Brayden, Melissa - How Sweet It Is

“I wondered about the tape measure.”

She slugged his arm. “Walk with me. We’re going to work.”

“We are? I didn’t know we had a job. I’m moving up in the world.”

They walked to the car. “Don’t get too excited. We work for free.”

“Well, you win some, you lose some.”

“Sing it, sister.”

As they drove through town to the clinic, George whistled low. “When you said Mayberry, you meant it.” He squinted at a woman outside the post office. “Is that Aunt Bea? Oh my lord, I think it’s Aunt Bea. Pull over. Let’s pause and say hi.”

“Stop that. I warned you what it was like here. You gotta admit though, it’s quaint. Not exactly a hipster dwelling, but cozy.”

“It’s more than quaint, Jordy. It’s downright adorable. How have you never brought me home with you before? I could find a nice boy and live here forever.”

“I haven’t been back here in years. This is not news to you.”

He nodded knowingly and then turned to her from the passenger seat, joking forgotten. “And you’ve been okay since you’ve been back?”

And then she understood. He wasn’t here on whimsy, to sightsee in the little-town-that-could. He was genuinely concerned for her and was here to make sure she was all right.

It spoke volumes to Jordan about their friendship. She reached across and scratched the back of his head. “I’m okay, Georgie. I promise.”

He nodded. Sincere moments like this one were rare between them. He then shook himself free of the emotion with an upshift in energy. Typical George. “Good. Because I want you to be. Now take me to work so I can earn my proverbial keep.”

*

It was just past noon and they were just hitting the traditional lunchtime lull at the bakeshop. Molly loved the lull. It gave her a chance to have a cup of coffee and regain her footing. Business would pick up again in about an hour or so, but they generally used the down time to catch up on whatever was running low in the display case and prep more dessert items as they moved away from breakfast pastries.

Molly drizzled some butter over a tray of blackberry pie bars and slid them into the oven. When she turned around, Eden was studying her with unusual focus. She glanced around, self-conscious. “Um, want to tell me why you’re looking at me like I’m your perplexing science project?”

“You’re different.”

Molly moved to the sink to wash her hands, shaking off the declaration. “I’m tired. Is that what you’re picking up on?”

“That could be part of it. Why are you tired, Molly? Tell the kitchen.” She gestured to the empty room.

Molly squinted in confusion. “You’re the only one here.”

“Work with me, sugar. What’s with the relaxed demeanor, the casual swagger, and the extra glow? Did you have sex last night? Is this sexed up Molly? Because I’ve never met her.”

She opened her mouth to answer, but the fact that Eden so had her number precluded any sort of protestation she could come up with. Instead, she stared. Lamely. Because that’s what she apparently did now. Gave in to herself and her every whim.

Eden extended her hand as a slow smile spread across her face. “Nice to meet you. I’m Eden.”

Molly swatted her hand away. “Fine. Yes. There was sex.”

Eden danced in a circle Rocky-style as Molly looked on.

“Are you done? Are you done dancing?”

“Almost.” She danced in a second circle. “Was it as good as you thought it would be? Was it as hot?”

She felt the small smile form on her lips.

Eden punched her in the arm gleefully. “Well, color me happy. It was, wasn’t it?”

“Better,” she said shyly.

Eden arched a highly interested eyebrow. “And everything’s good? You survived a very big step. Proud of you, you know.”

“Well…not entirely. I had kind of a breakdown afterward.”

Eden’s mouth fell open. “Not in front of Jordan?”

“God, no. After she left. There was this moment when it hit. The realization. And I crumbled.” She leaned against the counter as she tried to figure out how to better explain. “You have to understand, I’ve never been with anyone other than Cassie. And that’s forever changed now. Last night was kind of monumental, and I didn’t roll with the punches as well as I hoped I would.”

“Is it because you were with someone else? Or because you were with Jordan ?”

Well, if that wasn’t the million-dollar question. “Both. I think. I’ve always been a rule follower, Eden. You know this. I don’t cheat at Monopoly. I wait for the walk sign before crossing the street even when there aren’t any cars coming. I’ve never tried an illegal drug in my life. And sleeping with the sister feels like breaking a rule. There’s bound to be a no sleeping with the sister clause.”

Eden thumbed through an imaginary book in her hands. “Good news. I just checked and there’s not.”

Molly rolled her eyes. “It’s something I’m working through.”

“One thing at a time, honey. You can do this.” She pinched Molly’s cheek affectionately and went back to the salted caramel snicker doodles she was mixing. “I’m going to put on some music while we work. That cool?”

“Sounds great.”

Sixty seconds later, when the song “Let’s Talk About Sex” filled the room, Molly couldn’t help but laugh. And shake her hips subtly to the music.

As the day at the bakeshop came to a close and the sun began its slow descent in the sky, Molly sat on the bench outside watching the world head home around her. She looked down at her cell phone and smiled. She dialed quickly but got voice mail. That was okay; a message would do.

“This message is for a Jordan Tuscana. Sorry to bother you. This is Molly O’Brien, also known as the illustrious auction winner. That’s actually how I prefer to be addressed, by the way, ‘illustrious auction winner.’ I was calling to politely inquire about setting up a date and time to collect my winnings. See, I have a car that needs to be washed and a back porch that could be stained, and word on the street is that you’re surprisingly handy. I hope the street is right. Please get back to me at your earliest convenience. P.S. There’s possible lemonade. I emphasize the word possible.”

It was several hours later, while Molly was in the bathtub, that the reply must have come in. Wrapped in her cuddly white robe, she listened to the voice mail.

“Illustrious auction winner, thanks so much for your message. I wondered when you’d call in your winnings. In good news, the street doesn’t lie. I’ve won multiple car washing competitions. I made it to state in car washing when I was younger. If I remember correctly, I learned from the best. How do I know if this lemonade is any good?”

Molly dialed immediately and grinned when she got the outgoing message. “I’m going to let that lemonade comment go, as I actually won state in lemonade. I know. I’ll pause for your required reverence. What about tomorrow?”

She waited for her phone to buzz and when it did, she let the call roll over.

“I’d love to do manual labor tomorrow, but my schedule is bit tied up with a friend. Not that kind, auction winner. I know where your mind goes. How about the day after? Looks to be a good car washing day. Tag. You’re it.”

She dialed back. “There’s nothing more I hate than being it. The day after tomorrow is perfect. I’ll start the lemonade. Four o’clock? Please confirm. I can’t stop tapping my foot until you do.”

“Calling to confirm. Cease the tapping. People will stare. I can’t even wait, by the way. And I mean that with the utmost of sincerity. Sweet dreams, auction winner.”

Molly smiled at the phone for a few moments before moving on to feed Rover. Things were looking up. She had a meeting with a possible distributor for her truffles, her dad had a good week and seemed to be on board with his diet, and she was carefully figuring out how to navigate the dicey Jordan scenario. It wasn’t the easiest of situations, but maybe it was because she was putting the cart before the horse. It wasn’t like she had to be in some sort of hardcore committed forever relationship with Jordan. They were enjoying each other’s company, and sewing a few wild oats in the process. And you know what? Sometimes oats needed to be sewn.