Page 63 of Letters to Molly (Maysen Jar 2)

“I guess? I don’t know that either. I mean, it’s got to end at some point. Right?”

“Molly, what are you doing?”

“I don’t know. It’s Finn.”

“You’re going to get your heart broken again.”

“Not this time. It’s different now.”

“How?”

“I’m not in love with Finn.”

She flinched. “Oh.”

And that was why I’d kept this to myself. Poppy believed I was in love with Finn. That he was in love with me. Yes, there was love there. I loved him as the father of my children. I loved him as my first love. But I wasn’t in love with Finn. Not anymore.

I wasn’t sure if my heart was capable of being in love with anyone again.

“Okay,” she finally said.

I was glad the secret was out in the open, but I didn’t like the judgment on her face. She wouldn’t come out and say it like Randall. She wasn’t a blunt person. But I knew her well and I knew that stern look. She thought this affair was foolish too.

She wasn’t wrong.

The door to the kitchen swung open and Cole walked inside.

Poppy’s face lit up like twinkle lights on a black night, her irritation with Finn and me forgotten. “Hey. What are you doing here?”

“Hoping to snag a late lunch.” Cole walked straight to his wife for a long kiss on the mouth.

He was wearing his signature jeans and black Bozeman Police Department polo. His holstered gun and shiny badge were clipped on his leather belt. His hair was pushed back away from his forehead by the aviator sunglasses he was never without.

Cole Goodman had hot cop perfected. With those light-green eyes and a body toned to steel, he was the detective every woman wanted on the Bozeman Police Department’s annual calendar. However, much to the female population’s disappointment, they’d been doing local scenery, cutting themselves short on fundraising opportunities.

I loved him for Poppy. She was his life, along with their kids, and I hoped he used his handcuffs on her regularly.

“Get a room,” I teased when their kiss dragged on.

Cole just grinned against Poppy’s mouth. When they eventually broke apart, he threw an arm around her shoulders and surveyed the table. “What are you making?”

“Raspberry compote for the chocolate mousse. I was experimenting earlier, and it turned out all right.”

“More than all right.” I rolled my eyes at her modesty. “It’s amazing. So good it made the menu for the anniversary celebration.”

“Have any more?”

She frowned. “No, I only made four. If I had known you were coming, I would have saved mine for you.”

“It’s okay, beautiful. It’s never a hardship eating the apple pie.”

“What do you want for lunch?”

He shrugged, letting her go. “Surprise me.”

Poppy grinned and went to the fridge, pulling out a tomato, lettuce and some leftover bacon. Then she grabbed some sourdough from the pantry shelf.

“Had I known you’d be willing to make one of your famous BLTs, I would have skipped the mousse too,” I said.