Molly's Mr. Wrong

“I love the smell of lilacs. I haven’t smelled them since we lived in Iowa. Remember, Molly?”

Molly remembered, but she was surprised that Georgina did; she’d been so young then. “Didn’t we have lilacs when we lived here?” she asked her sister, who gave an emphatic shake of her head in reply. “Nope. We had those big yellow bushes—”

“Forsythia, probably,” Mike said.

Georgina looked impressed at the off-the-cuff identification. “And those pink roses that had no scent. We didn’t have lilacs.”

Molly smiled a little. She didn’t remember much about the flowers. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Mike leaned his arms on the top of the chain-link fencing. “I was telling Georgina that I can put together a mix of bulbs from the store and bring them home or I can get you a catalog.”

“You probably know what grows best.” And she would pay for said mixture of bulbs, of course, but it didn’t seem like the time to make that point.

“That’s what I thought,” Georgina said. “And I love surprises.”

“Then I’ll fix you up.” Mike smiled at Georgina, then shifted his attention to Molly, and she saw that his eyes were the same color as Finn’s. A deep, rich hazel. More green than brown. Why had she noticed that? A trickle of annoyance went through her. “Got that drain fixed yet?”

“I have a call in to a plumber. He’s working me in this weekend.” Mike had been right about all the locals being contracted to the construction companies. The Eagle Valley was experiencing a mini housing boom. “I called four before I got one. O’Malley’s Plumbing and Heating? He promised Saturday and said he wouldn’t charge weekend rates, since it’s a simple job.”

Mike didn’t look as if he fully believed the guy would honor his word. “Crazy, all this rain,” he said. “We had floods a little over a year ago, then this summer was so dry that there were bad fires.”

“I heard,” Molly said. “Some people lost homes.”

Mike gave a nod. “My nephew Dylan’s fiancée lost her ranch house in the fire.”

“That’s terrible.” Molly remembered Dylan. She’d liked him. He’d been a year ahead of her, quiet and studious. Invisible in a way. Like she had been, except that he could have been as popular as Finn, had he chosen to be. Somehow she didn’t think that popularity was one of her options. “Who is his fiancée?”

“Jolie Brody.”

Brody. Of course. Allie Brody looked just like Jolie Brody, whom she’d graduated from high school with.

“Does she have an older sister?”

“Three sisters.”

“I just met an Allie Brody at the college.”

“She’s the oldest. She’s teaching a night class at the school. Painting or something.”

Small world...but maybe not. It was a small town, so ending up with a class next to Finn’s cousin’s fiancée’s sister wasn’t that unexpected. And the connection to Finn was a bit distant. Still, she was going to watch what she said around Allie about certain people.

Molly frowned as a memory crept into her brain. “Wait a minute...didn’t Jolie used to...” Mike waited for her to finish and Molly, who wished she’d kept her mouth shut, searched for a tactful word. “Bother Dylan?” Torture would have been a better word, but she was being polite. The strained and somewhat adversarial relationship between wild-child Jolie and quiet Dylan had been legendary in Eagle Valley High School, now that she thought about it.

Mike laughed. “Yes, she did. She and Dylan worked things out.”

“I guess so.”

Georgina was following the conversation with interest and Mike glanced over at her and laughed again. “I’ll get you that mixture of bulbs and maybe we can put them in this weekend.”

“We?” Molly asked on a note of amusement.

“If you needed help, that is.”

“I think we’ll need a lot of help,” Molly said with a smile. If he wanted to help, she wasn’t going to stop him.

They talked for a few more minutes about colors, and then Mike’s phone rang from inside his house and he excused himself.

“I like him,” Georgina said as she and Molly walked to their back door. She shot Molly a look. “You’re going to fill in the gaps about this Dylan guy and his fiancée. Right?”

“I don’t know a lot,” Molly said as she opened the front door. “Dylan was really quiet and hardworking and Jolie was outgoing. Kind of a live-for-today girl.”

“Just like you?” Georgina asked with mock innocence.

“Exactly,” Molly replied. Because she was going to be more like that. Work in progress, et cetera. “All I remember is that they somehow drifted into nemesis territory due to being partnered up in some class and her not taking it seriously enough and him being worried about his GPA.”

