Chapter 8
MOLLY
Much to her dismay, Molly yanked herself out of bed at five o’clock the next morning. Well, the truth was more like the alarm clock did the yanking. But, nevertheless, she woke up. Showered. Ate a bowl of cereal.
Then she moseyed over to Agnes’s side of the duplex. Agnes was all ready for her.
In the time since Molly had seen her only hours earlier, Agnes had dyed her hair and added red lipstick.
Let it be known that Molly hadn’t seen her wear lipstick in forever. Not since her husband died. And even before then, only on rare dress-up occasions.
Agnes was decked out in a silk blouse with a pair of dressy slacks and ballet flats.
Meanwhile, Molly had pulled on a pair of old jeans, grabbed a clean t-shirt from the dryer, and tossed on her sneakers.
All without any lipstick. Or makeup. This was her normal day-at-home attire.
Since she wasn’t going anywhere until the mechanic called, she figured she’d go with comfy. Now, she was questioning that decision.
Because next to Agnes, she looked like one of those things that’s not like the other.
Perhaps she should run upstairs and change? Even just to slap on a quick swipe of lip gloss?
She started toward the door, then she stalled mid-step and slid her gaze to Agnes. Right, she couldn’t risk leaving now. And if Agnes cared about her lack of appearance attention, she said nothing. She only handed Molly a cup of coffee and shooed her onto the porch.
The contest was straight-forward. Introduce two people, go along with them on a few dates, post a video log recap of everything, be entertaining and fun, then the world votes. Well, Denver votes. After the initial round, there would be radio interviews and eventually a winner.
Molly sat on their shared porch swing, kicking her feet up on the stool, and blowing at the steam rising from the cup.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Agnes asked as soon as Molly’s bottom hit the chair.
Uh… “Sitting.”
“How can you introduce me if you’re sitting?” Agnes gestured for her to get up.
Um… “I was going to stand when he got here.”
Agnes gave her a look that had Molly standing without
brokering any argument. Some things were just not worth the breath, you know?
Agnes was correct. Right on time, Mr. Davenport lumbered up the sidewalk.
Molly set down her cup of coffee, and with a skip in her step, she headed in his direction.
Agnes grabbed her arm, halting her forward momentum. “Timing,” she said under her breath.
What the hell?
This was part of the reason Molly didn’t do early mornings. Things just didn’t make as much sense before eight.
Molly waited. For what? Well, she wasn’t entirely sure. But Agnes still held her arm in place, so she figured it had to do with timing.
Mr. Davenport made his slow trek down the sidewalk, past the house in between. Finally, Agnes released Molly’s arm and gave her a little push forward. Actually, a shove. She gave her a solid shove. Not that Molly would hold it against her.
But it was definitely a cue if Molly had ever received one.
She trotted down the shared steps to their duplex, waving at Mr. Davenport.
“Good morning,” she said, as cheerful as she could muster.
He scowled in her direction as a response.
Seriously, this is who Agnes had picked for herself? Because Molly would not have suggested this pairing. Agnes should find a gentleman friend who smiled sometimes. Or most of the time. Either way.
A smile was a good thing when it came to a gentleman friend.
“Molly,” Mr. Davenport said when he got closer.
He was a big man. Taller than most that Molly knew—at least six foot six.
He had a slight stoop, but not enough to reduce his height by much.
White hair and a white mustache. (Molly didn’t really understand the whole mustache thing.
If a guy was going to grow facial hair, she figured he should just go all in.) His tanned skin looked like tan leather, with the creases from age.
Even though it wasn’t chilly out, he wore a sweater and white polyester pants.
Molly glanced back to her landlady, who stared at the man like he was in a full tuxedo a la Gavin at the lake.
Molly shook her head. Nuh-uh-uh. No intrusive Gavin thoughts today.
“I wanted to introduce you to our neighbor.” Molly waved at Agnes, who took her cue and sauntered forward.
Honest to God, Molly had never seen the woman saunter. She shuffled. She strode. But that little sway to her hips? Nope. Molly had never seen that before.
