“Okay, okay,” he concedes, working his thumbs into the tight spot below her neck. She relaxes into his grip, drops her head forward in relief. “I’ll tell Clark and Tara we’ll see them on Saturday.”
“Thank you, Hunt.” Molly nuzzles her face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of him—beer and aftershave. “Best husband ever,” she says, and she means it. She doesn’t know how she got so lucky with him.
Friday evening, Molly riffles through her closet, contemplating an outfit. White pants and a nice top are what she’d normally choose for an intimate dinner party in Flynn Cove, but something about Sabrina makes her reach for a blue-and-white-striped linen sundress she hasn’t worn in years—a more boho piece she bought with Nina at a boutique they loved in Williamsburg.
Molly’s phone pings from her dresser. A text from Sabrina.
Excited for tonight! One thing—do me a favor, and don’t mention our run-in at Dr. Ricci’s to my hubby. He’s extra sensitive about our fertility issues right now, and I’d rather not open that can of worms … best to just say we met at your yoga class and leave it there, if that’s all right. Anyway, it’s the truth;）
Molly reads the text and smiles knowingly. She understands. Hunter doesn’t like talking about the fertility stuff in public, either.
He lies on their king-size bed reading to Stella, who’s clean from her bath and wearing her favorite unicorn pajamas. Even though her daughter is five—almost six—Molly can’t help but think of her as a baby, especially after bath time when her fine blond hair is combed and her sweet-smelling skin is damp. She’s nestled against Hunter’s chest while he reads The Runaway Bunny, and the sight of them melts Molly’s heart.
“Daddy, read that page again.” Stella kicks her little foot, and Molly can almost acutely remember the magical feeling of that same foot kicking inside her belly.
“Mommy, why are you wearing that dress? Is it new?”
“It’s old, actually.” Molly smooths the skirt. “I wanted to wear something nice because Daddy and I are going out to dinner. That’s why Bridget is coming to babysit you. She’ll be here in fifteen minutes, actually.” Molly looks at Hunter as she says the last part, telepathically ushering him to get out of his gym clothes and into the shower.
Stella’s blue eyes widen, morphing into that trancelike stare that tells Molly her daughter is deep in thought. “So why is it an old dress?”
“I got it with Aunt Nina in New York City, eight or nine years ago, probably.”
“Eight or nine years? I wasn’t born then.”
“You weren’t born then, no.”
“Doesn’t Mommy look beautiful?” Hunter asks Stella, gazing at his wife, the way the dress hugs her body. Her hair is pulled up, a few pieces sprinkling out of the loose knot. A smile spreads across his face as he admires the long, graceful slope of her neck.
“Yeah.” Stella giggles, pulling her little knees into her chest. “Like Elsa.” She starts humming the theme song from Frozen, the movie that has more or less played on repeat in their house for the past three years.
Molly grins. “Okay, Stell. Daddy’s gonna finish The Runaway Bunny, and then he needs to get dressed. Bridget can read you another story when she gets here.”
“Rainbow Fish?” Stella’s expression brightens. “That’s the one Bridget always reads me.”
“That sounds fine.” Molly disappears into the bathroom to finish her makeup. She never wears much, but something about tonight feels special, and she has the desire to look good.
Half an hour later, when Hunter has finally showered and dressed and seventeen-year-old Bridget is reading to Stella in her room, they leave the house.
Sabrina and her husband live ten minutes away, farther from town, in the most inland part of Flynn Cove where the properties have more acreage. Their place is big—at least twice the size of Molly and Hunter’s simple saltbox—and set back from the road. It’s white painted brick, with those gorgeous cedar roof shingles that Molly is constantly admiring. She and Hunter have enough money, just not as much as most people in Flynn Cove. Certainly not so much that they can justify spending 50 percent more on a cedarwood roof.
Hunter’s Volkswagen crunches over the gravel driveway. He puts the car in park and raises his eyebrows. “Nice place.”
Molly nods in agreement. She didn’t look up the house on Zillow when Sabrina sent her the address, but now she’s tempted. It has to be worth at least a few million. She’s caught off guard—she hadn’t realized Sabrina was rich. But then, most people in Flynn Cove are rich, so Molly isn’t sure why she’s surprised. It’s one of the things she dislikes most about living in this town, the fact that she constantly feels like some kind of pauper just because she and Hunter don’t have the “nice” roof or belong to a stupidly expensive country club. It screws with her gratitude. She and Hunter are insanely lucky to have as much as they do.