“And now they’re getting married.”

“Yes.” Molly headed for the fridge. So very romantic. She wished them well, but hearts-and-flowers romance had been stomped out of her by the lights of reality being snapped on in her own relationship, brilliantly exposing the truth that lay before her and leaving her blinking.

She was still blinking a little. Blake had not only robbed her of most of her savings, he’d robbed her of her hard-won self-confidence. She’d fought to rebuild it little by little, but she hadn’t been able to let go of her resentment. It’d be a while before she could.

“I thought we’d microwave lasagna tonight.” The microwave was truly their best friend with their crammed schedules—which was why having a two-hour break to eat an actual dinner between her afternoon and evening classes was gold. “I made a salad.”

Molly drifted over to the counter and pulled a small tomato out of the mixture of greens and popped it into her mouth. She’d skipped lunch and was famished. “Sounds good.”

Georgina pulled the aluminum tray out of the freezer. “This Dylan is hot prom guy’s cousin, right?”

“Homecoming guy. He is.”

“But you liked him better.”

He didn’t screw me over, so yes. “He’s a nice guy. How were your classes today?”

The corners of her sister’s eyes crinkled as Molly firmly redirected the conversation away from “hot prom guy.” “Excellent. How was your day?”

“Excellent.” Molly used the hand-carved wooden tongs she and Blake had bought on a Mexican vacation to lift salad into a bowl. She’d gotten rid of most of her past, but some things stayed, for practical purposes. “They’re always excellent in the beginning. You know—when everyone has high expectations for themselves and not too much reality has set in.”

Except for in Finn’s case. She’d slammed that reality home there.

She’d address that tonight. She wasn’t exactly going to apologize, but she was going to explain what she thought might be going on. Not a conversation she was looking forward to, but one they needed to have. If he showed up to class.

* * *

FINN DID NOT show up for class.

Molly found her head coming up every time she heard the door to the main entrance, only a few yards down the hall from her classroom, open and close again. Finally she closed the door to her room so that she focused only on her class and not on the reasons Finn wasn’t there.

She knew why Finn wasn’t there. But she didn’t know what she was going to do about it.

What could she do?

Relax and enjoy teaching.

Not having Finn there made her feel as if she owned her classroom again—which was annoying. Of course she owned her classroom, but when Finn was there...she felt as if she were being judged. It made her thoughts trip over themselves, which wasn’t conducive to great lesson delivery.

Tonight her lecture flowed. She gave amusing sentence examples, had the class engaged for the entire fifty minutes. No stumbling about for explanations, no quick glances to a specific area of a classroom just to check whether or not one specific student was smirking a little.

After class ended, she explained a few finer points of the essay assignment with Debra and Mr. Reed, a sweet man in his late sixties, listened to Denny’s take on higher education, then turned off the lights and locked up the room, telling herself she should feel great. Class had gone very, very well.

But you’re tougher than this. You should be able to teach regardless of who’s sitting in the back row, history or no history.

Molly hated it when the nagging little voice in the back of her mind pointed out things she didn’t want to hear. She’d returned to the Eagle Valley because she’d wanted a nice, stable, unsurprising life in a nice, stable community. Getting the position at the community college had been a godsend. She’d been so very happy with how well things were working out, so determined to do the best job she could teaching her new students—right up until Finn had appeared in her life again and she’d indulged in her red pen revenge.

That wasn’t what a good teacher did, and beyond that, driving students away wouldn’t do her professional reputation any good. This job was important to her. She didn’t want to jeopardize it.

* * *

THE CLOCK SAID English class was halfway over and Finn felt nothing but relief at the fact that he wasn’t there.

Liar.

Okay, part of him felt relief that he wasn’t there and the other part thought he should have sucked it up and gone. He’d never quit anything in his life, and not going to class bordered on cowardly behavior. But what was the point, when he was going to drop the class anyway?

The point was that Molly was going to think she’d won.

Finn flipped through the channels a couple dozen more times, then got to his feet and grabbed his jacket so he could head to McElroy’s Bar. There probably wouldn’t be many people there on a weeknight, but Finn needed to do something other than sit in front of the TV and feel like he’d let himself down.

