“It’s so weird. Aren’t you supposed to be cynical?”
“Me? Why?”
“Because you’re rich? Don’t people ask you for money and stuff? So you’re naturally, like, ‘Oh my God, I hate people.’”
I think back on the unpleasant dinner with Alicia. Then I look at Molly, who’s holding on to the seatbelt like it’s keeping her upright. I think about how flustered she was when I gave her a modest garnet anklet on her birthday three years ago.Too expensive. Not something she could possibly accept.“Well, sometimes. But not everyone is awful.”
“You know what? It’s totally okay for you to be rich,” she says, trying to sound wise despite the drunkenness.
“Why? You like my money, too?” I smile.
She lets out a gasp. “No! I’d never be that shallow. I like you for your body.”
Heat flares inside me, but then she lets out a drunken giggle, dousing the fire.
“Actually, I like your eyes.” She twists a little to see me better. “They’re really kind.” Her soft voice is earnest. “You have a way of making people feel special just by gazing at them.”
She tilts her head and peers at me as the city lights flash by. But she’s the one who has the gift to make someone special. She looks at me like I’m perfect just for being myself, not for my money or my father. She’s never asked me for anything, and she never expects anything. If I lost all my money, she’d still treat me the same.
She gives me a pretty smile that makes my heart shiver, then leans back against the seat, closing her eyes.
She doesn’t wake up until I take her into her apartment.
* * *
When I call to check on her the next day, she groans with a vicious hangover but doesn’t remember any of our conversation.
“You were so nice to drive me home, though,” she says hoarsely. “You’re the best, Nicholas. Just like your mom.”
Something between shock and denial wells in my stomach. Mom is the one person I’ve done my bestnotto emulate. “Molly, my mother and I have nothing in common.”
“Nonsense.” She lets out a soft moan. “I have to go lie down before my head falls off. Thanks again.”
Chapter Two
Molly
–4 years, 11 months and 23 days later
“All I want for my birthday is a hot, sexy, grumpy single dad, who hires me to be a nanny to his adorable little girl, then falls in love with me and asks me to marry him and have his baby.” I glare at my virtually empty iced americano cup, an unjust state of affairs when I’m not feeling the happy effects of the caffeine yet.Okay, out of coffee so soon?I reach for the potato chips. I like this little deli near my work—the small, round wooden tables, matching chairs and colorful butterfly windchimes hanging from the ceiling. But they need to sell bigger coffees.
At least they’re generous with the potato chips and pickles.Try to find the silver lining. It’s depressing to note I’m about to be a year older when I haven’t accomplished anything yet. Actually, forget accomplishments. I’d be thrilled if I just found some meaning and purpose to my life.
I should know what it is by now. I’m going to be twenty-six next week! Surely I wasn’t put into this beautiful world just to be an accountant to an overly tanned, megalomaniacal creep and have transient, unfulfilling relationships.
“Grumpy single dad, huh? Is that a book you just read or something you want to read? And if it’s the former, tell me the title, because I want to read it.” Georgia grins, then bites into her BLT. We met as two bookworms in junior high who overcame our embarrassed awkwardness once we started to blabber about our love ofThe Hunger GamesandTwilight. Over the years she’s gotten taller and slimmer, and her dark brown hair curls adorably around her pretty face with its wide brown eyes and nose-bridge freckles. Meanwhile, I’ve grown taller and softly rounded, and my brown hair is as long and straight as uncooked spaghetti. But our love of reading and support for each other remain the same.
She’s visiting this part of town to have lunch with me because she knows I hate having birthdays, and she considers it her duty as my best friend to cheer me up.
“Neither,” I say, then exhale slowly. “It’s what I wishmylife could be.” At least I’d have some noble higher purpose. Taking care of a young child is a serious but wonderful responsibility.
Georgia chuckles. “Don’t we all? And Mr. Grumpy Single Dad is going to have the body of Apollo and the dick of an elephant on Viagra.” She sighs, fluttering her eyelashes.
I snort. She’s crazy in love with her boyfriend, and the faraway look she gets when she talks about him is genuine. “Never mind. I guess it is kind of a cliché.”
“You love clichés. You call them ‘comfort reads,’ and everyone loves your comfort-read posts.”
“Yeah…” I sigh. Even thinking about my popular Bookstagram account doesn’t improve my mood. “But you know things like that don’t happen in real life. Too trope-y, whereas real life is more normal. I’ll settle for a contractor who hires me to be his accountant so I can help him make sense of his expanding empire.”