And if she had to guess, Mr. Davenport noticed. He gave Agnes a tip-to-toe thorough inspection. An inspection that brought a grin to his lips.
Hey, he can smile!
The grin disappeared as quickly as it came when he turned his attention back to Molly.
“Does our neighbor have a name?” he asked, gruff as ever.
“Agnes,” Molly said, still cheery even though she gritted her teeth.
Get through this. Then they could move on to, perhaps, a better suitor for her now raven-haired neighbor.
“Hello,” Mr. Davenport said to Agnes without even a hint of grump in his tone. “Ms. Agnes.”
“Just Agnes is fine.” Agnes held her hand out to him and he—
Well, he didn’t shake it, that’s for certain. No, he lifted it to his lips and pressed a kiss on Agnes’s knuckles.
Molly’s jaw did that whole dropping thing again.
Seriously, before eight o’clock, nothing in the world made a whit of sense. Molly would not be breaking her don’t-get-up-early rule again. Ever.
“The name’s Charlie.” Mr. Davenport said. Again, without even a hint of gruff.
What in the ever-loving name of Zeus was going on around here?
Molly glanced up the empty street, then back to the couple in front of her. Agnes was making full-on heart eyes at Mr. Davenp—Charlie.
“Agnes was just saying that she would love to have a walking buddy this morning.” Molly nudged Agnes with her elbow. “Isn’t that right, Agnes?”
“Absolutely correct,” Agnes said, all cinnamon sugar breakfast cereal.
“Good luck finding someone to walk with,” Charlie said, gruff as ever.
“Would you care for company while you walk?” Molly asked, taking the lead and hoping a little nudge was all the situation required. “You’re walking. She’s walking. Everybody’s walking.”
“Are you walking?” Charlie asked.
Well, no. Molly shook her head. “It’s a little early for me.”
Way too early in the morning for that. “Then not everybody’s walking.” Well, while that was true—
“Can you keep up?” Charlie gave Agnes a solid once-over.
“Try to stop me,” Agnes said.
Molly took a teeny step backward. Uh-huh, she had her eye on an escape. She wasn’t ashamed.
“Then I’d enjoy that quite a lot,” Charlie answered, holding out his arm.
This right here illustrated why Molly was sort of a crappy matchmaker when it came to anyone but the men she dated. Because she never—not once—would have considered these two together.
But then again, if opposites really did attract, then perhaps it made sense?
Especially in that sliver of time before eight a.m.
In any case, she could still give them dating tips. That was, after all, her specialty. To start, she’d recommend they go for a walk. Which was apt, because the now-happy couple moseyed on down the sidewalk as though Molly didn’t really matter after all.
Which, to be fair, she didn’t. Not in this case. And with the speed that Agnes was working her magic, she’d probably be married by the end of the week. Molly should go check the contest rules to see if that might give them an edge against the competition.
“Mom?” Ollie asked from their front door. “What’re you doin’ out here?”
“I…” Molly lifted her shoulders. She peered up the sidewalk, but the happy couple had already turned the corner. “Mom?” Ollie said her name once more, this time like
he was worried about her.
“I’m not really sure.” She shook her head, and headed back inside, traipsing up the walk to their home.
Ollie brushed aside her odd behavior without question. In reality, standing outside in the morning alone wasn’t the oddest thing she’d ever done. Not like the time she’d decided to tie dye their sheets as a possible option for a date night suggestion.
“Did you decide if I can go to the movies with Brady and Kellan tonight?” Ollie asked, using his puppy dog eyes to try to sway her.
She frowned. They’d already talked about this and her answer had been, “Let’s talk about it tomorrow.”
Now, however, it was, in fact, tomorrow. “It’s a school night…”
“Mom.” Ollie speared her with his gaze. “I’m eight years old.”
Precisely why he had an early bedtime.
She let out a sigh because she could actually use the break. “I tell you what. You bring me back a box of Raisinets? I’ll give the all clear.”
“You should come, too,” Ollie said as she poured him a bowl of Rice Krispies.
Hah. No.
The boys were still with their dad, and she refused to sit next to Gavin for an entire movie.
That was a hard no from her.