Molly vented to Jake about the situation that night while he cooked them spaghetti and meatballs, Frank Sinatra playing in the background. Jake loved Sinatra.
“Move in with me,” he said plainly, when she’d finished speaking.
“What?” Molly held a full glass of Malbec and placed it down on the counter. Her jaw lowered. “Jake, it’s barely been six months. We can’t move in together.”
“Why not?”
“Because—because that’s so fast. We’re still so young.”
“We’re in love, Moll.”
Jake had a way of taking such complex, monumental decisions and boiling them down to the simplest answers.
“Think about it,” he continued, stirring the tomato sauce. “Liz left you hanging. Would you rather scramble to find some random person to live with, or move in with the guy who cooks for you every night? Who writes songs about you? Who loves you to pieces?” He raised a wooden spoonful of sauce to his lips.
“You don’t cook for me every night.” Molly grinned, nerves and excitement building in her stomach. “Be serious, Jake.”
“I am being serious, Molly.” His light blue eyes rested on hers. “Sam and Hale were just saying the other day that their buddy is moving to the city and needs a spot. I could give him my room, and we could find our own place. You and me. Why does it have to be complicated?”
“The Best Is Yet to Come” blared in the background—an omen, it seemed—the notes of Sinatra dipping and rising, and Molly stared at Jake’s face. His handsome, golden face. The sweet smell of simmering tomatoes filled her nostrils.
“You never say what you’re thinking.” He paused. “Is this about Maxine?”
“No, Jake. You know that’s behind us.”
“Then what is it?” he pressed. “Just say it.”
“Fine.” Molly sighed, brushing a wisp of hair off her face. “If I’m being honest, I’ve always sort of had this pact with myself … I’ve always told myself that I would never move in with someone unless…” Her voice trailed.
“Unless what?”
“Unless I was sure we’re going to end up together.” She watched the words land, the indiscernible expression appeared on Jake’s face. “I know that sounds old-fashioned. I didn’t mean—I just meant that we’re young. And I’m sure you don’t want that kind of pressure on you.”
“Moll.” Jake set the spoon down. His expression grew serious. “I do think we’re going to end up together. Don’t you?”
Molly smiled. The answer was so easy; she didn’t even have to think about it. Maybe it was the naivete of being twenty-three, the freedom of being able to choose with your heart over your head, of not being trapped by implications or inevitabilities. Or maybe it was Jake; maybe the two of them were—plain and simple—meant to be.
“I do,” she said truthfully. For a moment, she let her mind wander back to six months earlier, a life without Jake. An enjoyable life, too: one with friends and family and books and yoga and vacations. But a stubborn darkness had persisted inside her, a crushing form of self-doubt that dissipated when she met Jake. He made everything so much better; he took her world and brightened it, like the filter on her phone that made images sharpen and colors pop. She’d never been this happy.
Jake put the lid on the skillet and let the sauce continue to simmer. He walked around the counter to where Molly stood. He tucked her long, blond waves behind her ears and kissed her deeply.
“Then let’s do it. Let’s live together. Just say yes,” he said, but Molly was already nodding.
They moved into a one-bedroom on Driggs Avenue, just around the corner from the subway. The apartment was small, nothing fancy, but it was theirs. It was a fifth-floor walk-up, but the selling point had been the wide, east-facing windows in both the bedroom and living room that flooded the mornings with light. That first summer together, they fell into an easy, intuitive routine.
Jake spent part of most days at the studio with Sam and Hale. When it came time to record the album, their producer, Ron Dixon from Dixon Entertainment, flew in from LA. Jerry oversaw the recording, too, but fortunately, Maxine only worked events. The band’s debut album—titled The Narrows after the beach in North Carolina where Jake and the Lanes had frequented as adolescents—was set to release in December. Danner Lane was being pitched as Mumford & Sons meets Kings of Leon, though Molly thought there was another comp there, too—something slightly more cheerful and pop-infused. Maroon 5, perhaps, though Molly didn’t think Jake would be thrilled with that comparison. Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, he’d like better.