Chapter 14
Well, that blew.
Not the blind taste test—and especially not the orgasm he’d given Molly, which was amazing. Maybe the most satisfying sexual experience of Karl’s goddamn life, and
he hadn’t even taken off his pants. Knowing that he’d pleased her, that Molly fucking Dearborn had writhed and gasped and
come so hard against his hand that she hadn’t been able to stand without assistance?
Karl Andrew Dean, passable small-town baker and crotchety hermit, had split his skin. Transformed into Karlzilla, towering
over skyscrapers. Karl Kong, beating his chest from a mile high. Captain Harlot’s Bay, strong enough to heft the world on
his tireless shoulders.
Predictably, all that testosterone and self-satisfaction had made him stupid. Made him think he’d won the war when he apparently
didn’t even understand the rules of battle.
She trusted him more than before—but not enough. He had no idea what he was doing wrong. Time was running short.
And that part? Yeah. It totally blew.
Once Karl washed his hands thoroughly and cleaned up his worktable, grumbling to himself all the while, he reluctantly texted
Matthew and Athena to ask if he could come over to their house that night to get some advice.
Athena responded by asking whether he’d been body-snatched by an alien, because of course she fucking did. Hassling him? That woman’s favorite hobby. No, her goddamn raison d’être. Good thing his best friend would stick up for—
Who are you? Matthew wrote. And what have you done with Karl “Interpersonal Communication Is Poison to Me” Dean?
Traitorous bastard!
Karl sent them a row of middle-finger emojis.
Ah, there you are, Special K, Athena replied. Congratulations on inhabiting your own body again! In answer to your question, I would be more than happy to impart my immense
wisdom concerning any matter you have in mind. And by “any matter you have in mind,” I clearly mean Molly. Because you are
so incredibly gone for that woman, it’s almost comical, and nothing and no one else would drive you to exchange actual human
words with us at your own behest.
Karl contemplated tossing his cell in the garbage disposal.
Matthew added, Come on over whenever you like, Karl. We’re not going anywhere.
I’LL BE THERE, Karl pecked out. TO MURDER BOTH YOU DICKS.
Athena posted a fireworks emoji. Can’t wait! BYOMW!
Karl’s brows drew together. Bring Your Own . . . Mulled Wine? Neither Athena nor Matthew was a big drinker, but maybe—
Bring Your Own Murder Weapon, Matthew helpfully supplied. Our kitchen knives aren’t particularly sharp.
After sending four entire rows of dagger emojis interspersed with skulls, Karl ended the conversation by turning off his phone.
Because even a stubborn, cranky bastard like him knew when to admit defeat.
Also because he was already feeling better.
Not that he’d ever tell those two assholes.
“Got no idea what the woman needs from me,” Karl informed Matthew and Athena early that evening. “The two of us? Chemistry to burn. History. Friendship. But all that’s not enough to make her trust me. Not the way I want her to, down to her bones, and I don’t get why.”
After more bakery prep, he’d come straight to their row house. Which had changed over the past year, since Matthew married
Athena. In a good way. Fewer heavy, dark, uncomfortable furniture pieces inherited from his useless parents. More bright colors
and clutter. Felt way more like a home.
The den now had an overstuffed couch that embraced Karl like a hug when he sank into it. When the duo led him upstairs, he
promptly plunked himself down there. Matthew perched on the other end of the cushy sofa in his rumpled tee and jeans, while
Athena lounged on a velvet brocade fainting couch or chaise or whatever the hell you called that shit, her skirt spread around
her in a semicircle, glasses slightly askew.
Made his heart lighter to see her looking so happy and confident after the rough patch she’d had. Especially since she was—as
he told her each time they met—a potato-obsessed pain in the ass, and if she’d found love and happiness? Maybe he had a shot too.
Before he took it, though, he had to improve his goddamn aim.
“Need your help,” he concluded. “You two have this relationship shit down, so—”
“Plus, we’re not easily intimidated by your threats to stab us. That makes us particularly useful helpers, I think you’ll
agree.”
“—I hoped you might be able to give me advice,” he gruffly finished, ignoring Athena’s interruption, then forced the next word from his resistant vocal cords. “Please.”
She and Matthew exchanged glances in that irritating, wordless communication some couples had. Exactly the sort of communication
that best suited Karl and that none of his past relationships had ever achieved.
Matthew nodded a little, then turned to Karl. “Tell us what you like about Molly.”
Odd question. Easy one, though. Could’ve given a thousand-part list. Instead, he boiled the pool of reasons down to essentials.
