Page 66 of Letters to Molly (Maysen Jar 2)

It was like we’d gone back in time. Tonight had been so much fun, laughing and teasing one another as we’d played game after game. It was hard to remember the downward spiral that had happened between this game night and the last one we’d played in college.

Death and divorce.

“Cole is a good sport,” I told Finn as we walked down the sidewalk toward his truck.

Jamie had been so competitive, there’d been a few game nights in college where things had turned from fun to fight. But not Cole. He was competitive enough to present a challenge, but when he lost, which they had a lot tonight, he didn’t get angry.

“Yeah, he is.” Finn opened the door for me and helped me inside.

He’d picked me up tonight from home so we could ride here together. We both just assumed he’d be coming home with me. While I strapped on my seat belt, he closed the door and went around to his side, climbing in and getting us on the road.

My head was light from all the wine and even a little dizzy. Tomorrow morning might be miserable, but it had been worth it.

“What do you say we go to my place instead?”

My face whipped to Finn’s profile. “What?”

“I’d like to stay at my place for a change.”

“Oh, uh . . .” I scrambled for an excuse. “I don’t have any of my stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“My toothbrush. Pajamas. Extra hair ties.” I only had one on my wrist, so I needed to go home for a second.

“I’ve got an extra toothbrush. Kali has a pile of hair ties in the bathroom.” He met my gaze. “And you won’t need pajamas.”

I didn’t have another excuse other than the truth. We’d had such a fun night, and I didn’t want to dive into this conversation.

“Why won’t you come inside my house?” he asked gently.

“Do we really have to talk about this tonight?”

We approached a stop sign on Main Street. Taking a right led to my house. A left to his.

He answered my question by turning left.

My shoulders sagged. “It’s your home.”

“Exactly. What’s wrong with my home? The kids live there fifty percent of the time.”

“No.” I shook my head. “You don’t understand. It’s your home.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, it’s your home. A home you created without me. We’ve broken so many boundaries these past few weeks. This one, I need this one, Finn. It’s your home. Your place. Not mine.”

This line was one I would not cross. Because if I walked into his house and fell in love with the rooms he’d set up for the kids, or the way it felt to sleep beneath his sheets, it would be even harder to shore up that boundary when this was over.

Finn drove in silence for a few more blocks. My heart was in my throat, wondering if the end was closer than I’d thought this morning. But then he flipped his turn signal, taking us around a block until we were stopped at another intersection.

This time, he turned right.

Toward my house.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t argued but had listened to me and heard what I was saying, but tears flooded my eyes. In the quiet and dark cab, one dripped down my cheek.