He’d resisted getting close to all those people at first. Even Matthew, way back when. But his resistance had been futile. And now this cranky-ass hermit was still cranky. Still an ass. Maybe not such a hermit anymore, though.
He got the sense Molly couldn’t say the same. And a cheerful hermit was still a hermit.
Jesus, she looked as tired as she sounded.
He cleared his throat. “Dearborn...”
“Please don’t make my life harder right now,” she said simply, holding his gaze. “I can’t give you what you want, Karl.”
How could he argue with that? The last thing he wanted was to make thingsworsefor her after all this time. Dammit.
It took everything in him—every ounce of will and reason—not to keep pushing. When he spoke next, he could barely hear it over the howl of refusal echoing in his brain. But he did it. He let her go.
For her good. Not his.
“Will I see you before Friday?” he grated out hoarsely, gripping the edge of the worktable in front of him for dear life.
Even as he asked, he already knew the answer.
“Since you want more than just a quick fling...” Blue eyes sad, she shook her head. “That’s probably not a great idea. You’re potent temptation, Dean, and I don’t want to hurt either of us.”
Flattering. Still a blow to his stupid, aching heart.
He couldn’t do more than grunt in response, like a goddamn caveman.
“I can’t tell you how glad I am that you’re alive and well. I’m sorry for misjudging you, and I’m sorry for not saying yes to your plan.” Her chest rose and fell on a deep sigh. “I’m wishing you all the happiness in the world, Karl. Please take care of yourself.”
And before he could muster even a single word in reply, she was gone. Again.
The door slowly closed behind her. He watched, his vision blurry, until it shut entirely.
Then he got back to fucking work.
5
The next evening, Molly waited for Lise outside the Historic Harlot’s Bay ticket office, where her friend would meet her after leading the night’s final Ghosts and Legends tour.
As she waited, her mind drifted toward Karl. Magnetic, broad-chested, mouthwatering Karl. Whom she’d now seen shirtless and ogled as discreetly as possible. Her long-ago cranky crush, who’d turned down her offer of casual sex and urged her to stay in Harlot’s Bay for almost four entire weeks instead. Which she obviously couldn’t do, so...
Yeah. So much for fucking him out of her system after two long decades.
The whole situation kept intruding on her thoughts. Kept disturbing and confusing her, because... maybe her inability to stay wasn’tthatobvious.
She did owe him amends for thinking the worst of him... twice... without asking for an explanation, and she already had the time off from work. Her comfortable home had become a temporary construction zone. And because she hadn’t known when his funeral service would be, she’d booked a ticket with no flight-change penalties.
Still, four weeks at a hotel would put a real dent in her savings. More importantly, she hadn’t lied to Karl about the vast temptation he posed, and the last thing she needed was to become emotionally attached to a man who lived an entire continent away from her.
Her instincts were screaming at her to stay, but her instincts had also let her marry Rob, so she couldn’t rely on them. As little as she trusted everyone else, she trusted her own judgment—at least when it came to men—even less.
So there would be no more lemon-glazed blueberry doughnuts or butterscotch lattes for Molly. No one-off sex with the long-lost friend she’d never quite been able to forget. No more visits to Harlot’s Bay.
In less than seventy-two hours, her plane back to LA would take off. As it lifted from the runway, Molly would give thanks for Karl Dean’s continued survival... and the miles she was putting between them.
“Hey!” someone exclaimed loudly, right next to Molly. “I know you! Molly Dearborn, right?”
With a gasp, Molly leaped backward, away from the unexpected voice, and clapped a hand over her galloping heart. Holy Moses. Apparently a costumed interpreter had come up to her while she was lost in thought, a Black woman in a cap and one of those corset-like things over her shift. That woman now looked extremely apologetic, both her hands lifted to show her utter harmlessness as she helpfully angled herself into the light streaming from the ticket booth’s window.
Historic Harlot’s Bay should really train their employees not to approach tourists in the dark without ample warning. That said, Molly did in fact recognize the smiling, petticoat-clad woman.
