Chapter 7
MOLLY
“Agnes?” Molly asked, knocking lightly as she opened the door.
They were well past the whole knock-before-you-enter thing, but Molly still tried to give a little heads up when she visited her favorite neighbor-landlady.
“Do I smell a hamburger?” Agnes may have been getting up there in years, and her eyesight may have been failing, her hearing iffy, but she could smell her favorite hamburger from a block away.
Molly grinned. “You do.”
Agnes emerged through the door from the living room to the kitchen.
She didn’t have an open concept in her house like Molly did; hers was a separate room with its own Wild West style saloon door.
This was, she said, so she didn’t have to do dishes when she had company.
She could just pass through the swinging doors and they were out of sight.
Molly had her own method for hiding dirty dishes, and it was called the oven. All that open space just begging for her to toss in the dirties until she had a chance to wash them. Uh-huh. She did it. She wasn’t even ashamed.
Except that one time she’d accidentally melted her favorite Rubbermaid bowl because she’d turned the oven on without checking first.
One time, though. It only happened once.
Molly handed over the sack of munchies. “Did you eat dinner?”
“Not yet.” Agnes waved the bag before setting it down to dive in to the goodness it contained.
Molly frowned. “You know you have to remember to eat.”
“I don’t have to remember when I have you to remind me.” Agnes held her arms open for a hug.
Molly gave her a squeeze. Agnes was a slip of a woman—mid-seventies, with gray hair she always pulled into a bun high on her head. Brown skin and the brightest smile that always made Molly’s day better.
Even when her car threatened a one-way trip to the junkyard.
“Tell me what’s going on.” Agnes pulled up a counter-height stool and poured ketchup onto the wrapper of her burger, then swirled a fry three times one direction, two times the other.
“What makes you think something’s up?” Molly asked, dropping to the stool across from her landlady. Now seated, she face-planted into her palm.
“Well, you’re later than you usually are to harass me about eating.” Agnes repeated the three stir, then two with another fry. “I almost had to fix supper myself.”
Molly sighed. “My car died. Apparently, the only thing I can keep alive is Ollie and…well…me.”
Agnes scrunched up her nose. “Well, that would put a wrinkle in the evening.”
Wrinkle? More like it tried to tear the sheet of paper in two.
Molly nodded. “You could say that.”
Molly explained everything. The negotiation. The frustration. The Gavin effect.
Agnes said nothing for a long beat. She had no problem with silence. Molly? Molly didn’t care for the quiet. She preferred to have a television on in the background or music or a podcast. Anything.
Agnes, however, liked the stillness of living. And she’d be happy to tell anyone all about it any time they would listen. Which was funny, Molly often thought, given that the lecture was about being quiet.
Anyhoo, Agnes wouldn’t be the one to break the silence. She had more persistence in her entire body than Molly did in her pinky finger—and that was saying something.
“I don’t want to spend the money,” Molly said, finally, carefully, slowly.
Agnes knew all about Molly’s savings and how much she looked forward to a place with her name on the deed.
That had been part of her plan with Ollie’s dad… Baby, house, marriage, the works. Once they’d gotten engaged they immediately started trying for a baby. They even put a contract in on a house.
That was before he decided he’d rather…not. Not with her. Even though step one of their plan was already well into motion and morning sickness raged. He’d realized his heart never belonged to Molly and got back together with his ex.
Who did that?
The engagement fell apart. Real estate contract cancelled.
But she had Ollie. Soon, she’d have the house, too. She could live their dream out by herself and enjoy it twice as much.
This was a safe spot to talk about finances and dreams, since Agnes wouldn’t offer a cash solution like Gavin had. She understood what it meant to be a woman who, while willing to take help when she needed it, didn’t want to be indebted to anyone officially with the almighty dollar.
Indebted with hamburgers and casseroles? No big deal. Indebted with a nice gift here or there for a birthday?
Absolutely.
Handing out dollar bills? No.
“This is because of that summer camp?” Agnes wiped at a spot of ketchup with the tip of her finger.
Molly nodded.
“You didn’t go to summer camp. You turned out okay.”
While this was true, Molly had also asked her parents for an abundance of things, including summer camp, gymnastics lessons, ballet lessons, guitar lessons, every Polly Pocket that was ever made, and all the Beanie babies.
Of course, she didn’t get it all.
But it illustrated perfectly how this case was different.
Ollie had found something he loved and her little boy, who was always content with whatever life handed him, actually asked for something.
