“Maybe.” Molly could really go for something special in her life.
Perhaps the no panties thing might just be her ticket out of her rut. Change things up underneath and it would shine through to the surface.
She should mention that in her video series next week.
Maybe Cam would give her lots of ideas to work with.
Uh-huh. Today would be different. Dear God, please let it be different.
“Do you need anything?” Molly asked.
Rachel’s makeup was nearly done. They’d accented all her best features, but they’d made her blue eyes the center of attention. And it worked. Rachel’s blonde hair had been teased and then pulled into a loose chignon at her neck. She could be a model for a bridal magazine.
She even had some pretty kick-ass lingerie under it all.
Molly had helped her pick it out.
And Rachel hadn’t forgotten it. Because she was the organized friend.
Molly was more the hot mess friend.
But today was about Rachel. Everyone was heading down to the dock in about fifteen minutes to watch her best friend marry the man she was meant to be with.
“Is there a Coke in the fridge?” Rachel asked, stretching her neck to the side. “I’d kill for a soda right now.”
Molly moved to the mini-fridge and knelt to open the door. Several bottles of white wine lined the shelves, a few bottles of water, but no soda.
“No.” She stood. “I’ll go grab one from the catering staff.”
“You’re my favorite friend right now,” Rachel said, standing so the makeup artist could check her work in the light near the window.
“I’m your favorite friend all the time,” Molly countered, because it was true. She and Rachel knew more about the other than they did themselves.
She didn’t even try to fight the grin smeared across her face as she headed for the kitchen. This was her first time at the infamous lake house where the Frank family summered and concocted new plans for their Puffle Yum Toaster Tart empire. Seriously, that’s how the family had made its fortune.
Deep in thought about how they got their blueberry tarts to be the same funky shade of teal as her current dress, she turned the corner to the kitchen and stalled mid-step.
Gavin stood near the sink with his twin boys and Ollie. He leaned in, whispering something that left the boys in stitches.
He glanced up, and his gaze snagged uncomfortably with hers—like she’d run her hand the wrong way on a piece of textured fabric. Then he smiled like he meant it. Which was bananas. He didn’t get to smile at her like that.
A curt nod was what he got in reply as she did her best saunter toward the refrigerator.
She glanced back at him with her kiddo, who was intently eating a toaster pastry and laughing with his buddies. Gavin leaned in again, saying something to Ollie that she couldn’t catch from across the room.
Ollie pulled a face. Gavin nudged his arm.
Her kiddo pulled his lips to the side and said, “You look pretty, Mom.”
Her heart dipped. That was…sweet.
“Bud.” Gavin shook his head. “We’ve got to work on your game. Be specific when you’re complimenting someone.”
“His compliment is fine. You don’t need to micromanage my kid’s compliments.” Molly said the last part under her breath.
“I do when he needs to up his game,” Gavin said, also under his breath.
Reluctant, she glanced over her shoulder to toss some glare daggers his way. Hey, it was sort of their thing.
