“I don’t want to know.” Lise paused. “Actually, that’s a lie. I do want to know, but we have other matters to address beforehand. Namely, my first question: What’s more valuable to you, what Karl says or what he actually does?”
Molly knew where that line of argument was going, but whatever. She’d follow the path regardless, because she couldn’t currently see any other way forward. “I’ve loved two men who said all the right things and left me anyway, so actions are definitelymore important to me than words. And Karl does in fact behave like a man who loves me, no matter what he does or doesn’t say. I’ve never had anyone work so hard to meet my needs and make me happy.”
“I know there’s abutcoming.” Lise’s lips suddenly quivered, and she bit back a smile. “Much like when I’m writing the final sex scene in one of my books.”
Molly had to laugh. “There is, in fact, abutcoming. No lube required.” Sobering, she told her friend, “Actions are more important to me, like I said, but they aren’t enough to make me fundamentally alter my life for someone again, much less trust them with my heart. Not by themselves.”
“Why not?”
“I’m a woman of words, Lise.” She had no better explanation to offer than that. “I need them.”
“Huh.” Lise mulled that over for a moment. “So you, Molly Dearborn, are a woman of words. Interesting. How often would you say you speak about your own emotions, then?”
Stupid Socrates. Squirming uncomfortably in her seat, Molly directed a heartfelt scowl her best friend’s way and struggled in vain to find a non-damning answer.
When Molly didn’t respond, Lise offered prompts. “Do you speak about your emotions all the time? Frequently? Some of the time? Never, except on this very singular occasion, when I actually caught you crying in a high school bathroom, and even then, I could tell you were tempted to say you’d been yanking out nose hairs in the mirror instead of wallowing in Febreze-scented heartbreak?”
Molly’s middle finger rose without her conscious permission. “You know the answer.”
“I sure do.” Lise shook her head. “You and Karl are two of a kind, babe.”
Socratic method be damned,thatcouldn’t be true. “I issue far fewer threats of violence.”
“Sure,” Lise acknowledged. “But between the two of you, who’s more likely to actually murder someone?”
“Fair point.” Molly sat up straighter. “In my defense, whomever I offed would deserve it.”
“Naturally.” Idly, Lise drummed her fingers on the chair back. “Here’s what I’m wondering, Mol. You’re a self-proclaimed woman of words. How sure are you that Karl isn’t amanof words?”
Molly started laughing so hard she almost cried again.
“Karl?” she finally managed to choke out. “You think Karl ‘Pronouns and Complete Sentences Are Like Unto Death for Me’ Dean is aman of words?”
“From what I gather, he listens to your audiobooks every morning in the bakery, for hours at a time. Just to hear your voice. Endless words and sentences and pages, one after another.” There was no levity in Lise’s gaze anymore. No indication she didn’t mean every word she was saying. “Maybe he’s not an all-occasion man of words. But he might be a man ofyourwords, Molly.”
At that, all of Molly’s amusement vanished too. Because her best friend’s endgame was now becoming clear, and—
Lise rolled on, relentless. “Maybe he needs three words fromyoubefore he can bring himself to ask for a commitment or declare his own love.”
And there it was. The suggestion that Molly reveal her feelings first. Lay her heart on the line once again, despite the battering it’d taken only two short years ago, without any verbal assurance of her devotion being returned.
“I don’t know...” Her throat hurt. From swallowed tears. From fear. “I don’t know if I can give him those three words.”
“I think you can give—anddogive—far more than you realize, Molly.” Lise graced her with a down duvet of a smile, the expression so warm Molly couldn’t help relaxing under its comforting weight. “And one thingIknow for sure? That man is freaking oblivious when it comes to spotting women’s feelings for him.”
Lise’s chair screeched on the smooth tile floor as she scooted it slightly closer. And even though the two women were utterly alone in a dark classroom, she lowered her voice to a whisper, as if sharing a deep, dark secret. “I mean, did you watch Becky make her move? Short of borrowing the DJ’s microphone and declaring to our entire graduating class that she wanted the local baker to thrust his spotted dick inside her cream horn—”
Molly wrinkled her nose. “Ugh.”
“—while she got her ladyfingers on those hot, round buns of his, she couldn’t have made her interest much more obvious. But I don’t think he even realized she was taking her shot at him.”
That was the sense Molly had gotten too, although she hadn’t been certain—and she hadn’t wanted to presume a lack of interest on his part. Because how could she know what he might want, when he wouldn’t freakingtellher?
Of course, he could say the same thing about her. Which she wished Lise hadn’t pointed out with such persuasive conviction.
“Like I said: That. Man. Is. Oblivious.” Lise’s voice returned to its normal volume. “So if you don’t express your love—preferably in words of a single syllable—he’ll never know, babe. This isn’t a situation where he suspects how you feel and can’t match those feelings, so he’s avoiding the topic. This is a situation where a man terrified of his emotions is fumbling to show them the only way heknows how, without a single solitary clue as to what emotions you might be experiencing in return or what you want from him.”
That sounded... plausible. Much to Molly’s consternation. Because if Lise’s explanation was correct, that meant Molly could not, in fact, wait for him to meet her more than halfway.
