Molly elbowed her and looked in the mirror again.
“What do you gotta do to get a drink in here?” he said to no one in particular.
Molly spun on her barstool. “Let me help you.” She lifted her eyes and chin, put her arm out on the bar. The bartender came straight to her. “Whatcha need, Molly?”
“Two more and whatever this guy’s having. He can pay for ours.”
“Got it. What’ll you have, pal?”
“Sheez, that was fast. Guinness for me. Hope that’s not top shelf,” he said. “Leo.” He put his hand out to her, but it wasn’t like he was offering to shake, more like he was asking her to take a spin around the ballroom. He had a look to him that reminded Molly of yesterday, like he’d stepped out of a time machine, bewildered. He had dark hair, cut close but not military close. Hint of a dimple. Strong jaw. And blue, blue eyes.
Molly rested her hand in his, dramatically, delicately. “Molly.”
As the night drew on, The Wren grew louder, and Molly found herself leaning into this Leo, putting her mouth next to his ear then slouching back to laugh, to see his reaction, to wait for his mouth next to her ear, her neck. His smell, a hint of some expensive cologne applied hours before, a spiced deodorant, breath and body warm with brown beer and the blue day.
Another round courtesy of Leo’s friend, Henry. They’d formed a circle—her sitting next to Leo, Camille, Henry, two more of Leo’s friends, and a couple of random women. She knew she wasn’t being cool, but she could not take her eyes off him.
“So, what do you do?” Leo shouted.
She wished she worked in an office. “I work in a bakery.”
“You’re a banker?”
She crinkled her forehead, and then realized what had happened. “No,” she shouted. “A bakery. An organic bakery.”
He nodded. “You’re a chef?”
She shook her head. “No. I’m not a chef. I just ... you know ... work there.” She forced herself not to roll her eyes at how dumb she sounded. “What about you?”
“Clerk.”
“At like ...” She almost said a store, but that wasn’t right. Then it dawned on her. “... the Supreme Court?”
He laughed. “You’re adorable,” he shouted. “No, I wish. District.”
The theme song forHawaii Five-Ocame on, and Camille threw her arms up in the air and whooped. Molly finished off her drink and grabbed Leo’s hand. “Wanna be in my canoe?”
“What?”
“My outrigger. My canoe. Behind me. Get in my canoe!” She sat on the sticky floor, pulled up her knees. “You guys get in behind Leo!” she shouted to Camille and Henry. Leo wrapped himself behind her, his thighs encircling her hips, his body bracing her spine and tailbone. It seemed to Molly he was as close to her as he could possibly be.
He rested his chin on her shoulder. “It’s like a magic carpet. Did you ever do that, when you were a kid?”
The bartenders squirted water into the air like sea spray. Molly turned her head, kissed Leo’s cheek. He wrapped his arms around her waist, and she rubbed his hands with hers.My carpet is a canoe,she thought,and we’re going on an adventure together in this deep blue sea. Porpoises leap all around us, and the ocean glistens with scales of sunfish and rays of sunlight. We eat pineapples and drink from coconuts and cool each other with palm fronds on a fine golden beach soft as powdered sugar.Her boat rocked now, side to side. Molly took up her make-believe oar and rowed, Leo’s laughter in her ear.
She woke on time, thankfully, in her own bed, thankfully, alone, though Leo was still on her mind. Camille had hopped the Metro back to Silver Spring, but Leo insisted Molly hail one of the cabs waiting atthe curb. Then he picked her up and set her on the hood. She wrapped her legs around his butt and made out with him until the cabbie laid on his horn and said it was time to go. “I could come with you,” Leo had offered. She shook her head. “I gotta work in the morning, and I don’t ...” She almost said she didn’t sleep with a guy on the first date. But that wasn’t true. Sex on the first date, even the first night, was fine. What she didn’t like was the second date, conversations over dinner, the getting-to-know-you phase. She liked intimacy of the body, not the heart. As for the affair with Charlie, that had been one long one-night stand. He didn’t care a thing about her, and she’d been dumb enough to let her guard down and entertain her own fantasies. When he dismissed her so summarily, he had confirmed that she was not worth getting to know. She was good for one thing while that good thing lasted. But, even as drunk as she was, and as tempted, in that moment she didn’t want to treat Leo casually. It was only after the cabbie drove away and she turned to look back that she realized he hadn’t asked for her number.
She was in the bakery in plenty of time before the pre-church rush. Gavin was in back; Ruthie brought out trays and filled the pastry case. What Molly wanted was something to put into her stomach that would soak up the hangover and the fatigue. Where was Camille with a pan of lasagna when she needed her? Her day off. She made herself a latte with the good milk—not the soy or almond the hippies demanded. The muffins and croissants were too proper and fussy. She needed pizza. She needed a burger.
“What kind of music this morning, boss?” Gavin asked. He called everyone “boss.”
Molly thought of the outrigger. “Island vibes,” she said, her hand a dolphin surfing imaginary waves.
“Steel Pulse it is.”
Three hours later, her hangover caffeinated into a manageable throb, the bell on the door chimed, and Molly came out of the back, wiping her hands on the apron tied around her waist. A young woman with a baby in a sling was ordering from Ruthie at the counter. The person behindher leaned to look. He held two paper Popeye’s bags—contraband in an organic bakery.
Molly pushed the half-door divider and swiped a bag from him like it was dope. She called over her shoulder, “Ruthie! I’m taking a quick break! You,” she said to Leo, “Follow me.”
