Letters to Molly (Maysen Jar, #2)(90)

“I could have been, we could have . . .” She shook her head. “You’ve always been a fool over her.”

“Always. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”





- LETTER -





Darling Molly,





I’ve missed you. I’ve missed seeing your smile and hearing your voice. Saturday can’t come soon enough. Dinner with you at Burger Bob’s was one of the best nights I’ve had in months. Years, actually. I want to make it a regular thing for us, sharing a meal that you don’t have to cook. One where we can laugh and talk and just enjoy each other’s company. I hope you want that too.





Tell me you want that too. That you want us.





I’m not giving up this time. No more excuses. No more obstacles. I’m not letting anything keep us from being together. Even if it’s just one date, one week at a time.





Yours,

Finn





Twenty





Molly





“Are you sure about this?” I asked Finn as we walked down the hallway at the theater.

My arms were loaded with a medium popcorn, a box of Mike and Ikes, chocolate-covered raisins and a large soda. Finn had a similar haul in his arms, except he’d opted for nachos with his popcorn and only one box of candy.

“We can handle it.”

“The last time I made movie snacks a full meal was in college.”

“I remember.” He chuckled. “Those were some of the most expensive dates we had.”

“But some of the best too. They were the special ones.”

It had cost Finn a small fortune to pay for the movie tickets and snacks we bought in lieu of a real dinner. He’d always insisted on paying, much like he had tonight. So even though going to the movies had been one of my most favorite dates, I’d always been careful not to suggest it too often.

“Have you been to any movies lately?” Finn asked.

“No. There wasn’t much time this summer.”

“Yeah. This summer was something else.”

“I used to go to the movies a lot,” I told Finn. “It was my treat whenever you had the kids on the weekends.”

“Who did you go with? Friends?”

“No. I came alone.”

Finn slowed our pace. “Really?”

The look on his face. The pitifully guilty droop of his mouth was comical. “By choice. I like going to the movies alone.”

“I don’t like you going alone.” He frowned. “But I guess it doesn’t matter anymore. I’m your movie date from now on.”

A warm tingle spread across my skin. The way he said it, the way he’d approached this rekindling of our relationship with so much surety and determination, it wasn’t really a rekindling at all. It was more like a new beginning. And though it made me nervous, Finn’s absolute confidence in where we were headed together was thrilling.

He’d sent me a letter this past week. I’d gotten it at the restaurant again, and I’d smiled like a loon as I’d read it over and over again.

No more excuses. No more obstacles.

Reading those words, I hadn’t really believed them. I hadn’t really thought Finn would change. But then Poppy came to tell me about Bridget. That Finn had sat down with her and demanded she treat me with respect, and that when she’d refused and quit, he’d walked her out the door.

It gave me hope. He gave me hope.

Hope wasn’t an eraser for my fears. We’d started brilliantly once before and we’d ended in ashes.

There was something different about this though. The difference was Finn.

Mom had always said he was a closed-off man. I wouldn’t tell her she’d been right, but the accident, the letters, they’d both forced him to open up.

Maybe this time, we’d get it right.

Like I’d done before our dinner date at Burger Bob’s, I’d pushed my fears and doubts aside and climbed into Finn’s truck for this movie date with an open mind.

Finn and I found our seats in the theater. We crammed snacks into our drink holders. Tubs rested on our laps. And as the previews started, we scarfed our irresponsible, unhealthy and delicious meal.

When the popcorn cartons were resting by our feet, I kept my eyes on the screen but my attention was on Finn’s hand, waiting for it to take mine.

On our first movie date, it had taken him halfway through the film to finally touch me.

Tonight, it took minutes. As soon as he finished his last nacho, my hand was in his. He kept it until the lights turned on and the credits played.

“What did you think?” Finn asked as we strolled outside. It was dark now. The evening light from when we’d gone in had long disappeared.

“It was okay.”

“Okay.” He scoffed. “You hated it.”

I grinned. “No, it was all right.”

“Molly, I could hear your eyes rolling.”

It was arguably one of the worst movies I’d ever seen. The plot was predictable. The acting was barely passable. The male lead’s character was too stupid to live—the only bright spot of the movie was at the end when they killed him off.