Molly unbuckles her seat belt. “Feels European, almost.”
“Hey.” Hunter places a hand on her arm, gives it a gentle squeeze. “I know it’s been a tough few weeks.”
She looks into his wide brown eyes. Even when things between them are hard—even when they’re bickering or stressed or residually exhausted—his eyes are her harbor. Her safe place. Her home.
“It has,” she replies, thinking of the failed embryo transfer, knowing that’s what he means. Molly has been devastated since they got the news—of course she has—but what she doesn’t tell Hunter is that her budding friendship with Sabrina has been a welcome distraction. “Well, we still have one more embryo from this round. We’ll try again, right?”
“Of course.” He smiles gently, but she can see the pain in the contours of his face. Sometimes she thinks this is the hardest part—how heartbroken he is, too.
“I know it’s expensive, Hunt…”
“You know my mom is helping, and she’s glad to be.”
“I know, but I just think…” Molly pauses, hesitant. “If this next transfer fails … what then? How many times can we do this? We’ve already spent a good chunk of our savings, and we can’t bankrupt your mother.”
“We won’t. You know we won’t. We just … let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Let’s take this one day at a time. That’s what Dr. Ricci always says.”
Molly nods, smoothing the dark flop of hair away from his brow. She loves the way he looks just after he shaves—his jawline sharp and clean, that signature crooked smile playing at the edges of his lips.
“Besides, it worked before. It will work again. This is going to happen for us. I know it, Moll.”
She nods, squeezing his hand, then glances toward the house. “We should go in.”
They walk across the Belgian block–lined driveway and up the broad slate steps, while Hunter comments on the exquisite masonry. The front door is painted a dark, glossy blue. Molly rings the bell, buzzy with anticipation.
Sabrina answers the door moments later. She wears a long white caftan and cradles a glass of rosé in her palm—ice cold from the looks of it—the delicate stem extending below her fingers. Her green eyes are coated in eyeliner and a heavy dose of mascara, and her dark hair falls loose around her shoulders.
“Hi!” Sabrina smiles broadly, her teeth gleaming white. “Hunter, it’s so nice to see you again. And, Molly, you look incredible.” She wraps her free arm around Molly, who inhales a whiff of spicy perfume. “Come in, come in.”
Molly and Hunter step inside the house, just as a male hand cracks the door open wider.
And then, she sees his face. Lightly tanned skin, honey curls, blazing blue eyes. A face she knows by heart. A face she held in her mind’s eye for longer than she likes to remember. A face she’s tried and failed to forget, its imprint lingering stubbornly on her soul.
Her heart turns to stone. And she is back in Brooklyn. And she is twenty-three and twenty-four and twenty-five and twenty-six.
“Molly, Hunter.” Sabrina’s voice is sweet and welcoming, her smile explosive. “This is my husband, Jake.”
Chapter Fifteen
Sabrina
“What a coincidence,” Jake says, a little awestruck. You and Hunter just left our house, and he’s staring at the front door, which just clicked closed behind you, a dreamy sheen in his ocean-blue eyes.
Yeah, total coincidence, babe. You and I—both very much city people—just happened to move to the same small Connecticut suburb as your ex and her husband.
But that’s exactly why we’re here—it’s time for you and my husband to finally resolve some things, Molly. For his sake and for the sake of our marriage. It’s time for him to know who you really are, so he can stop looking over his shoulder for the one who got away. Jake and I love each other, and we deserve a shot at real, lasting happiness. The kind you thought you’d found with him—at least until he went on tour.
I bet you didn’t know I was on that tour, Molly. As Jake would say—What a coincidence.
I flew to West Palm Beach after work on that Friday in late January, and Martelle and I met up Saturday morning for a boozy brunch at Buccan. I love Martelle—she’s the kind of friend who’s always down for anything, though I can’t say she has much ambition. At the time, she’d just started dating her now husband, Perry, a real estate mogul whose bank account meant she’d never have to work. Not surprisingly, they’ve never left Palm Beach.