“Any other questions?” she asked, light. Persona-Molly and his Molly all tied up in a pretty bow.
“Are you good staying tonight?” That was his only other question.
“No, I’m not hungry,” she said, sitting up and apparently realizing that she was dropping bobby pins from her hair because she began collecting them. “A toothbrush. And I’m good with staying, if you are.”
He helped her with the pins, amazed at how the curls sprang free once they released their hold. How many of these damn things did it take? He practically had a whole fist full, and they were still coming loose.
She reached for his wrist, holding it still. “You should let me do that. I don’t want to scare you once the beast is unleashed.”
“The beast?” He was fairly certain all the beasts between them were romping free in the proverbial meadow at this point.
“My hair.” She snatched the pins from his grip.
“I like your hair.” He did. “Quite a lot, actually.”
“That’s only because you haven’t seen it at its worst.” She pulled her face into an expression of horror. “You have no idea.”
He was pretty certain he wouldn’t mind. But her curls were fun and free—like Molly herself.
“I guess I’ll have to take your word on that,” he said, instead of anything he really wanted to say.
“Yup.” She reached for his button-up shirt, pulling it on and doing up the buttons. A total shame if you asked him.
“A toothbrush?” she asked.
“Yeah.” He grabbed his boxers and pulled them on. “I have an extra.”
He kept extras of all the necessities in case the boys needed something between their mom’s house and his.
“You’re very prepared.” She followed him to his en suite bathroom.
He pulled open a drawer and emerged with a brand-new toothbrush, still in the packaging. “Maybe I just hoped you’d say yes when I asked you to come over. Good incentive and all that.”
“This is supposed to be awkward.” She tapped the package against her palm. “Why isn’t it awkward?”
Because there was something here between them, something he hadn’t realized was even a possibility. “Because I’m not actually a monster who eats kittens for breakfast?”
“Of course you don’t. You eat toaster tarts.”
“Indeed, I do.” He handed over a tube of toothpaste. “Would you like some?”
“I could really go for one of the apple cinnamon kind. With the glaze, not the frosting.”
He leaned against the doorframe, watching as she moved around his home as though she totally belonged there. “Is that so?”
“You don’t happen to have one, do you?”
He did. The boys also loved that kind, so he kept them on hand.
“Let me see what I can find,” he said, instead of readily admitting he kept an entire case in the garage.
“If you don’t have those, I also like the blueberry ones with sprinkles.”
Now, those…those were his favorite.
“Anything else?” he asked, enjoying having her in his home. In his space. In his life.
“Sometimes, if I’m in the right mood, I enjoy the s’more kind. But that’s not really a breakfast food. That’s more of a dessert.”
