Page 62 of Letters to Molly (Maysen Jar 2)

“Finn?” I hadn’t even thought to question it. He’d told me it wasn’t him, and I’d believed him. “He was so shocked when I told him about the first two, I don’t think he could have been making it up.”

“I can’t believe he kept them all this time.”

I sighed. “Me too. I wish . . . I wish he had sent me those letters after he wrote them. They’ve been good for us.”

“How so?”

“They’ve made us talk through some old arguments. Relive some good moments. I think it’s healed a lot of the wounds we inflicted on one another. That and—” The sex.

It wasn’t the first time I’d almost blurted out that Finn and I were sleeping together. Keeping secrets from Poppy was completely foreign to me. I hadn’t kept something like this from her during our entire relationship, and I couldn’t think of a time when she wasn’t the first person, besides Finn, I ran to with good news. The same was true with the bad.

Was it good news or bad news that Finn and I were having sex daily?

Good news. It had to be good news. The way Finn made me feel, the way his hands made my body come alive couldn’t be bad.

“That and, what?” she asked, taking a huge box of raspberries out of the fridge.

“I love that you do that.”

“Do what?”

“You always start something new with a sample. You get so worried that it won’t be good. But deep down, you already know it’s going to be amazing because you’ve already bought the ingredients in bulk.”

She shrugged, but a smile ghosted her lips. “We could have used the raspberries in the salads. And don’t change the subject. We were talking about you and Finn.”

We’re sleeping together. The words were right there, ready to spill onto the table next to the cartons of fruit.

“I, uh, me and Finn.” My throat closed. I wanted to tell her so badly, but would it do her harm? When Jamie was alive, I would have told Poppy without a moment’s hesitation. But I’d seen her broken and at her lowest. It was hard not to want to protect her, even though she’d built herself up.

Maybe this would help her understand and believe that she wasn’t the reason we’d divorced. Maybe telling her about Finn would actually ease some of the doubts in her mind.

Poppy looked at me, waiting.

“It’s more than just the letters. We’ve been . . . seeing each other.”

Her eyebrows came together. “Like dating?”

“No, not really. He’s been coming over and we’ve been, uh, sleeping together.”

A mixture of emotions flashed across her face. Excitement. Hope. Fear. “W-what does this mean? Ar

e you getting back together?”

“No,” I said immediately. “No. I don’t want you to get your hopes up, because we are absolutely not getting back together.”

“How did this happen?” She blinked twice. “Was it the letters?”

“Yes and no. Remember the night he mowed my lawn? He stayed to watch a movie with me and the kids. We had a lot of wine. One thing led to another and we had sex.”

“It’s been weeks. And you didn’t tell me?”

I winced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to say. I was so surprised. I wasn’t sure what was happening. Honestly, I still don’t.”

“So you’re having sex but not getting back together?”

“Right.” I gave her a definite nod. “We are not getting back together.”

“Are you going to keep sleeping together?” she asked, coming around my side of the table, the raspberries forgotten.