If so, it would be the first time she’d truly had one. Ever. At thirty-nine years old.
“I love you too,” Molly whispered, and dry eyes suddenly weren’t a problem anymore. “Lise... you really think it could work? Karl and I, together?”
Rather than offering an immediate response, her friend considered the question for a while. “I don’t know,” she finally said. “But I think it’s worth a shot. And if things go wrong, I’ll help you pick up the pieces. You won’t be alone, Mol, I swear. If I need to, I’ll take some time off and fly to Los Angeles and become a glamorous Hollywood superstar for a while. As long as superstardom doesn’t involve socializing with strangers, which is a definite no-go.”
Molly believed it. Lise would, in fact, get on a plane and help piece her back together, as needed.
“Okay.” One deep, bracing breath. Another. “Okay.”
She blotted her eyes with her sleeve, mentally preparing for the next step.
After a minute, Lise spoke again. “What are you going to do?”
Molly pushed off the wall. “I think it’s time for a short stroll.”
“To Grounds and Grains?”
“To Grounds and Grains,” she confirmed, and began walking.
6
“Karl...” Charlotte lingered in the doorway leading to his work area. “Are you okay?”
No. He really wasn’t.
A man who wanted to seriously consider his legacy in the world would grunt less and talk more. But after reading his own weirdo obituary, after being shunted aside by the woman of his dreams a second time... yeah, he had things to think about.
And those things were really fucking problematic.
All the people in Harlot’s Bay who’d genuinely mourned him had basically forced themselves into his life. Did he even know how to form human connections himself? Without someone else doing all the hard work?
Even worse: Would things have been different with Dearborn—two decades agoandtwo days ago—if he’d learned what the hell to say to people? How to tell them important shit? How to be brave and talk about his fuckingfeelings?
If it’d make her stay, he should find her. Should try his damnedest to express himself. Should leave the bakery right now and take his shot.
But... he wasn’t a stalker. He wouldn’t chase her down if she didn’t want to see him. And if he forced a confrontation, explained himself, and got rejected anyway? It’d probably kill him. For real this time. That’d be bad for business, so he wasn’t doing it.
Screw emotional bravery. Sublimation through pastry was way fucking easier.
“Karl?” Charlotte was watching him, blond brows scrunched in concern. Waiting for an answer to a question he’d nearly forgotten.
“I’m fine,” he grunted, slamming his bagel dough onto the worktable for the umpteenth time.
“You usually use the stand mixer for that dough. And if you do knead by hand, the whole process is normally a bit less... uh, aggressive.” She bit her lip. “Also, you’re muttering obscenities loudly enough that we’ve gotten complaints out front. Junessa’s four-year-old apparently just demanded ‘some motherfucking Cheerios,’ and she’s livid.”
Shit. He’d thought he was swearing under his breath.
In his mind, a teenage Dearborn declared,He can’t even whisper at a normal volume.
She was right. Except when it came to trusting him, she was always right.
He paused in his kneading. “Who’s livid? Junessa or her daughter?”
“Junessa didn’t have any Cheerios in her purse, so... both of them, actually.”
Bracing himself on the table’s edge, he bowed his head and looked down at his overworked dough. It was basically impossible to knead bagels too much, but he’d done it.
“I think this is the first time in two years you haven’t listened to a Sadie Brazen audiobook before opening.” Her expression so soft it actually hurt, Charlotte moved farther into the workroom and closed the door behind her. “It’s her, isn’t it? The narrator of those stories? I’m almost sure I recognized her voice.”