The lot was almost empty when Finn parked, but he figured he’d have one beer, talk to Jim McElroy and then head home again. He enjoyed getting out, being around people, but when he pulled open the heavy wooden bar door, the usual pleasant anticipation for the evening ahead was replaced with the feeling that he was avoiding the real issue in his life. Probably because he was. He didn’t really want to go to McElroy’s. He just didn’t want to be alone with his annoying thoughts.

Finn walked into the bar and paused just inside the door. The place was relatively empty, as he’d suspected. Wyatt Bauer was there leaning on the bar, staring at the sports news that played over Jim McElroy’s head. His eyes were glazed over and Finn wondered if the guy was even aware of what was happening on the screen, or if he was asleep with his eyes open.

“Hey, Wyatt,” he said as he walked by. Wyatt grunted in return. He was awake.

“Usual?” Jim asked.

“Sure.”

Jim poured a dark beer and set it in front of the stool Finn had settled on. “Haven’t seen you much since you got back,” he commented.

Finn gave a casual shrug. “Readjusting.” Which was true. He hadn’t seen action overseas, but the experience had changed him in ways he hadn’t expected. For instance, he knew now, more than ever, that he did not want to end up like Wyatt—a walking cautionary tale staring glassily at the television screen.

Jim gave a casual nod, then glanced up as the door opened again.

“Look who’s here,” a familiar voice said from behind Finn.

“We thought you were missing in action!” an almost identical voice chimed in.

Finn turned on his stool as the Tyrone brothers came in. “Just lying low,” he said. “You know...avoiding people such as yourselves.”

“I assume you’re buying after insulting us,” Terry, the older of the two brothers, said as he clapped a heavy hand on Finn’s back.

“I hadn’t really considered it.”

“Best reconsider,” Lowell said.

Finn signaled Jim, who nodded before turning to the taps. Terry and Lowell pulled up stools and after Jim set the drafts in front of them, they commenced catching Finn up on who had done what during the time he’d been gone. Not that long of a time really, but it seemed as if there’d been a lot of marriages and breakups and job changes while he’d been away.

Terry glanced at his watch when Jim asked if he wanted another beer, then practically jumped off his seat. “Gotta go. I promised Janice I’d be home ten minutes ago.”

“Trouble?” Finn asked. Terry had never been all that concerned about getting home before, but then Janice was usually there with him.

“There have been some new developments on the home front,” Terry said with a half smile before downing the last gulp of beer and setting the mug back on the bar. “I’m going to be a dad in three months. Got to start setting a good example for my kids.”

“Plural?”

“Twins.”

“Unfortunately, his newfound Mr. Mom status is screwing with my social life,” Lowell muttered. “We never go out and when we do, we have to be home at nine. How am I supposed to meet women?”

“Go without your brother?” Finn said.

“I need a wingman.”

Sadly true. Lowell never did anything alone. “Do not look at me,” Finn said.

“What? You have something better to do?”

“Maybe I’m getting old.” He drained the last of his beer, then looked up to find the brothers staring at him. “It happens to the best of us.”

Finn lingered after the Tyrone brothers left. He could talk to Jim.

“So what are you doing now that you’re back?” Jim asked as he wiped the immaculate bar yet another time. He tossed the bar towel into the bin under the bar, then waited for Finn to answer.

“Working at the store.”

“Taking it over again?”

“For the time being.”

“It’s changed,” Jim said. “All those gifts and things.”

“It used to be a lot quieter,” Finn agreed. “It’s more pleasant now in a lot of ways, and Mike’s really happy, but I don’t know. I guess I’m not used to it yet.”

“Not the place you left.”

“Not even close.”

Jim smiled a little. “Time marches on.”

Finn nodded in agreement. He pulled out his wallet and found a ten.

“Come back on Saturday,” Jim suggested as Finn headed to the door. “I have a band coming in.”

Finn raised a hand in acknowledgment, then pushed his way out the heavy wooden door and stepped into the chilly night air, knowing full well he wouldn’t be back. A cloud moved over the moon as he walked to his truck, but the sky was relatively clear. The predicted rain had apparently bypassed them and he was okay with that. He had to replace one of the haystack tarps that had a rip.

