Page 25 of Letters to Molly (Maysen Jar 2)

Home.

The image that popped into my head at that word was her house, not mine. The place I’d lived for the past five and a half years had never felt like home. Taking my pillow wasn’t going to change that feeling.

Has another man slept on my pillow? That thought hit me hard and fast, sinking like a rock in my stomach. The kids hadn’t mentioned Molly dating anyone since our divorce. Poppy certainly hadn’t told me. But maybe Molly was hiding it. Maybe she’d had someone else in her life and I’d never even known.

Was it Gavin?

Had he mowed her lawn, then spent the night? I wouldn’t let myself think of Molly with another man, her neighbor included. The other man, the only other one I knew about, was hard enough to live with. I’d spent years trying to block out visuals of another man’s lips on her neck, his fingers in her hair.

If another guy had slept on that pillow, I sure as fuck didn’t want it back.

“Keep the pillow.”

“Okay.” She dropped her gaze to her lap and picked at a fingernail. This was what Molly did when she was thinking her words through, so I braced.

Normally this was when she said things I didn’t want to hear. “I don’t know what happened last night.”

“You don’t remember?” That was a blow to the ego. We’d both had quite a few glasses of wine, but she hadn’t been blackout drunk, and I thought I’d done a pretty good job of making her toes curl.

“No. I remember what happened. I just don’t know why it happened.”

“I don’t either.” I walked to the desk and sat on the edge. “Were you lonely?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “Were you?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Then I guess we were two lonely people having sex to feel a connection to another person.” I hated the sound of that. It was not the right explanation.

Molly grimaced. “That sounds pathetic.”

“I was thinking the same thing.”

“Gah.” Molly’s fingers dove into her hair, pulling at the roots. It was her telltale sign a rant was coming. “What are we doing? We were finally figuring things out. Getting into a routine with the kids. Being around one another without fighting. Things have been so much easier lately. You even mowed my lawn. It’s almost like we’ve been . . .”

“Friends.”

Molly dropped her hands from her hair, which then fell over her chest as her shoulders collapsed forward. “Did we just undo six years and three months of hard work?”

Six years and three months. She’d been keeping track of how long it had been since the divorce. So had I.

“I don’t have a good explanation for last night,” I told her. “It happened. I’m not sorry for it. But I don’t want things to be awkward between us.”

“Me neither. I can’t take it. Neither can the kids. I think the best thing is to forget it ever happened.”

Forget? Not likely. At least not anytime soon. But for Molly, and for our kids, I could pretend it never happened. “Okay. If you think that’s best.”

“Well, don’t you?”

“I, uh . . . yeah. Yeah, that’s best.”

Wasn’t it? We were finished. So, yes. It was for the best.

My phone buzzed in my pocket again. The day at Alcott Landscaping was well underway. It was time for me to be a part of it. “I’d better let you get back to work.”

“Yep.” She nodded. “I’m sure you’ve got a lot happening too.”

“See you Monday night?”