Chapter 5
The next evening, Molly waited for Lise outside the Historic Harlot’s Bay ticket office, where her friend would meet her after
leading the night’s final Ghosts and Legends tour.
As she waited, her mind drifted toward Karl. Magnetic, broad-chested, mouthwatering Karl. Whom she’d now seen shirtless and
ogled as discreetly as possible. Her long-ago cranky crush, who’d turned down her offer of casual sex and urged her to stay
in Harlot’s Bay for almost four entire weeks instead. Which she obviously couldn’t do, so . . .
Yeah. So much for fucking him out of her system after two long decades.
The whole situation kept intruding on her thoughts. Kept disturbing and confusing her, because . . . maybe her inability to
stay wasn’t that obvious.
She did owe him amends for thinking the worst of him . . . twice . . . without asking for an explanation, and she already
had the time off from work. Her comfortable home had become a temporary construction zone. And because she hadn’t known when
his funeral service would be, she’d booked a ticket with no flight-change penalties.
Still, four weeks at a hotel would put a real dent in her savings. More importantly, she hadn’t lied to Karl about the vast
temptation he posed, and the last thing she needed was to become emotionally attached to a man who lived an entire continent
away from her.
Her instincts were screaming at her to stay, but her instincts had also let her marry Rob, so she couldn’t rely on them. As little as she trusted everyone else, she trusted her own judgment—at least when it came to men—even less.
So there would be no more lemon-glazed blueberry doughnuts or butterscotch lattes for Molly. No one-off sex with the long-lost
friend she’d never quite been able to forget. No more visits to Harlot’s Bay.
In less than seventy-two hours, her plane back to LA would take off. As it lifted from the runway, Molly would give thanks
for Karl Dean’s continued survival . . . and the miles she was putting between them.
“Hey!” someone exclaimed loudly, right next to Molly. “I know you! Molly Dearborn, right?”
With a gasp, Molly leaped backward, away from the unexpected voice, and clapped a hand over her galloping heart. Holy Moses.
Apparently a costumed interpreter had come up to her while she was lost in thought, a Black woman in a cap and one of those
corset-like things over her shift. That woman now looked extremely apologetic, both her hands lifted to show her utter harmlessness
as she helpfully angled herself into the light streaming from the ticket booth’s window.
Historic Harlot’s Bay should really train their employees not to approach tourists in the dark without ample warning. That
said, Molly did in fact recognize the smiling, petticoat-clad woman.
“Hi.” Molly offered her a polite smile. “We attended Harlot’s Bay High together, didn’t we? Lovely to meet you again.”
Jane? Janet? Jan? Something like that. They’d been in world history together, and maybe gym class?
“Yep. We graduated the same year.” Raising her arms in an overhead vee, Jan-something waved invisible pompoms and raised her voice. “Goooooo, Fighting Floozies!”
Molly had almost forgotten about the school mascot, whose very existence perhaps helped to explain how Lise had become Sadie
Brazen. That said, Lise had also lived her entire life in a town called Harlot’s freaking Bay. Maybe it was inevitable that
someone in the community would wind up writing about sexually voracious, ethically dubious kangaroo-men.
Well . . . maybe not. That particular story seemed very specific to Lise, honestly.
Jan-something was looking at her with expectant cheer, and Molly still hadn’t come up with her exact name. “I’m so sorry,
but I can’t quite—”
“Janel Altman.” Lise had appeared at Molly’s side from somewhere in the shadows, again without warning. This time, Molly managed
not to jump, but it was a close thing. “Class vice president, former cheerleader—”
Well, that explained the invisible pompoms, as well as the startling energy and enthusiasm that radiated from Janel’s beaming,
elfin face.
“—devoted wife, mother of three adorable urchins, and current night programs supervisor for Historic Harlot’s Bay. Also the
main organizer of our class’s twenty-year reunion, which she somehow convinced me to attend, even though I get nauseated every
time I think about it. The prospect of making small talk in a crowd for hours at a time . . .”
Lise shuddered, and the reaction was only a tiny bit exaggerated. Although she wrote erotic literature about guppy-men with
ripped abs, the “Brazen” in her pen name was more aspirational than descriptive of her actual personality.
“You lead tours full of strangers, babe. Suck it up,” advised Janel.
Lise flicked her coworker’s upper arm. “It’s not the same thing, and you know it.”
