Letters to Molly (Maysen Jar, #2)(14)

Owning a restaurant had been Poppy’s childhood dream and The Maysen Jar was exactly her style. It wasn’t big. She’d bought an old, two-stall mechanic’s garage and converted it into a warm, open and thriving café.

The cement floors, which had been covered in oil splotches, were hidden underneath a hickory herringbone wood floor. The actual garage bay doors had been ripped out and replaced with floor-to-ceiling black-paned windows. I wasn’t sure how many buckets of grime and grease she’d cleaned away.

If I hadn’t seen the original, I wouldn’t have believed this place was once a garage. She’d transformed it, only keeping the original exposed red brick walls and leaving the tall, industrial ceilings open. Black tables and chairs filled the room. The counter at the back was the home base where people could order coffee or meals from the display case.

It was trendy without being hip. It was classic without being stuffy. It was Poppy mixed with an undercurrent of Molly.

Molly’s touch was everywhere, probably only noticed by me. It was in the way the menu cards were stacked neatly by the register. How underneath this counter, the shelves were organized with bins and containers for silverware rolls or extra napkins. How the tables were arranged so the center aisle was wide enough to walk down with a bussing bin propped on a hip.

That was Molly. She put others first, and here, others meant Poppy, employees and customers.

She’d set up this business as best as possible to ensure Poppy’s success. Molly had done the same for Alcott Landscaping when we’d started it together. Back when it had just been her, me and a couple of lawn mowers. She had an eye for efficiency and had helped our business take off.

Molly had a gift for keeping things organized, yet relaxed and fun. She infused love and family into everything she did. Alcott had lost a touch of that lately.

More than a touch, if I was being honest.

“Okay.” Mom came back around the corner from delivering the finished latte. “What can I get for you?”

“I’d take a coffee.”

“You got it.” Without asking for specifics, Mom whipped me up my favorite caramel latte. I wouldn’t tell Mom this, but Poppy’s version was better. “So, what are you doing here? I thought you’d be at work.”

“Just wanted to stop in and say hello. I had a slow morning.”

I was lying through my teeth. My to-do list was growing faster than wet grass on a sunny day, but work was impossible for me at the moment.

After leaving Molly’s, I’d gone home to shower and change. Then I’d gone into the office, hoping to get ahead for the day. I’d spent an hour staring at the screensaver on my computer while images of last night had run through my mind.

Her long hair on those white pillows. My white pillow. The smooth skin of her thighs caressing my hips. The tickle of her fingers as she ran them up and down my spine.

My cock twitched just thinking about sinking inside her again.

What the hell had we been thinking? It had been so long and fuck, I’d missed sex with Molly. It was so easy and natural. The years fell away as we drifted into that familiar dance.

I’d gotten lost in her last night.

No matter how many days or months or years went by, Molly was still unforgettable. The best I’d ever had. The way she felt beneath me, her fingernails digging into my shoulder blades as I rocked us into oblivion, was like nothing else in the world.

That meant something, didn’t it? That we’d been just as good last night as we had all those years ago? It shouldn’t mean anything. We were divorced. It was just damn good sex. That was all. Right?

Bottom line? Too much had happened to destroy our relationship. There were other things from the past that were unforgettable.

And unforgiveable.

“Finn.” Mom waved her hand in front of my face.

I blinked. “What?”

“I asked if you wanted some breakfast to go with your latte.”

“Oh, um, sure. Overnight oats, please.”

“Are you all right?” She walked down to the refrigerated display case and took out the jar for me. “You look tired.”

“I just got up early.”

“You work too hard.” Mom sighed. “When was the last time you took a vacation?”

“It’s been a while.”

Brenna had planned my last vacation. She’d begged me to spend a weekend skiing at Big Sky this past winter. The maybe I’d given her had been interpreted as a yes, and she’d taken it upon herself to plan the whole thing.

Brenna had booked a romantic weekend away for us at a local ski resort. Except somehow our wires had gotten crossed, because it had turned out to be my weekend with the kids. Our romantic weekend had turned into a weekend with only me and the kids because Brenna had pouted and gone back to Bozeman.

Max, Kali and I’d had a blast skiing and staying up late in the pool.

That had been the second time she’d gotten annoyed about me having the kids on a weekend. The third time had been last weekend, when she’d wanted to sleep over but I’d told her no because the kids were there.

She’d thrown a fit, so I’d called it off.

I didn’t have a place in my life for a woman who didn’t want to spend time with my kids. A woman who couldn’t respect that I wasn’t ready for certain things in our relationship. It wasn’t entirely her fault but I’d made my position clear. She’d chosen to ignore me.