“Uh-huh. I do have that problem with all those men lining up outside the condo. It was so difficult to get away this morning, but I try to be gentle when I reject them.”
“You’re a brat.”
“Just a minute ago you said I was adorable.”
Janet laughed. “Molly, you make me crazy. Were there any messages?”
Molly’s humor faded instantly. “No.”
“It’s really too soon to have heard.”
“I know.”
“Everything is fine.”
“I know that, too.” She knew it, but she didn’t believe it.
“So where are you two off to?”
“I have no idea,” Molly said. “Dylan is picking our destination.”
“Are you sure about this?”
“I’m not sure about anything, Janet. But if you’re asking me if I’m sure I want to go with Dylan, the answer is yes. There’s nothing I want more. I need to escape and he’s the perfect way to do that. So please try not to worry.”
“I won’t worry if you promise to stay in touch.”
“I will. I swear.”
Her sister sighed. “I love you, kid. Take care of yourself.”
“I love you, too. Give Thomas and the girls a kiss for me. Bye.”
She hung up the receiver. Without Janet’s support, she wouldn’t have gotten through the past week and a half. It was nice to have someone to worry about her. However, for the next few days she wasn’t going to think about that, or about anything but having a wonderful time on her adventure.
* * *
Dylan automatically hit the button on the remote that controlled the garage door. As he slowed, he saw Molly’s dark blue compact parked off to the side. That gave him pause. He wasn’t used to coming home to find someone in his house. In the two years he’d lived there, he’d had overnight company maybe three times. When he was involved with a woman, he generally stayed at her place. He preferred being able to leave when he liked and not having to ask her to go when he wanted to be alone.
He stared at the sensible American car. It was basic transportation, nothing fun, nothing flashy. But then, flashy wasn’t Molly’s style, or it hadn’t been back when she was a teenager. He eased into his parking space and turned off the engine. After collecting his briefcase, he closed the garage door and entered the house.
“I’m home,” he called, then frowned to wonder if he’d ever done that before. It was old television sitcom cliché. “Honey, I’m home.”
“Hi,” Molly answered. From the direction of her voice, he would guess she was in the library.
Dylan left his briefcase on the kitchen counter, collected a couple of beers from the refrigerator and went in search of his guest. He found her curled up in one of the leather recliners, reading. A floor lamp cast a warm circle of light over her and the book. Her feet were tucked under her and her shoes were neatly off to the side of the chair on the floor.
She hadn’t noticed him and seemed engrossed in her book. For a moment Dylan simply watched her. He couldn’t shake the odd feeling of knowing she’d been in the house while he was still at work. At the office he’d managed to focus on what he was doing and relegate their lunch to the back of his mind. But from time to time he’d found himself remembering something she’d said or picturing a quick movement of her hands. While he hadn’t been excited about coming home to find her here, he hadn’t dreaded it, either. The few occasions he’d let one of his women spend the night at his place he had felt trapped and awkward. Maybe the difference was he’d known Molly for a long time. More likely it was because they weren’t involved, nor were they likely to be.
He moved toward her. “I probably should have asked if you like beer,” he said, holding out one of the bottles. “Except for water and coffee, it’s about all I have. I don’t do much entertaining.”
She took the offered refreshment and smiled. “Thanks, it’s fine. I confess I did take a peek in the refrigerator earlier. I had an apple. I could tell you don’t spend a whole lot of time cooking.”
“Never learned how.” He took the seat across from hers and settled on the comfortable leather cushion. After a long swallow of beer, he loosened his tie, then pulled it free of his shirt.
“At the risk of sounding like a suburban wife, how was your day?” Her voice was teasing.
He liked that she was comfortable enough to kid him. Earlier, at the restaurant, he’d seen a lot of tension in her body. She’d downed her margarita as if it were a lifeline...or maybe the Dutch courage she’d needed to ask him about going away. Whatever it was, he was pleased that she’d finally relaxed a little.
“I’ve been busy. There’s a lot to get through before I can leave.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and holding the bottle of beer in both hands. “I’m not going to be much of a host tonight,” he said. “I have a briefcase full of work to finish up before morning. I fig—” He caught her smile. “What’s so funny?”
She flicked her fingers toward him. “Nothing, it’s just—” She shrugged. “Let’s say you’re not exactly what I expected. The Dylan I remember wore jeans and a black leather jacket. You’re in a suit, with a tie. You’re so respectable.”
“Tell me about it,” he grumbled. “I never thought it would come to this. I used to work in jeans all the time. Half my day was spent assembling bikes or fiddling with designs. Now I push around papers. I’ve become everything I hated when I was a kid. I wear a tie—something I swore I’d never do. I drive a Mercedes. I get my clothes dry-cleaned.”
“You have a very impressive Christmas tree.”
“I can’t take credit for that,” he said. “My decorator does them as a fundraiser for the local food bank. I tried to just give her the money, but she insists I get the tree and all the trimmings.”
“You’re a responsible citizen.”
“Worse. I’m old. Just last week I was in the grocery store and there were these three teenage boys making a lot of noise. Without thinking, I told them to quiet down. They walked off, but not before calling me ‘an old man.’ I realized they’re right. I am old.”
Molly burst out laughing. “You’re not even thirty-five. That’s not old.”
“It is to a fifteen-year-old.”
“Do you really care what those boys think?”
“No, it’s just—” He couldn’t explain it. Somehow everything had changed. He didn’t know when or how that had happened, but it was one of the reasons he wanted to go away. He needed to clear his head and figure out what was important.
“I sold out,” he said glumly, and wondered if he was about to do it again. Would he do what his lawyer and several other people had suggested and sell his company, or
