Chapter 4 #2
“I’m so sorry about the mess, but . . .” Charlotte sighed and took back her daughter. “Language, Karl. Please.”
“Lang-wedge,” Brooklyn echoed.
“Lang-wedge,” he agreed through gritted teeth. “Don’t worry, Charlotte. Easy cleanup.”
Molly shifted on her feet. Looked guilty as hell. “How can I help? Do you need a towel, or—”
“You can stop assuming I’m an a—” He looked down at Brooklyn. Rephrased. “A not-good person, for f—for heaven’s sake. You can stay.”
Silence, other than muffled soft jazz and little Karl’s Duplo-deprived whimpers of complaint.
“We’ll go.” Charlotte finished cleaning her daughter’s face, threw out the used wipes, and washed her own hands. “You two
should finish your conversation in privacy.”
Within seconds, she’d hustled the kids out and shut the door firmly behind her.
After glowering at Molly, he stalked to his office. Whipped off his apron and shirt, somehow without dirtying his hands or
hair. Carefully balled up the soiled clothing and shoved it in a plastic bag. Good enough for now.
One fresh tee remaining in his desk drawer. He needed to restock his supply. Between cooking and kids, things at the bakery
got messy on the regular.
In a perfect world, he’d ask Dearborn to wash his back. But this world was frequently shitty, and that’d be too intimate.
No time to stop home either, so he’d have to scrub extra hard tonight. Probably feel itchy in the meantime. Ugh.
He tugged the tee over his head. When he could see again, Molly was in his doorway, cheeks flushed. Eyes downcast. Penitent.
“I apologize, Karl,” she told him, lifting her chin to meet his stare. “When I told you I didn’t trust anyone anymore, I meant
it. But you deserved the benefit of the doubt, especially after I’d misjudged you already. I should have asked before assuming
things. Even though Charlotte is gorgeous and clearly very close to you. As are her kids. One of whom is named Karl. As in,
Karl Junior.”
“No shit you should have asked, Dearborn.” He edged past her, avoiding dangerous body-to-body contact, and scrubbed his hands
vigorously at the nearest sink. “You owed me before. You owe me double now.”
“Yeah.” When he turned around, she was rubbing her forehead with her fingertips. Her voice sounded tired. “I do. And I have to admit, seeing you with your surrogate daughter and grandchildren was . . . oddly appealing. But . . .”
She dropped her hand, and he noticed it then. Exhaustion. Dark smudges beneath red-rimmed eyes. Stiff tension girding that
elegant posture.
“Four weeks is too high a price to pay for the mistakes I’ve made, and there’s no point getting close to a man who lives across
the country.” She spread her hands, a gesture of regret. “Once this break is over, I won’t have the time or energy to try
anything long-distance.”
Didn’t she have anyone in her life who’d make her rest when she needed it? Who’d tell her when she pushed herself too hard?
Before he’d gotten the flu, he’d assumed his own answer to those questions would be a firm, repeated fuck, no. For better or worse, cranky-ass hermits didn’t get well-meaning interference from concerned friends.
Only . . . Bez and Johnathan had browbeaten him into seeing a doctor when his fever first spiked. Charlotte had come by his
house several times to drop off medicine and check on him. Matthew and Athena had texted him way too goddamn often. After
that bizarre obit had run, the Nasty Wenches book club had descended on him too, using every means of communication short
of carrier pigeon.
He’d resisted getting close to all those people at first. Even Matthew, way back when. But his resistance had been futile.
And now this cranky-ass hermit was still cranky. Still an ass. Maybe not such a hermit anymore, though.
He got the sense Molly couldn’t say the same. And a cheerful hermit was still a hermit.
Jesus, she looked as tired as she sounded.
He cleared his throat. “Dearborn . . .”
“Please don’t make my life harder right now,” she said simply, holding his gaze. “I can’t give you what you want, Karl.”
How could he argue with that? The last thing he wanted was to make things worse for her after all this time. Dammit.
It took everything in him—every ounce of will and reason—not to keep pushing. When he spoke next, he could barely hear it
over the howl of refusal echoing in his brain. But he did it. He let her go.
For her good. Not his.
“Will I see you before Friday?” he grated out hoarsely, gripping the edge of the worktable in front of him for dear life.
Even as he asked, he already knew the answer.
“Since you want more than just a quick fling . . .” Blue eyes sad, she shook her head. “That’s probably not a great idea.
You’re potent temptation, Dean, and I don’t want to hurt either of us.”
Flattering. Still a blow to his stupid, aching heart.
He couldn’t do more than grunt in response, like a goddamn caveman.
“I can’t tell you how glad I am that you’re alive and well. I’m sorry for misjudging you, and I’m sorry for not saying yes
to your plan.” Her chest rose and fell on a deep sigh. “I’m wishing you all the happiness in the world, Karl. Please take
care of yourself.”
And before he could muster even a single word in reply, she was gone. Again.
The door slowly closed behind her. He watched, his vision blurry, until it shut entirely.
Then he got back to fucking work.