“Never get sick of her company. Being around her, talking to her . . . it’s easy. Fun. Doesn’t make me feel like throttling
anyone.” The sun shone brighter in Molly Dearborn’s presence. Simple matter of fact. “Rare for me. You know that.”
Athena snorted. “The entire population of Harlot’s Bay comprehends its rarity. Probably all of the Eastern seaboard too.”
Matthew rolled his lips between his teeth. Trying not to smile, the wife-adoring bastard.
“So I like her,” Karl continued, and he deserved a damn medal for disregarding Greydon’s blatant provocation. “Admire her
too. Smart, funny, capable. Sexy as hell. Willing to call me on my crap.”
He loved that about her. Half the time, he made his threats ridiculous on purpose, because he wanted to hear her inevitable
pedantic analysis of their feasibility.
The other half?
Well, the world could be infuriating, and he was a cranky asshole. An occasional over-the-top response to bullshit was inevitable,
which Dearborn seemed to realize. Even appreciate. Or at least find amusing, which was good enough for Karl.
“Molly fucking Dearborn?” He shook his head. “Everything I’ve always wanted. For over half my goddamn life now.”
Sure, he’d dated other women. For a few weeks or a few months, until they’d gotten tired of his baker’s schedule—bed at seven,
up at three—or concluded he was too withholding. Too cranky. Not open enough about his emotions. Other times, things just hadn’t clicked quite right, and he and his partners
had separated by mutual agreement.
Nothing had worked long-term. No one had loved him, even when he’d given them as much of his heart as he had available. All
the parts Molly hadn’t already claimed long before.
For the first time, that didn’t hurt anymore.
Like he’d just told his friends, no other woman but Molly had ever left him gasping for air at the mere sight of her. No other
woman had ever made him feel so comfortable and understood, so valued and wanted. No other woman had ever amused him, infuriated him, and excited him, all at the same time.
So if he and his previous girlfriends hadn’t been willing to call what they had together love? No fucking wonder. Those relationships had ended for good reason. Left him with zero regrets, especially now that Molly
was back in his life.
Matthew and Athena exchanged more of those annoying, significant glances.
“Okay. Those are all excellent reasons to like her.” Matthew sat forward. Idly rubbed at his stubbly jaw. “Have you told her
any of them?”
Lay his heart at the feet of a woman who could easily crush it underfoot? Who didn’t even trust him and had no intention of
staying in Harlot’s Bay?
Karl laughed in Matthew’s misguided face. “Hell, no.”
“Ah.” His best friend turned to his wife. “Athena? Do you have anything to say?”
Karl’s eyeballs rolled so far back in his head, he almost lost them. “Of course she does. That woman loves three things above
all else.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “Tubers. Useless information. Not minding her own damn business.”
“What about me?” Matthew asked, smiling slightly. “Where am I on the list?”
Karl lifted a shoulder. “Maybe you rank above tubers. Probably not, though.”
That was a lie. They all knew it. Karl might frequently issue violent threats, but Athena? For all her good cheer and kindness,
she’d fucking obliterate anyone who hurt Matthew.
“Luckily, I don’t have to choose between you and potatoes, baby. Consider yourself fortunate.” Athena grinned at her husband,
then twisted to face Karl. “Here’s what I’m wondering, Special K. You say she doesn’t trust easily. That she’s cynical. Right?”
Did they really need to restate the entire point of this conversation?
He heaved an impatient sigh. “Yeah. That’s why I’m here, Greydon. Talking. Like a fucking chump.”
“Hmmm.” Athena’s head tipped to the side, and she eyed him contemplatively. “Do you think her lack of trust is due to something
about you in particular? Or simply general wariness around others? Maybe because of bad past experiences?”
One thing Karl now knew for sure about Molly: The bastard she’d married had damaged her.
Karl had guessed that much already. But until earlier today, he hadn’t known how deep the injury must’ve been.
Hadn’t known that hearing the full story would tempt him to track that dick of a doctor down and shove him headfirst into a shark-filled moat.
Or at least into a cake, the same damn way Rob had done to Molly.
“Won’t violate her privacy, but . . .” His hands ached, they were fisted so hard on his thighs. “She’s got an asshole user
of an ex. Divorced two years, but he’s still hassling her. Wants her house.”
Athena pressed her lips together. “That’d certainly give someone trust issues.”
Karl wasn’t Dearborn’s former husband, though. Why couldn’t Molly see that? For that matter, why couldn’t Athena see it?
“Her ex—shit. Hold on.” Sitting up straight on that marshmallowy couch took some real effort, but he managed to heave himself