“Meredith! Bryce!” Sabrina’s eyes brighten, and she gives the baby’s leg a gentle squeeze. “Don’t you two look festive.”
“How do you all know each other again?” Meredith glances from Sabrina to Molly. “Oh, wait. I remember. Yoga Tree, plus you two have some history, from what I understand.” She uses her free hand to point between Molly and Jake.
Molly feels her jaw slacken. How the hell does Meredith know about her history with Jake?
“That’s right. These two had a little fling back in the day. Such a small world, right?” Sabrina laughs, and Molly is surprised by how much she suddenly sounds like Meredith.
“The smallest!” Meredith adjusts baby Bryce on her hip. “That is too cute.”
Molly can’t help it. She draws her gaze across the table to Jake’s, and he is watching her, his expression forlorn, the opposite of amused. It wasn’t a fling, and it isn’t cute—fling and cute are two of the last words either of them would use to describe something as sacred and meaningful as what they had together—but correcting Meredith and Sabrina is obviously out of the question.
“So does this mean you two are thinking of joining or what?” Meredith raises an eyebrow.
“Probably not anytime soon,” Hunter says, swooping in to save Molly. “There’s lots going on at the yacht club—Stella’s very into the sailing—so we’re covered.”
“But there’s no golf course there!” Meredith exclaims. “And no pool.”
“My grammie has a pool,” Stella chirps. “And an Australian shepherd named Bodie.”
Molly wants to hug her child at the same time she wishes she could smack Meredith for being so obnoxiously inconsiderate. Does she simply want Molly to state the obvious? Admit that they can’t afford the insane six-figure initiation fee on top of the annual membership? Would hearing her say it out loud give Meredith the twisted satisfaction she so glaringly craves in her plastic, arrogant heart?
Meredith looks down at Stella and smiles coyly. “But if you belonged to this pool, you and Emma could be on the swim team together. And they have milkshakes at the snack bar—really tasty ones. The yacht club doesn’t have milkshakes, from what I’m told. I’d be happy to put a good word in for your family so you can come here whenever you want. All your parents have to do is say yes.”
Stella looks at her mother with wide, hopeful eyes, and Molly feels the blood pounding in her temples. She grips the end of the table to stop her hands from shaking. That’s it. Involving Stella in this—baiting her—is beyond what Molly will tolerate. Her boiling point has been reached.
“Meredith,” she starts, craning her neck to meet Meredith’s beady gaze. She isn’t even an attractive woman, Molly thinks, and yet somehow, she’s deemed herself queen bee of Flynn Cove.
Hunter clears his throat, placing a protective hand over Molly’s knee underneath the table.
“That’s enough, Meredith,” he says sharply. “It’s a big financial commitment to join this place, as you very well know, and like I said before, it’s not something we’re considering at the moment. There are a lot of ways to spend that kind of money.” He lowers his voice, his eyes narrowing. “And I don’t appreciate you roping Stella into this conversation. It’s completely inappropriate.”
Meredith’s jaw is practically hanging on the ground, and she doesn’t seem to notice baby Bryce’s drool dripping down the front of her silk dress. Molly knows this will be the front-running topic for Meredith’s gossip for the rest of the summer—how rude Hunter O’Neil was to her at the club fireworks—but Molly doesn’t care. This is why she loves Hunter. For knowing when to step in and save Molly from her own fragile anger, for standing up to self-important pot-stirrers like Meredith Duffy, for marching to the beat of his own drummer in a town that makes it next to impossible to do so.
Meredith looks expectantly at Sabrina and Jake, waiting for one of them to jump to her defense, but they both sip their drinks and ride out the awkwardness of the moment in silence. Finally, Meredith scowls and stomps away, red-faced and covered in spittle. Sorry, Molly mouths across the table. Sabrina rolls her eyes and flicks her wrist, as if to say, Fuck it. Jake’s eyebrows inch up toward his hairline, and he flashes Hunter a thumbs-up. The anger inside Molly has reduced to a simmer; gratitude blooms inside her chest for the others at the table. Especially Hunter.