“Guilty,” he says with a grin. We pause in the reception area. “So, coffee?”
I hesitate, the ache in my stomach making me second-guess. But there’s no reason to say no.
This is Josh. You know him, trust him, like him. He’s a good friend.
And just a friend, no matter how good he looks in a suit.
“Sure,” I say lightly, brushing off my hesitation. “Let’s do it.”
FOUR
JOSH
Molly leads me to a coffee shop just down the street from the center. My fingers itch to grab a camera as we walk past the eclectic mix of Chars life—hipsters scrolling on their phones, homeless men huddled in doorways, and hapless mothers juggling strollers and toddlers. Professionals in suits weave through the chaos, while bejeweled men and perfectly primped women cluster in clucking groups.
I’ve been away too long. I’d forgotten how, in Chars, wealth and poverty crash into each other on every corner, simmering beneath the city’s thin veneer of progress. Ethnic tensions and racial disparities linger in the air, the unspoken backdrop to change.
“Is here okay?” Molly’s question pulls me back from my musing.
She tucks a thick, satiny curl of chestnut hair behind her ear, the movement casual yet captivating. Her hair’s shorter now than it used to be, brushing just below her shoulders. I’ve become abnormally obsessed with watching it move, the way it catches the light and skims her skin. I like to imagine brushing it back, replacing the soft caress of her hair with my lips.
“Josh?”
I give myself a mental shake and look up at the glass-fronted coffee shop. Painted letters swirl across the window, and inside, I see warm wood tones, low lighting, and antique metal fixtures. I glance at Molly, raising an eyebrow in question.
She smirks, lifting one shoulder in a little shrug. “They’re pretty good.”
We step through the doors, and I’m hit with the strong, bitter scent of roasted coffee beans, mingling with hints of vanilla and chocolate. The soft murmur of voices drifts over the grinding of beans and the acoustic music playing low in the background.
Molly heads straight for a small booth tucked into the back corner, and I follow, fighting to keep my eyes from straying to her legs.
There are two freckles on the back of her left leg, just under the bend of her knee. They’ve haunted me for years. I have this recurring fantasy—one I can’t seem to shake—of pressing my lips to those little dots as I strip the clothes from her body.
Pull it together, man.
Today will not be the day I let my feelings for Molly slip. I’ve kept them locked away for over a decade, ever since the first time I realized I was completely and utterly screwed when it came to her. Lusting after my best friend’s little sister has become second nature by now, a skill I’ve perfected over the years.
But lately? It’s been slipping.
I slide into the booth across from her, forcing my attention on the menu she’s already scanning. “What’s good here?” I ask, my voice a little rougher than I intend.
Molly glances up, her lips curving in a soft smile that makes my heart stutter. “Depends. Do you want something sweet or something that’ll keep you awake for three days straight?”
“Surprise me,” I say, leaning back and trying not to drown in how much I’ve missed her.
She waves down a barista, her confident ease making the simplest moments feel effortless. And me? I sit there like a fool, watching her, pretending I’m not imagining what it would be like to kiss the smile off her face.
We order coffees, awkwardly watching each other from across the booth. This feels like uncharted territory—unknown waters I know I need to explore, even if I’m not sure what I’ll find.
I watch Molly rub her belly, a small frown creasing her forehead.
“I’ll be right back,” I say, slipping out of the booth.
“Are you alright?” Molly asks, watching me in surprise.
“Yep. Give me five minutes.”
I head back outside and up to a store I saw as we entered the café. It takes me only three minutes to make my purchase before I return to the booth.
