Then we walked in and realized it was built for someone probably a foot shorter than me. I'd hit my head on three doorframes already. Each hit took my mood from ambivalent, to annoyed, to fully irritated.
She crossed her arms and surveyed the kitchen. "I like it."
"You would," I said. "You can walk through all the doors without getting a concussion."
Her lips, red today, twisted up in a smile. "Isn't that view worth it?"
I didn't even glance at the wall of windows. "No."
Molly rolled her eyes. "Fine. Do you want to go to the next place?" She gave me a winning smile, and her left cheek showed a hidden dimple that I didn't remember. "It's got tall ceilings."
She was handling me. Managing me because I sucked at this. It made my skin feel too tight and my head pound at the base of my skull.
Yesterday, somehow, she got me to confess something that I'd never planned on confessing. And I did it in front of a camera crew.
I'd underestimated Molly, that was for sure. Because as she aimed that sunny smile at Marty, who ate it up with a spoon, I vowed I wouldn't do it again. Her ability to herd me in whatever direction she wanted was like a kitten backing a grumpy tiger into a cage.
I was the tiger.
And this short-ass kitchen was my cage.
"I need to get out of this house," I muttered, brushing past both of them. Marty turned to follow, and because I was cognizant of the camera trained on me, rather than where I was going, the smack of my skull on the frame of the door echoed through the room. "Fuck," I yelled, rubbing the top of my head.
Molly slapped a hand over her mouth. This time, she wasn't laughing when she dropped it. "Are you okay?"
Instead of answering, I strode out of the house, only taking a full breath when I was outside again. The skies were overcast, the threat of rain heavy in the air.
The sudden turn in my mood surprised me, but I didn't want to analyze why.
It probably started when they made the uncomfortable realization that my personal life from an outsider's perspective was about as fun as watching paint dry. That nagged, all night. Even if my dad still lived in town, inviting him to come look at houses would've been a terrible idea. Our relationship was as warm as the highest peak of Mt. Rainier off in the distance.
Behind me, I heard Molly approach. When she walked, she barely made any noise. Something I'd noticed in our meeting. She always wore those shoes … the ones that looked like glorified slippers. And because of that, her steps were just slightly above a whisper of sound, which made me hyper aware of her movement.
"What was that?" she asked.
Today, she was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved Wolves shirt that fit her too well.
I didn't want to notice that she was wearing a shirt that fit her too well.
It pissed me off.
"None of this feels natural," I growled. I speared my hands into my hair and stared out to the line of blue water in the sound. "And even though I've heard all these reasons it's fine, and why people will find it interesting, I don't understand how I'm supposed to just … wander around these houses and it'll help the team. Or help me be a part of the team."
Molly took another step closer, sighing softly as she did. Her face, delicate and sweet and pretty, was bent in a thoughtful frown. "It's not supposed to help the team, Noah. It's not about winning or about making them better," she said haltingly.
"Then what's the point?"
Her eyes searched my face. "The point is showing the truth. This is the reality of being a player in the league. Sometimes you change teams, and sometimes it's hard when you do."
I clenched my jaw and caught sight of Marty in my peripheral vision. The little shit was even sneakier than Molly, creeping around without anyone noticing.
"Aren't you supposed to be out of the shot too?"
She didn't take my bait, and I felt a moment of shame that I swiped at her in the first place.
"No, I'm not supposed to be doing anything other than this," she said quietly. "I'm helping you find someplace to live because that's what you need. You need a place to feel like home, to have chairs that fit you and walls around that you that make you feel like this is where you're meant to be. And if you're upset because you don't have anyone else to call to help you with this, then fix it. If you don't like it, then do something about it."
At that moment, I realized that you didn't have to yell or be the biggest and loudest to infuse your strength into an important moment.
So few people in my life took me on head to head. She was the last person I'd expected to be willing to step up to the plate and do it, this petite woman who barely reached my chest with the top of her head, who I could lift with one hand.