glance, but she doesn’t tell them we weren’t planning to post anymore and neither do I. Instead, we play along while Lindy holds the phone and Pat directs us, clearly intending to push the boundaries of our fake relationship as they move us from coupley pose to coupley pose.
One thing this does confirm is that Jo, whom I told this week while taking her out for milkshakes after school, has kept our secret. She was not at all surprised to find out Molly and I are really together but delighted to be in on the joke.
“Knew it,” Jo said. “And don’t worry; I won’t tell. I’m not supposed to keep secrets from Mom and Dad—only surprises. But this is definitely the good kind of surprise.”
I agree. And I’m especially enjoying it while Pat and Lindy try their hardest to make this whole photoshoot awkward for Molly and me. Instead, we’re sharing secret smiles and having a fabulous time pretending to pretend.
There’s something hot about Molly acting like she’s shy whenever I touch her, even though I’ve been touching her like this all week, every chance I get. I highly recommend fake fake dating to anyone looking to spice up their romance.
“Wow, y’all are really good at this,” Pat says. “Very convincing.”
“If only he knew,” I say in a low voice as I carry Molly around the apartment, following Pat’s orders.
She smiles and tightens her hold around my neck, playing with my hair. “I’m definitely convinced.”
“Next pose!” Pat says, doing his best impression of a director. The glee is evident in his voice. “Why don’t you sit on the counter, Molly. Collin, stand in front of her, between her knees.”
I set Molly down on the counter and step close. “Like this?”
“Perfect. Yes!”
“Should I put my hands on the counter or on her thighs?” I ask Pat, but I’m looking at Molly, not even trying to hide the heat in my gaze.
“Thighs,” Pat and Lindy say at the same time.
“Like this?” I place my hands on Molly’s legs, just above her knees, not missing the way her eyes go a little bit hazy. “Or higher?” I slide my palms up just a little, my thumbs tracing the inner hem of her jeans while Molly bites her lip.
“That’s good,” Pat says, just as Lindy says, “Definitely higher.”
My brother and his wife might think they’re having the most fun in the room, but it’s definitely Molly and me. Especially when Lindy insists that we need some kissing pictures.
“Just to clear up any confusion in case anyone thinks it’s fake,” Pat says, reasonably.
“Why would anyone jump to that conclusion?” I ask, just as reasonably.
“You know how social media is,” Lindy says loftily, as though she, not Molly, is the expert in this area.
But it’s no hardship to kiss Molly, so I don’t protest any more. Would I prefer not to make out in front of my brother and his wife? Sure. But I’ll take any chance I can get to kiss Molly, so I’m more than happy to oblige.
Plus, it’s fun trying to make them uncomfortable when they’re trying to mess with us.
“Uh, I think we’ve got enough of you kissing,” Lindy says at some point. I forgot for a moment that she and Pat are even here.
“Are you sure?” I ask, barely pulling my mouth away from Molly’s. “I think you need some photos to go along with the video. Just so we have a lot to work with. How about a few more?”
I dive back in for more, swallowing Molly’s giggle until it turns into a sigh.
Pat clears his throat a few moments later. “I’m pretty sure the people will be sufficiently convinced.”
“Isn’t keeping this secret fun?” I murmur in Molly’s ear before giving her earlobe a little nibble.
“Good thing we’ve had lots of practice,” Molly whispers back.
I think it’s the excessive kissing that finally makes Pat and Lindy so uncomfortable that they leave. Either that, or we inspired them to do some making out of their own—without an audience or someone taking pictures.
The moment they leave the loft, Molly and I collapse on the couch, laughing. “You were right,” she tells me, grinning. “Messing with them is excessively fun. As long as you promise they won’t be mad.”
“No one will be mad,” I assure her. “But I can’t promise we haven’t just started what might be a years-long prank battle.”
If she notices the fact that I so easily mentioned years, just assuming that we’d have many more to come, Molly doesn’t say anything about it. Neither do I.
Because, I realize, the idea of Molly being around for years, being part of my family’s prank wars, sounds very, very right.
