Page 131 of Letters to Molly (Maysen Jar 2)

But had Molly been right? Was Bridget in love w

ith me?

My mind raced as I thought back to all the times the two women had been together. Even in the beginning, Bridget had never really warmed to Molly. Not that they’d worked together much. I’d taken Bridget under my wing, and in those early days, we’d been together from clock-in to clock-out.

There’d been times in more recent years when a girlfriend of mine would stop by Alcott. Brenna used to come down and bring lunch on occasion. I couldn’t recall if Bridget had even said hello.

Oh, fuck.

Molly was right. I’d been blind.

“Finn?” Bridget touched my arm. “Are you okay?”

“Excuse me.” Molly cleared her throat.

I jumped, twisting in my seat. The movement knocked Bridget’s hand off my arm. The frown on Molly’s face was as unwelcome as the realization that my most trusted and loyal employee had feelings for me.

Bridget looked between the two of us, putting the pieces together. Then she looked at me, her eyes wide and full of judgment. “She is your date?”

“Would you mind?” Bridget was blocking Molly’s chair. She took a step forward in an attempt to make Bridget back off. “I need to get my purse.”

Bridget didn’t budge. And I knew her well enough to know she’d dug her heels in. She’d make Molly walk all the way around to get her purse.

God, I was such a fucking moron. Did all men miss shit like this with women? Or was I especially clueless? I saw it now though. It was lit up brighter than the neon Bud Light sign in the restaurant’s front window.

I stood from the table, inserting myself between the women. It forced Bridget back two steps, giving me enough room so I could duck under the table and retrieve Molly’s purse and pass it over.

She slung it on a shoulder then crossed her arms. Even with them wrapped tight across her chest, her shoulders trembled. Not in fear, but anger. Her eyes were cold as she looked at Bridget.

Molly didn’t hate. Ever. She didn’t antagonize. She didn’t make enemies, which meant for her to look at Bridget like she was ready to wrap her hands around Bridget’s neck, Bridget had pushed much too far.

My protégé—my friend—had been awful to my wife.

It had happened right under my nose, and I’d been oblivious.

“We’d better get going.” I took Molly’s elbow, prying her arms apart. She fought me for a moment then gave in. With her arms hanging by her sides, I captured her hand and held it tightly.

Bridget scowled at our clasped hands, then she looked at me, her eyes full of disbelief. “Really, Finn? Her?”

What the fuck? Who was this stranger? Because she certainly wasn’t the Bridget I’d known for years.

Molly tried to pull her hand away, but I tightened my grip.

“Yes, her. It’s always her.” I pushed past Bridget, tugging Molly along. “See you tomorrow. Enjoy your dinner.”

The fresh evening air was impossible to enjoy as Molly and I walked to my truck. With every step, she retreated away from me, even though our hands stayed locked.

All of the progress we’d made, the good time, had been ruined.

I took some deep breaths as we walked, hoping to calm down. But my anger only burned hotter. We were ten feet from the truck, but I couldn’t take another step.

My feet ground to a halt. “What did she do?”

Molly tried to keep walking. I didn’t loosen my grip. “Let’s just go, Finn.”

“What did she do?”

“It’s nothing.”