There was nothing wrong with tightening and replacing tarps on haystacks. Not one thing. But it wasn’t what he wanted to do anymore.

CHAPTER FIVE

AFTER SKIPPING ENGLISH, Finn told himself he had to go to math—even if it meant receiving another red-ink-bleeding paper. How else would he find out if math was another area in which he’d been fooling himself into thinking he had basic skills? Was it possible that his high school As in the subject had been the gift of teachers who were concerned with the school’s sports success?

Recalling Mrs. Birdie’s stern face, he thought not. The woman had been out for him, calling him on every infraction of the rules, then grudgingly giving him decent marks on his work. Mrs. Birdie hadn’t been a sports fan or a Finn Culver fan. Yet he’d gotten an A in the class.

Finn drove into the lot and, seeing Molly’s small car, parked next to it. He wasn’t certain exactly what his objective was—it was more of a go-with-his-gut moment. He walked into class a few minutes late, but congratulated himself on being there at all, and then found a seat in the back and waited to get his assessment paper back. The instructor smiled at him as she set down the paper and moved on. Annoyed that his heart was beating faster—it was only a math paper, for Pete’s sake—Finn flipped the paper over, then fought a smile as the taut muscles in his shoulders relaxed.

The only ink on the paper was turquoise, rather than killer red, a brief note asking him to show more of his work. He could do that—although he wasn’t all that good at laying out the steps in his head on paper in a way that others could easily follow. He knew that because it had driven Mrs. Birdie nuts. And many times he tackled things in a roundabout way that made sense to him, but wasn’t the prescribed method for solving the problem. But what did it matter as long as he came up with the proper solution?

Bottom line—this paper showed that he wasn’t deluding himself. He could do math. Did he need English at all?

Well...yes—if he was going to get a degree. But he didn’t need English right now. This semester he’d focus on his math class, learn to follow the prescribed steps and how to show his work. By the end of the semester, he’d be more comfortable in an academic environment and have a better idea of how to tackle learning without feeling intimidated. And he wasn’t going to give Molly another shot at eviscerating him.

And maybe tonight was the time to tell her that. Nicely, of course.

* * *

TRUE TO FORM, Molly was already breaking her promise to herself not to stay late on campus working. But the grading was piling up and if she didn’t keep on top of it, she’d get buried. Besides, Allie Brody might need to knock on the wall.

She set down her pen, pulled her glasses off and pressed the heels of her hands to her tired eyes.

“Hey...”

Molly jumped a mile at the unexpected male voice, automatically reached for her glasses and instead hit them with the back of her hand, sending them skittering onto the floor. Finn bent down to pick them up and solemnly handed them back to her. Molly set the heavy dark brown frames back on the desk. Having Finn a little out of focus wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

“You missed class yesterday.”

Finn leaned carelessly against the door frame, the picture of the who-gives-a-damn jock he’d been in high school. “I’m going to drop it. I thought I’d give you official notice.”

Molly looked down at the papers in front of her. There were remarks written on the top one, but nothing like what she’d done to Finn. “But you haven’t dropped it yet?” When she looked back up at him, she saw him watching her carefully.

“Tomorrow. Just thought I’d let you know.” He smiled tightly and then pushed off the door frame and walked back down the hall, leaving Molly staring at the empty space he’d just filled. For a moment she sat stone still, then she jumped to her feet, grabbed her glasses so she didn’t trip over anything and started after Finn. He was already on his way out the main exit, so she hurried her steps, finally giving up and calling his name after pushing through the glass-and-steel doors.

He slowed down, then stopped and turned. Now she’d done it. She’d engaged and she had to follow through.

Drawing in a deep breath that wasn’t nearly as calming as she’d hoped it would be, she started toward him. “I think we should talk about this.”

“No offense, Molly, but there’s not a lot to say.”

Molly stopped a few feet away from him. “I want you to know that I wasn’t engaging in some sort of petty revenge when I marked your paper.”

He said nothing as he studied her with those striking hazel eyes, but if he hoped to fluster her, it wasn’t going to work. Much.

All right. It wasn’t going to work in any way that showed.

“I didn’t say one thing on your paper that wasn’t true, but... I was a bit overzealous with my pen.”

