“That’s the spirit.” Agnes smacked her knee. “You’re getting it. Everyone will eat this up. You two could end up with your own radio show!”
Again, before seven a.m. things made no sense.
“I don’t think we’re understanding each other,” Molly said. “At all.”
At all. At all.
“Oh, I think we are.” Agnes stood, brushed off a bunch of nothing from her pressed pants, and strode to the door. “What good is an unmatched matchmaker? Not good, that’s all I’m saying. You haven’t met your match, so you fake it ’til you make it.”
That was not going to happen.
Molly dropped her head to her arm on the table as the back door opened and then closed.
There were things that would absolutely not be happening. And one of those things was Gavin Frank.
Sure, he was handsome beyond belief. And, of course, he’d likely wind up giving her a solid uptick of likes and shares. Not enough to win the contest from Mr. McPerfect and his husband Mr. McRelationship Doctor.
She stood, confident that this was not going to happen.
No. It wasn’t.
Agnes didn’t have access to Molly’s puppet strings. No, sir. Molly kept those babies locked up tight.
Molly searched up the MLS housing listings for her neighborhood and…oh hell yes. The house was everything and more. Even the price tag—mostly. That would need to come down a little. It was way overpriced for this neighborhood. But she’d been watching the listings long enough and knew this real estate agent’s schtick. He went in way too high and then progressively dropped the price after two weeks to a more reasonable number.
Which meant… Who needed a car? No one really needed a car. Not when they could have marble countertops and travertine tile.
On that thought, Oliver stumbled through the door to the kitchen. He did mornings with only a touch less enthusiasm than she did.
He grunted at her in greeting. What could she say? It was their way.
Since she’d given birth to him—alone—it’d been just the two of them. Figuring out the world on their own.
It worked. She never would’ve thought it would work, but
it did. His dad paid the child support when he remembered, and Molly made sure she was enough so Ollie didn’t need a father figure.
“Cereal or a bagel?” She already reached for the cereal, feeling that Toasty O’s vibe coming from him.
“Cereal,” he said, rubbing at his eyeballs. “Did you get an e-mail yet?”
Molly stilled, the box of breakfast still in hand. “No.
Not yet.”
Ollie had been asking multiple times every day about the stunt camp application.
Was she the only one in the room who felt the hope deflating? Even if he got accepted—and she hoped he would—what if she wasn’t able to make it happen?
Was it irresponsible to use a nest egg for something other than a nest?
Dammit.
Hope was an unforgiving asshole, that was for sure. “I’ll let you know as soon as I hear.” She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.
He shuffled to the dishwasher, grabbing a bowl and spoon, before sitting back at the table to have his breakfast. Molly finally—dear God, finally—poured herself a cup of coffee. She doused it with a glug of milk and leaned against the counter.
There was another way. She was a YouTube influencer with a decent following of viewers. At her level, she could be picky with her sponsors. So maybe she just needed to be less picky? Go for the ones with more money, not the ones who fit her brand best.