As she’d explained to Molly last year, leading tours at night worked for her because she remained in control of the situation,
knew exactly what was expected of her, and had years of experience doing it. Mingling with swarms of former classmates, though,
without a clear script or conversational goal? She’d find the prospect terrifying.
Casual socializing didn’t scare Molly the same way. But she’d already sent her regrets to the reunion organizer—Janel, evidently—months
ago. Making idle chitchat with people she hadn’t seen in twenty years and would probably never see again was pointless. If
she’d wanted to stay in touch with them, she would have.
Not even Karl’s urgings could make her stay for the blessed event.
Though she’d been tempted by those urgings. Very tempted.
“Hmmm.” Janel eyed Molly consideringly. “Lise, perhaps you’d feel better if you went with a friend. More specifically, a friend
who won’t be running around, frantically putting out various fires during the event like I will.” Her brow puckered in a momentary
frown. “Hopefully not literal fires, given that we’re doing a cookout for one of our activities. My husband Dave was always
a bit of a pyro.”
Lise snorted.
“Anyway.” Janel’s expression cleared, and she bounced a bit on her toes.
“The reunion’s in early October, during Homecoming weekend, and I would really love for you to be there, Molly.
I know a lot of people who’d be excited to catch up with you and find out what you’ve been doing all these years.
Including me. If I didn’t have to get home for my kids’ bedtime, I’d be dragging you to the Doxy Diner to talk about it tonight. ”
The diner’s signature tuna melt and loaded fries were calling Molly’s name, and she wouldn’t have minded chatting with Janel
over dinner. Not about Molly’s possible reunion attendance, though. That wasn’t happening, for any number of very pressing
and legitimate reasons that didn’t involve romantic cowardice.
“Sadly”—fortunately—“I fly out on Friday, so I can’t make it. But thank you, Janel.”
“You’re absolutely certain?”
“I’m certain.”
Janel’s smile turned wry. “Well, you can’t blame a girl for trying. Safe travels back home, Molly, and I hope you come back
to us much sooner this time.”
Molly returned her smile and made zero promises.
After a few more standard farewells, Janel hugged them both, then hustled toward the nearest employee parking lot. Lise and
Molly turned right instead and headed down She-Devil Street, the historic area’s central thoroughfare, at a leisurely pace.
“Does she know about Sadie?” Molly quietly asked after a minute.
Lise’s basket swung from her arm with every step, and their footsteps tapped against the cobblestone sidewalk. “Nope.”
The answer didn’t surprise Molly. Her friend kept knowledge of her pen name limited to as few people as possible.
After another half block of comfortable silence, Lise spoke again. “You’re still good with having dinner at Termagant Tavern?
Colonial Karaoke Night is fun, but it can get loud. If you have a headache, we can go somewhere else.”
Why did Lise think she had a headache?
“I’m fine. Unless . . .” She paused. “Do you expect me to sing?”
She enjoyed performing for crowds, but karaoke wasn’t something she’d ever done before, and she’d have to know more about
how it worked and have a song in mind before she committed herself.
“No.” Lise’s shoulders curved inward. “Hell, no. I’ve never participated, and I never intend to, so I certainly wouldn’t pressure
you to do it. But the whole event is hilarious to watch, and the drinks are half price all night.”
Molly lifted a hand. “Say no more. You had me at cheap booze.”
A laughing group of tourists came toward them on the sidewalk, their souvenir tricorne and straw hats still on and tipped
at a jaunty angle, despite the late hour.
“Perfect.” Lise stepped to the side for them, then slanted an alert glance at Molly. “So you don’t have a headache. What else
is wrong, then?”
If her friend could read it on her face, Molly must be more conflicted about that encounter with Karl than she’d even realized.
Schooling her expression into placidity, she shook her head. “I’m good, Lise. Stop worrying about me, and start worrying about
whether your coworkers will drag you up on stage for an eighteenth-century version of ‘Sweet Caroline.’”
It was only a playful attempt to distract her too-observant friend, but Lise immediately recoiled and executed a full-body
cringe. “Don’t even joke about that song.”
“Your colleagues actually do perform a colonial version of ‘Sweet Caroline,’” Molly concluded. “Wow.”
There were nerds, and then there were freaking nerds. Historic Harlot’s Bay apparently abounded with the latter, and good for them.
Lise shuddered slightly. “They call it ‘Queen Caroline.’”
“Of course they do,” Molly said blandly, then hooked her elbow through Lise’s before her friend could change her mind and
sprint away from the imminent social outing. And together, they wandered off into the historic night, arm in arm.