Can't Look Away(40)
“No!” Sabrina lets out an excited laugh. “What are the chances?” She pulls the door all the way open. “Come on in. What can I get you two to drink?”
Hunter says nothing, his mouth gaping. The color has drained from his face, and he hasn’t stopped staring at Jake.
Molly opens her mouth to speak, but her heart jumps into her throat. She can’t get her voice to leave her lips. How is this possible? She’s been friends with Sabrina for nearly a month now, and all this time, Sabrina has been married to Jake?
“Wine,” Molly manages, her voice hoarse. She feels Jake watching her. “Whatever wine you have open. Thanks.”
“Um, scotch and soda?” Hunter finally peels his gaze away from Jake and looks at Sabrina. “Thank you.”
Sabrina leads them through the foyer and to the bar off the immaculate chef’s kitchen. “This really is a small world,” she says, oblivious to any awkwardness. She pours Molly a glass of rosé while Jake fixes Hunter’s scotch. “Let’s sit out on the terrace. It’s such a nice night.”
The backyard is green and spacious—two acres, at least—with a patio overlooking a turquoise lap pool. Molly sinks down onto the cushion of an expensive-looking teak love seat. Hunter sits beside her, a protective hand on her leg, and Sabrina chooses a matching chair across from them. Molly watches as she lights two glass hurricanes on the white resin table.
Jake remains standing, looking more uncomfortable than he did in the doorway, as if it’s all starting to sink in. He wears a blue oxford that matches his eyes, the top two buttons undone, with khaki shorts and loafers. It’s an outfit he wouldn’t have been caught dead in when Molly knew him, one he would’ve deemed “preppy yuppie” with a tone of pure snark. Back then, Jake had been all jeans and frayed T-shirts, tattered Vans, and his beloved hoodies.
Molly sips her wine and watches him as discreetly as she can manage. He looks older, undoubtedly—the skin on his face less supple, slightly roughened—but still so beautiful. A beautiful man. Molly felt it the first time she saw him, and she feels it now, her insides turned to putty. But how—how—has he wound up here? Jake Danner, married and living in the suburbs, in a gorgeous house that looks like something straight out of a Pinterest board? It’s literally the last thing Molly ever would’ve expected of him.
Molly’s knowledge of what Jake has been up to over the years is almost nonexistent, and she’s liked it that way. She knew Danner Lane had split long ago—she’d read about it in the tabloids but had also heard the news in an email from Jake himself nearly a year after their own breakup, an email to which she’d never responded. But after that, nothing, and neither of them had ever been big social media users. Much to her friends’ chagrin, Molly never got an Instagram, and she almost never updates Facebook.
When people ask her why she’s not on social media—and so many people ask—she claims it just isn’t for her. She doesn’t feel the need to be so connected, to post publicly about her life. But the secret truth Molly keeps locked in her heart is that she doesn’t want to be found. More than that, she doesn’t want to find. She’s seen Nina spiral into countless Instagram black holes, digging up photos of Cash and his fiancée, Olivia, making herself miserable. Molly doesn’t want that. She doesn’t want to know.
Hunter has asked Sabrina a question about pool maintenance, and Jake slides into the chair adjacent to Molly’s. She observes his bare knee, jiggling slightly, the pale blond hairs that coat his golden skin. She has so many questions for him and no idea where to start, so she says nothing. She sips her wine, feels the cold, tart liquid run down the back of her throat, warming her gut. She and Jake both pretend to listen to Sabrina and Hunter discuss pool heating systems.
“I remember that dress,” he says finally, so quiet it’s almost a whisper.
Molly runs her hand along the linen fabric of the skirt. “Funnily enough, I haven’t worn it in years until tonight.”
“You used to wear it all the time.” Jake’s eyes land on Molly’s, and there’s a fire low in her belly, and she knows they are both probably thinking of all the times he tore that dress over her head. She pictures it, a blue-and-white-striped puddle on the floor next to their bed in Williamsburg.
Molly inhales and exhales slowly; she needs to stay present. “I can’t believe you live in Flynn Cove,” she says. “When did you move here?” She feels like this is a detail she knows—Sabrina must have told her?—but Molly can’t remember. Her mind is suddenly pure fog.
“We moved in March.” Sabrina answers the question for Jake; she’s finished talking pool mechanics with Hunter. “We left the city so Jake could get a change of scene, some peace and quiet. He’s working on something—a side project.” Sabrina glances at Molly and Hunter. “Jake used to be a musician, and he’s trying to get back into it.”
“They know that, Sisi.” Jake smiles stiffly.
Sisi. Why does that name sound so familiar?
“Oh, duh.” Sabrina laughs, waving her hand. “Well, anyway. My grandparents used to live in Flynn Cove—I think I told you that, Moll—and I have such fond memories visiting them as a child. When this place came on the market, we fell in love.”
“I can see why,” Molly says. “It’s gorgeous.” She can palpably feel Hunter’s discomfort next to her. He’s barely said a word since they arrived.