“It’s important to him.” Molly ruffled her hand in her curls, then pulled it away because if she kept that up, she’d totally wreck them and they’d puff up like nobody’s business.
“I think,” Agnes said, drawing out the second word, “I might have a solution.”
Molly squinted in her direction. Agnes had never had children, but she’d been married to the love of her life for decades before he succumbed to a heart attack shortly after he retired from the postal service.
In her own retirement, Agnes doted on Molly and Ollie.
Spent an abundance of time at the senior citizens’ center at the end of their block and enjoyed the quiet peace that time on this Earth bought her.
Since Molly hadn’t had luck in the game of love, she sort of figured her future looked a lot like Agnes’s. Tooling around her home, waiting for Ollie and whoever he chose as a life partner to come tell her to eat sometimes.
That wasn’t such a terrible future. Hey, it worked for Agnes.
“I’ve been thinking,” Agnes said, “about that gentleman three houses down.”
“Mr. Davenport?” Molly asked. Agnes nodded.
Super grumpy guy. About Agnes’s age, if she had to guess. Lost his wife two years ago to a stroke just before he moved into the neighborhood. Therefore, it made sense why he was in a constant stage of grouch since Molly had known him.
He doused himself in way too much cologne but made up for it by signing for packages if Molly wasn’t home and Agnes was out.
“What exactly have you been thinking?” Molly asked, the little, teeny matchmaking hairs on her arms standing straight up.
“I’ll come back around to that.” Agnes waved her hand. “First, let’s talk about that contest for best Denver matchmaker.”
Molly wasn’t liking where this was going…
“I’m not a matchmaker.” Molly had this conversation often with Agnes. She watched her dating videos, but she still didn’t quite understand that Molly gave tips. She didn’t set people up.
“Tell that to every first date you’ve had for the past three years.” Agnes swirled another French fry.
Fair point to Agnes. But… “What do you know about my first dates?” Molly hadn’t exactly shared that information with anyone but Rachel.
“I have eyes, sweet girl. I see you pairing your dates up with anyone who might work.” Agnes waggled her finger.
Molly sighed, since she couldn’t exactly argue the point.
Given that it was true, and all.
“I was saying,” she continued. “The contest is sponsored by that radio station that has the stallion mascot.”
“I know the one.” Mostly 90s pop music with a dash of the 2000s, too, because you can’t have a pop station without two full decades of Queen Britney.
“I know.” Agnes smirked. “You’re the one who started me on it.”
Molly nodded. That was ages ago. These days she didn’t really listen to the radio anymore, not when she could stream whatever she wanted straight from her phone. So while this was news to her, it wasn’t an offer of cash. So she heard her out.
“Contest has prize money.” Agnes wiggled her eyebrows. If Molly knew one thing for certain, it was that sweepstakes did not a good investment plan make. Her heart sank. But she rallied her internal excitement for Agnes’s benefit. “That could be fun, but it isn’t a sure deal.”
Also, the whole not-a-matchmaker part of it.
“They’re hosting it on YouTube,” Agnes said with wide eyes and a look like this was the thing that would make it pay out for Molly. “They’re doing that thing you do with your show but with the radio shows. So you can see the DJ while they are on air.”
“They’re streaming the shows on YouTube now?” Molly asked. That was a good idea, actually.
“Mmm-hmm.” Agnes nodded.
“Still…” Molly would let her down gently.
“You’re the princess of YouTube.” Agnes did a little sit-down dance. “And you match people all the time.” She held up her finger. “I know you say you don’t, but I’ve got two eyes that still work most of the time. You’re a natural with helping lost souls find their missing half.”
“Okay.” Molly would humor her for a moment. Only a moment. “Let’s say that I agreed to do this contest. Who would I match?”
Agnes gave her a look like Molly was missing the entire point of the conversation. “Me.”
Molly lifted the back of her hand to push up her jaw dramatically. “You?”
“With Charlie.”
Charlie being Mr. Grumpy Pants Davenport.
“You and Mr. Davenport.” Molly should just press her hand against the bottom of her chin for a while to hold it up, since she had a feeling Agnes had only begun her festival of shock and awe.
“We’re both single. Both on the prowl.”
Whoa. Agnes had never prowled her way anywhere. Molly held up her one-moment fingertip. “Give me a second to digest this.”
“You have precisely ten seconds before we need to skedaddle on our action plan.”
“Agnes…”