Letters to Molly (Maysen Jar, #2)(44)

“Or I could cook?” Poppy offered.

Cole shook his head. “You’re taking a break tonight.”

“I’d be up for that new Thai place,” I suggested. “I’ve been wanting to try it but the kids won’t eat it.”

While I loved hitting the movie theater solo, eating at a restaurant alone was not my thing. I admired women who could do it.

“I have a better idea.” Poppy brought over the toast and warmed bacon to the table, starting to assemble the sandwiches. “How about we order takeout from the Thai place and have a game night?”

A game night. I hadn’t gone to a game night in a decade.

Poppy loved playing board games, something we all used to do together during and after college. After Jamie died, Poppy hadn’t played a board game until Cole came into her life.

Now the two had built quite the collection of games and hosted game nights every so often. Ugh. Finn used to take Brenna.

“I’m in,” Finn said and took the sandwich Poppy slid across the table.

“Nice.” Poppy handed Cole his sandwich next. He grinned at her then shoved a huge bite in his mouth.

Game night. I’d worked so hard to be happy about Poppy and Cole doing things with Finn and whichever woman he was dating. It was strange to be in that place. The other woman’s place. Strange yet . . . comfortable.

Excitement bubbled. “Sounds great.”

We all stood around the table, eating our BLTs, too consumed with food to talk. Until Finn broke the silence.

“So, Cole. What are the chances you’d be willing to fingerprint a few letters for us?”

Cole chuckled. “About as good as me agreeing to let MacKenna date before she’s thirty.”

“Hmm.” Finn frowned. “Then I’d like to report a crime. Someone broke into my house, stole some old letters and snuck them into Molly’s mailbox.”

“Still can’t run the fingerprints.”

“Damn.” Finn looked to me. “We’re back to square one again.”

“Mailbox stakeout?”

He grinned. “I’ll bring the night-vision goggles.”





“Bye.” I waved at Poppy and Cole as they stood on the porch of their house. My sides hurt from laughing so hard all night. “I love game night.”

Finn chuckled. “Me too. Especially when we dominate.”

“Did they win anything?”

“Nope.” Finn held up his hand for a high five. “Team Alcott cleaned up.”

I smacked my hand against his. Team Alcott.

It was like we’d gone back in time. Tonight had been so much fun, laughing and teasing one another as we’d played game after game. It was hard to remember the downward spiral that had happened between this game night and the last one we’d played in college.

Death and divorce.

“Cole is a good sport,” I told Finn as we walked down the sidewalk toward his truck.

Jamie had been so competitive, there’d been a few game nights in college where things had turned from fun to fight. But not Cole. He was competitive enough to present a challenge, but when he lost, which they had a lot tonight, he didn’t get angry.

“Yeah, he is.” Finn opened the door for me and helped me inside.

He’d picked me up tonight from home so we could ride here together. We both just assumed he’d be coming home with me. While I strapped on my seat belt, he closed the door and went around to his side, climbing in and getting us on the road.

My head was light from all the wine and even a little dizzy. Tomorrow morning might be miserable, but it had been worth it.

“What do you say we go to my place instead?”

My face whipped to Finn’s profile. “What?”

“I’d like to stay at my place for a change.”

“Oh, uh . . .” I scrambled for an excuse. “I don’t have any of my stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“My toothbrush. Pajamas. Extra hair ties.” I only had one on my wrist, so I needed to go home for a second.

“I’ve got an extra toothbrush. Kali has a pile of hair ties in the bathroom.” He met my gaze. “And you won’t need pajamas.”

I didn’t have another excuse other than the truth. We’d had such a fun night, and I didn’t want to dive into this conversation.

“Why won’t you come inside my house?” he asked gently.

“Do we really have to talk about this tonight?”

We approached a stop sign on Main Street. Taking a right led to my house. A left to his.

He answered my question by turning left.

My shoulders sagged. “It’s your home.”

“Exactly. What’s wrong with my home? The kids live there fifty percent of the time.”

“No.” I shook my head. “You don’t understand. It’s your home.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, it’s your home. A home you created without me. We’ve broken so many boundaries these past few weeks. This one, I need this one, Finn. It’s your home. Your place. Not mine.”

This line was one I would not cross. Because if I walked into his house and fell in love with the rooms he’d set up for the kids, or the way it felt to sleep beneath his sheets, it would be even harder to shore up that boundary when this was over.