Page 9 of Letters to Molly (Maysen Jar 2)

“I’m hungry,” he shouted, still running.

“When is he not?” I muttered. “He’s growing like a weed.”

Finn nodded. “I was thinking the same thing the other day. He’ll stay here a few nights and then I hardly recognize him when it’s my turn.”

Max was one of the tallest kids on his youth basketball team, and his frame actually filled out his peewee football pads. There was no doubt about it, he’d grow up to have Finn’s broad shoulders and chest. He’d be tall like Finn too.

Max’s only trait that was one hundred percent mine was his eyes. Both he and Kali had my brown eyes.

Finn’s deep blue irises were his and his alone.

“Mom,” Max huffed, opening the back door. “Let’s go.”

“Okay, okay. Let’s unload your stuff from the truck first so Dad doesn’t have to wait around for us.”

“No, that’s okay.” Finn jerked his chin to the Jeep. “You guys go. I’ll unload.”

“All right. Thanks. I’ll shoot you a text about drop-off on Monday.”

“Sounds good.”

I’d nodded good-bye and had taken three steps for the Jeep when Finn called, “Molly?”

I turned. “Yeah?”

He smiled. “You always wanted a Jeep. I’m glad you have one.”

“Me too.” I waved, not letting my gaze linger on my ex-husband for too long.

Finn was wearing his normal summer attire of a navy Alcott Landscaping polo, jeans and gray tennis shoes. His clothes used to be covered in grass stains, his hands marred with dirt. He’d come home to me smelling like sweat and sunshine and we’d go at one another without hesitation.

Those days were just memories now. Still, he was dangerously handsome, standing with his legs planted wide underneath the bright May sky. It was a good thing the kids and I were driving away. Too much time with Finn and my mind would start to replay those old scenes, the ones where his lips felt so soft against mine.

“Ready?” I focused on the kids, who were jumping into the car. When we were all loaded and the windows rolled down, I reversed out of the driveway, giving Finn one last wave before driving away.

I caught his wave in the mirror as he stood in the yard that had once been ours.

We’d been divorced for six years and three months, and damn it, Finn still looked like he belonged in that yard. Like Beluga, that house was an artifact that should probably have been buried too. I wouldn’t move the kids, so it was one burial that would wait until they were in college.

“Well? What do you guys think?” I asked them.

“This is so much cooler than the van,” Max yelled out his open window behind me.

I glanced over my shoulder to find Kali’s smile waiting. “It’s cool, Mom.”

Score. “It sure is.”

“Let’s get pizza,” Max yelled. The kid didn’t know any other volume besides loud.

I laughed and yelled too. “Pizza, here we come.”

Forty-five minutes later, the sound of a lawn mower preceded us as we turned into the cul-de-sac.

“Oh, great.” I really hoped Gavin hadn’t decided to do me a favor and mow my lawn. Sure enough, as we got closer, freshly cut swaths in my lawn greeted me. But it wasn’t Gavin mowing.

“Dad’s still here.” Kali pointed to Finn’s truck.

I blinked, certain I’d pulled onto the wrong street. Finn hadn’t mowed that lawn in years, even when we’d been married. Back then, work had demanded his full attention and he’d get home past dark most nights in the summer.