He might not see them every day, but they were always there. Even when—frankly—he didn’t want them to be. They were great. Loving, funny, smart, hardworking. But chatty as hell. And loud. So goddamn loud. The knob on his family’s volume control had broken off at birth.
Couldn’t complain about that to Molly, though, or she’d respond with some pithy bullshit aboutirony.
Normally, his parents and siblings swarmed the bakery every day or two. She’d have run into them long before now if they weren’t currently driving an overcrowded RV across the damn country. Excellent timing on their part, since meeting the Zero-Sense-of-Personal-Space Dean family would make Dearborn feel even more pressured. Which, in turn, might launch her toward the nearest Cali-bound plane, so thank fuck they were gone. At least the endless nosy phone calls from Mom and Dad and the steady stream of taunting texts from his pain-in-the-ass brother and sisters didn’t require Molly’s active participation.
“Mom and my stepfather live in Oregon. I don’t have siblings, and my other grandparents died while I was still in college. Dad and his”—her lips pressed together tightly for a moment—“family are somewhere in NorCal, last I heard. So no one’s close to Los Angeles.”
His family, huh? Like she didn’t count?
And why the hell didn’t she know where her father lived?
Another crucial issue to cover first, though. “You lonely out there?”
Would be good for his cause, but he hated the thought anyway.Wanted her happy, even if he wanted her happy withhimeven more.
“Sometimes.”
Her guarded tone tipped him off. “That an understatement?”
She didn’t answer the question. Just stared at him, expression cool and smooth as a polished rock. Which answered the question.
Yeah, she should definitely stay in Maryland. For his sake, obviously, but hers too.
Here in Harlot’s Bay, she’d have a real community, even apart from him. He already knew his family would swallow her whole, adopt her into the Dean clan, and smother her with affection, regardless of whether she asked for any of it. And she’d gain friends and neighbors too, all of ’em ready to offer help or company whenever she wanted either. Which was something he’d tried to show her at the Nasty Wenches meeting, even before he’d understood how badly she needed that kind of in-person support.
“You ever go on vacations? To visit friends, or just relax?” Gently, he tugged at her foot until she scooted closer. Kept tugging until his spread legs bracketed her quilt-covered lower half. “Might help with the stress.”
Not that he’d know from personal experience. Without an assistant baker, no time for vacations. But the rest of his family loved traveling, with or without a too-damn-small rental RV. Previous summers, they’d all spent a week plonked on a Cape May beach, kayaking in Chincoteague, or driving the Blue Ridge Parkway together. Parents even flew to Aruba once, for their fortieth anniversary. Came back with sunburns, big smiles, and a few pics that looked like the surface of the damn moon.
“I haven’t taken a vacation since... my mid-twenties, maybe?” Molly’s shoulder rose in a shrug. “Once Rob started med school,all our spare income and most of our savings went toward his education. Then there were lawyers to pay. House renos to do.”
He nodded. “Got it.”
All that? Almost the same exact shit he’d been dealing with the last couple decades. A relentless work schedule. Helping to pay for his siblings’ education and Em’s divorce lawyer fees. Pouring money into an aging house’s annoying-ass repairs.
LA had to be way more glamorous than Harlot’s Bay, and Molly’s job made her kinda famous. Otherwise, he and Molly were apparently two of a damn kind.
Her foot flexed in his hands. “My doctor suggested a vacation too. She’s the main reason I took this whole month off, instead of working at night or booking time at a recording studio until the workers were finished. But I didn’t feel great about spending a bunch of money on travel, so I had no plans to go anywhere.” Her lips quirked. “Until I read about your mysterious campsite murder and possible street-drug connections.”
He snorted.
“Your turn, Dean. Secret time.” Her warm hands lowered to her sides. Clasped his ankles over his socks. “I await your sordid confession.”
The subject of her health? Nowhere near closed, as far as he was concerned. But for now, he’d drop it. Because she’d done what was asked. Shared a meaningful secret.
Now it was his turn. And if he kept protecting himself, didn’t that mean she was proving her point? That he didn’t entirely trust her either? Or didn’t trust himself to be enough for her?
Screw it. He was doing this shit.
“Got all your Molly Cressley audiobooks.” His voice was gruff, the words ripped from a resistant throat. “Every single one. Buythem on CD, because I’m old. Play them before the bakery opens. Over the store speaker system.”
Silence, followed by more silence.
When she finally spoke, her eyes had gone Bambi-big. “So... just to clarify: You’ve listened to, say,My Kangaroo, My Kidnapper? At your place of work? Because... I’ll be honest, Karl.Thatseems like a lawsuit waiting to happen.”
Stripping off his clothes in public would’ve been less embarrassing. Pressing two fingers between his brows, he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. Forced the sentences to keep coming, like what he’d told her wasn’t damning enough. When it really,reallywas.
“Listened to you each and every morning,” he ground out. Hesitated. Then met her stare and made himself finish the confession. “At work. At home. For the last two years.”
