Page 21 of Letters to Molly (Maysen Jar 2)

Jimmy rolled his eyes. “Do you know anything about baseball?”

“Clearly more than you if you think the Rockies have any hope of a winning season with their lineup.”

Jimmy twisted in his seat, glaring at Randall as the two prepared for one of their daily showdowns.

Today’s was baseball. Tomorrow would be the stock market. I’d been here a few weeks ago when the pair had shouted at one another about which smell better represented Montana: juniper bushes or sage brush.

Molly had been the one to break up that fight, threatening to revoke their second-dessert-free privilege if they didn’t shut the hell up.

It was coincidence that had brought Jimmy and Randall together. The two of them lived at The Rainbow, a local retirement home. When Randall had started coming to The Maysen Jar, he hadn’t known that his neighbor Jimmy was a relative of its owner.

Jimmy was Poppy’s grandfather-in-law. He’d been Jamie’s grandpa and had stayed close to Poppy after Jamie’s death. Since Jimmy didn’t drive and Randall did, they came to the restaurant together each morning. They’d drink coffee and eat and bicker. My theory was they both lived to piss the other off.

Poppy loved having them, not only because they were a part of her family, but because they provided free entertainment for the restaurant’s patrons.

Owning a restaurant had been Poppy’s childhood dream and The Maysen Jar was exactly her style. It wasn’t big. She’d bought an old, two-stall mechanic’s garage and converted it into a warm, open and thriving café.

The cement floors, which had been covered in oil splotches, were hidden underneath a hickory herringbone wood floor. The actual garage bay doors had been ripped out and replaced with floor-to-ceiling black-paned windows. I wasn’t sure how many buckets of grime and grease she’d cleaned away.

If I hadn’t seen the original, I wouldn’t have believed this place was once a garage. She’d transformed it, only keeping the original exposed red brick walls and leaving the tall, industrial ceilings open. Black tables and chairs filled the room. The counter at the back was the home base where people could order coffee or meals from the display case.

It was trendy without being hip. It was classic without being stuffy. It was Poppy mixed with an undercurrent of Molly.

Molly’s touch was everywhere, probably only noticed by me. It was in the way the menu cards were stacked neatly by the register. How underneath this counter, the shelves were organized with bins and containers for silverware rolls or extra napkins. How the tables were arranged so the center aisle was wide enough to walk down with a bussing bin propped on a hip.

That was Molly. She put others first, and here, others meant Poppy, employees and customers.

She’d set up this business as best as possible to ensure Poppy’s success. Molly had done the same for Alcott Landscaping when we’d started it together. Back when it had just been her, me and a couple of lawn mowers. She had an eye for efficiency and had helped our business take off.

Molly had a gift for keeping things organized, yet relaxed and fun. She infused love and family into everything she did. Alcott had lost a touch of that lately.

More than a touch, if I was being honest.

“Okay.” Mom came back around the corner from delivering the finished latte. “What can I get for you?”

“I’d take a coffee.”

“You got it.” Without asking for specifics, Mom whipped me up my favorite caramel latte. I wouldn’t tell Mom this, but Poppy’s version was better. “So, what are you doing here? I thought you’d be at work.”

“Just wanted to stop in and say hello. I had a slow morning.”

I was lying through my teeth. My to-do list was growing faster than wet grass on a sunny day, but work was impossible for me at the moment.

After leaving Molly’s, I’d gone home to shower and change. Then I’d gone into the office, hoping to get ahead for the day. I’d spent an hour staring at the screensaver on my computer while images of last night had run through my mind.

Her long hair on those white pillows. My white pillow. The smooth skin of her thighs caressing my hips. The tickle of her fingers as she ran them up and down my spine.

My cock twitched just thinking about sinking inside her again.

What the hell had we been thinking? It had been so long and fuck, I’d missed sex with Molly. It was so easy and natural. The years fell away as we drifted into that familiar dance.

I’d gotten lost in her last night.

No matter how many days or months or years went by, Molly was still unforgettable. The best I’d ever had. The way she felt beneath me, her fingernails digging into my shoulder blades as I rocked us into oblivion, was like nothing else in the world.

That meant something, didn’t it? That we’d been just as good last night as we had all those years ago? It shouldn’t mean anything. We were divorced. It was just damn good sex. That was all. Right?

Bottom line? Too much had happened to destroy our relationship. There were other things from the past that were unforgettable.