“Yet there was no petty revenge involved.” Finn sauntered forward as he spoke. A slow, almost predatory movement, as if he were a big cat moving in on his prey. Molly’s prey days were over, so she took a step forward, too. A brisk no-nonsense step that brought them almost chest to chest. Miscalculation on her part, but she wasn’t going to have him in the power role.

And she wasn’t going to react to the heat coming off his body or the fact that his scent now seemed to surround her and certain parts of her body were taking notice. That was what the Finns of the world, the Blakes of the world, banked on.

“Perhaps a little.” She’d almost stuttered. Damn. The old Molly was starting to take over now that they were so close, and she would not have that. She pushed her glasses up a little higher, straightened her back. Finn’s gaze narrowed, as if he was wondering what she was doing.

“And you have me pegged as a dumb athlete who was handed a diploma he didn’t deserve.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I’m not talking about what you said, Molly. I’m asking about what you think.” His voice went down a notch. “Is that what you think?”

Molly couldn’t help it—she glanced down, her gaze fixing on the gray cotton T-shirt that covered his flat abs...he’d been an athlete and it looked as if he still was—then forced her chin back up, meeting his eyes. “The idea had crossed my mind.”

“Points for honesty.”

She pulled in a breath. Big mistake. The heady scent of the man about two inches away from her once again filled her nostrils and she felt herself leaning forward, even closer to him, which was nuts, since she was already way too close for comfort.

“But I don’t think that’s the problem.”

She felt him go still, she was that close.

“What,” he asked softly, “do you think the problem is?”

She raised her chin, shaking back her hair in the process. “Have you ever been checked for dyslexia?”

“Dyslexia?” He frowned. “I don’t turn letters around.”

“It’s more than that.”

“Yeah? What else is it?” Finn took a step back, finally freeing up the space around her, and folded his arms over his chest.

“It has to do with organizing thoughts and finding the right word and translating what happens inside your brain onto paper.”

“I see.”

He was now officially closed off, his expression stony, his eyes narrowed as he regarded her.

“There’s a lot of information about it, if you look into it.”

“Yes...but will I be able to read it?” He was being sarcastic. Before she could answer, he said, “Thank you for the helpful suggestion, Molly. And the diagnosis.”

“I’m not diagnosing you. I’m offering up a suggestion as to what you might look into to—”

“Explain my shortcomings?” he asked mildly.

“If you want to put it that way.”

He put his hand on the truck’s door handle. “Well...your duty is done. Thank you.”

“I think you should continue the class.”

“I don’t see a lot of point in taking it.”

“I’ll...”

Molly’s voice trailed off and Finn’s expression shifted. “What, Molly?” One corner of his perfect mouth curved into a wry expression that was somehow both cold and amused. “Be gentle with me?”

The way he said it brought more color to her cheeks. “Yes. I will.”

“Thanks for the offer, but no.”

“I’ll...help you.” What on earth was she saying?

“No. Thank you.”

He pulled the truck door open and Molly heard the word, “Chicken?” emerge from her lips. Finn stopped dead and turned back.

Had she really just said that?

For a moment she thought he was going to address the remark, but instead he shook his head as if she were beyond help and got into the truck, closing the door and leaving Molly feeling worse than when she’d left her office. She turned and started back across the parking lot as students began to leave the building in small groups. Art class was over. Behind her, Finn’s truck fired up. There was nothing to do but close up her office, get into her car, curse the fates for the fact that she lived next to his grandfather and plot how never to see him again.

He’d been the jerk in high school, but she’d been the jerk just now.

* * *

OKAY. MOLLY HAD surprised him. Finn was going to give her points for that, even if she had pissed him off. And she wasn’t exactly the meek girl he’d taken on the mercy date at the behest of his mom ten or so years ago. She’d just freaking called him a chicken.

And dyslexia?

Yeah, right.

Finn’s mouth tightened as he wheeled out of the parking lot. He’d decided to try a few classes to better his life, not to make it worse. The satisfaction he got from finding out he could still do math—that he really liked to do math—was deeply overshadowed by the fact that he sucked at English. That he’d been passed along by his teachers. No...that wasn’t what bothered him most. It was the fact that it had been so clear to Molly that had happened. And meanwhile the thought had never crossed his mind.