Letters to Molly (Maysen Jar, #2)(70)

“No problem.”

I opened the door and lifted out my crutch but paused before getting out. “Poppy is going to love the surprise. And I think May is a good time. It will make her smile.”

“There’s nothing I won’t do to make my wife happy.” Even spending a good portion of his paycheck to take her to Italy in May, hoping it would make the month easier to bear.

Cole Goodman was a godsend. He loved Poppy unconditionally. He brought so much light into her life, it was hard to even remember the dark days.

I wanted that for Molly. She deserved to have the man of her dreams, a partner who supported her and whose purpose in life was to make her happy. I hadn’t been that man.

I’d failed her.

I wouldn’t fail her again.

Waving good-bye to Cole, I made my way into the house then stopped inside the front door. The lights were on in the kitchen, but I’d shut them off when I’d left.

“Molly?” I called without an answer.

I walked down the hallway, checking the kitchen then her bedroom. Other than the lights, there was no sign of her. Could she be at Gavin’s house? I went to the garage, finding her Jeep parked inside, so I poked my head outside the door leading to the backyard.

And there she was.

Her hair was piled up in a huge mess. A couple of loose curls were poking out, trying to make their escape. Molly was on her knees next to a bed of flowers, yanking weeds with an unbridled fury. Dirt flew. Leaves shredded. She’d piled heaps in various spots along the edge of the yard.

I leaned against the doorframe, watching her work. Due to the accident, I hadn’t had the time or ability to finish the changes here, though there wasn’t much left to do. A few edges needed to be squared up and the beds prepped with weed block before I laid down fresh mulch. It was easy stuff I could have had a crew come out and finish. But while I’d given them the mowing, I hadn’t wanted to hand over this yard.

It was my yard. Our place. I wanted to be the one to finish it. And I wanted to be the one to plant Molly’s lilac bush.

“You little—” Molly grunted, her hand wrapped around a stubborn dandelion, pulling with all her might. But the weed didn’t budge. Instead, her hand slipped and she fell back on her ass. “Bastard.”

I laughed, loud enough that she spun around, clutching her heart.

“You scared me.” She scowled.

“Sorry.” I grinned and made my way across the yard. Then I tossed my crutch aside and eased myself to the grass at her side. The dandelion she’d been trying to pull was huge. Its leaves were stripped and the stalk exposed, but it had broken an inch above the soil, meaning it would be back.

I stretched past Molly and grabbed the hand trowel in the dirt. With a hard stab, I felt the root break beneath the surface. I yanked it out by the stub and tossed it into her pile. “There.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s more satisfying if you use your hands.”

“There are a lot of things more satisfying when you use your hands.”

“Oh my God.” She nudged my shoulder, her cheeks flushing. “You’re such a teenager.”

“I couldn’t resist. That was too easy.”

She giggled, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. “How was PT with Ashley?”

“Ashley,” I mimicked. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” she muttered, her hands diving for another weed and ripping it from the ground. “But I think she’s been testing the limits of professionalism.”

I opened my mouth to tell her that Ashley had asked me out today but decided it was better to keep that to myself. Her flare of jealousy was enough to make me grin, because Molly wouldn’t be jealous if there weren’t something between us.

“I don’t want Ashley,” I told her.

“Oh. Whatever. It’s not my business.”

I didn’t miss the small smile tugging at her supple mouth.

Scooting over a foot, I started on another patch of weeds, adding to Molly’s pile.

“I let it get out of control back here.” She shook her head, scolding herself.

“You were busy.”

“I know. But I hate weeds.”

“I can get you on the rotation with the flower crew.” I had a team solely responsible for flowers. They traveled around the valley, tending to clients’ flower beds and flowerpots so there was never any weeding or trimming necessary. It was an elite service, mostly requested by my wealthier customers.

“No, but thank you,” she said. “I don’t mind. When it’s not so far behind, it’s actually kind of a stress reliever.”

“You’re home early today. I thought you’d be at the restaurant until six.”

“Me too. But it was really slow. It happens when the weather gets like this. People get in their sunshine while they can. Poppy and I flipped a coin for who had to stay and work. I won.”

We continued to weed along the flower bed until we reached the end. My good hand was smudged, my cuticles stained brown. “Damn, but I missed dirt.”

Molly laughed and scooted closer, pulling off her gloves. Her fingers were much cleaner, but her face had a few smudges. “It’s weird to see your hands clean. They just don’t look right unless there’s some dirt under your fingernails.”