“Since you’re not posting anymore, I guess now you just have an extensive private collection featuring us,” I say, swiping through the photos and videos Lindy took. I send most of them to my phone, fully intending to have prints made of several. Lindy didn’t do half bad.
Molly got quiet, and I looked up. “I can post them,” she says. “I don’t need to walk away yet. I said I’d help you and I want to do that.”
I shake my head, setting the phone on the table before taking Molly’s hand and kissing her knuckles. “You don’t need to do that. I promise.”
“But the first video did so well. A few more and—”
“No. Maybe all it took was one viral video to help shift the tide of public opinion. Thayden’s been calling me all week, and I haven’t called him back yet, so it could be good news. But even if not, I don’t want you to postpone walking away if it’s what you want.”
“You haven’t talked to him yet? I was supposed to tell you that he said you better call him before he has to drive back over to Sheet Cake.”
“When did you talk to him?” I asked.
“Yesterday or the day before? It was just about the Brightmark contract. He looked it over for me.”
“And? Was everything okay?”
“Yep. It’s fine. Just a standard contract.” Her smile loses a little of its sparkle. “You should really call Thayden. What if it’s good news? What if you’ve got a buyer for the gym?”
I doubt it, and I don’t miss the way she changed the subject, though I don’t know why.
There are a few topics I’ve noticed Molly hedging around.
Her job at Brightmark is one. Her family—especially her father—is the other.
I’m at least glad she admitted that she didn’t want to do social media anymore.
My hope is that soon she’ll open up about whatever else she’s holding back.
Though I know she’s nothing like Liza, it does trip me up a little knowing she’s keeping things from me. Not lying, I tell myself. Learning to trust.
But I feel like I’m the one learning to trust, and in some ways, it’s like working out—I’m flexing muscles, pushing myself past what’s comfortable, hoping in the end I’ll see results after putting in the work.
In any case, I do call Thayden the next day when Molly’s at the coffee shop.
“Finally,” he says. “I didn’t want to drive back out there. At least, not until I have a new car.”
“Didn’t you just buy a Bronco?” I ask.
“Yeah, but Delilah thought it was adorbs—her words—so she took it. And I don’t like the way the Mercedes rides on the highway.”
“Such a tortured life you lead,” I say dryly. “Now why have you been hassling me?”
“You didn’t just read the texts I sent?” he asks.
“I read some of them. The ones telling me I better call you back or else. Isn’t that considered a threat—legally speaking?”
He ignores this. “I have exciting news.”
“We’ve got competing offers for the gym?”
“Not quite. But something for your future,” Thayden says. I wait for more, but I only hear some shuffling and what sounds like children playing in the background.
“Care to elaborate? Also what are you doing?”
“I lost my wedding band in Zilker Park, so I’m out here with a metal detector and my dog—Apollo, no! Sit. No squirrels today. You promised.” He groans, and there’s a sharp series of barks. “Quiet, boy. As for elaborating, no—I don’t care to. You made me wait, so now you can see how it feels.”
I can almost picture the scene: Thayden with a metal detector, trying to wrangle his Great Dane. I hope Apollo wraps my lawyer up in his leash and sends him sprawling, getting grass stains on whatever designer pants he’s wearing.
“When do I get this good news, then?”
“Will you be at poker before the wedding?”
I’d almost forgotten about poker—a game Tank set up as a kind of bachelor party for James before the wedding. I also didn’t realize Thayden was invited to—or knew about—either one.
“You heard about James and Winnie’s wedding?”
He scoffs. “I know everything. I am the keeper of the family secrets. And I’ll keep yours until Thursday. Come a little early. We can meet at the gym. Does that work?”
“Uh, yeah. Sure.” I haven’t set foot in the building for a few weeks, trusting everything to David, the manager who’s basically been running it for me. “I guess that’s fine.”
“Good. We’ll meet you there.”
“We? Who else will be there?” I ask, but then there’s a shout, a bunch of barking, and the phone goes dead against my ear.