Molly kissed lazily down her stomach to her abdomen and began to unbutton her jeans slowly, excruciatingly so, and when it just about seemed like her world had stopped on its axis, there was a knock at the door. They both went still. When the sound of a doorbell followed, their eyes met. “Just stay quiet and they’ll go away,” Molly whispered.
Jordan nodded and held her eyes, trying desperately to maintain her breathing with Molly’s hands still on the zipper of her jeans. Several seconds passed.
“MollyDolly, you home?” Another knock. “Your car is in the driveway.”
Molly’s eyes widened and she pushed herself up. “Dad?” she called. “How did he get here?” she murmured and made her way quickly to the door.
Jordan took the cue and put herself back together again, attempting to resemble a normal human being going about life. No crazy almost-sex here. She followed Molly to the entryway where she found her ushering her father into the house.
“Hi there, sweetheart,” he said, kissing Molly’s cheek and squeezing her tight.
Molly looked incredibly concerned. “Is everything all right? What’s going on?”
“No, no, everything is fine. Just thought I’d pay my daughter a visit. Oh, hello,” he said, noticing Jordan for the first time.
“Dad, it’s Jordan Tuscana. You remember Jordan.”
He looked harder and broke into an enormous grin. “Why, it sure is. Well, would you look at this girl? I haven’t seen you in years.” He closed the distance between them and pulled Jordan into a warm embrace. She’d always liked Mr. O’Brien. There was something about him that spoke of kindness, and there was always that contagious twinkle in his eye. Plus, he used to give her a free cookie when she’d stopped by the bakeshop growing up.
“Hi, Mr. O. It’s so good to see you.”
“You too.” He turned to Molly and hooked a thumb at Jordan. “This one’s turned into quite a looker.”
“She has,” Molly agreed conservatively. “All grown up, it seems.”
“Doesn’t it just seem?” Jordan said playfully, sliding Molly a private look. Molly responded with widened eyes, a silent warning for her to behave.
“You don’t look much like Cassie,” Mr. O’Brien said, studying Jordan. “But I suppose you always favored your mother’s side of the family and Cassie your father’s. Wouldn’t you say, Molly?”
Jordan caught the obvious tension that entered Molly’s body at the mention of her sister and deflated a little at the sight. It was still there, that silent barrier between them. Maybe it always would be.
“Yeah, I’d say that’s about right.” But her eyes had lost the vibrancy that had been there just a moment before, and Jordan felt the hit.
She’d spent her whole life being compared to Cassie. Why would this be any different? The only thing was, it was too important to pale in comparison when it came to Molly. She couldn’t live with falling short in this instance. So what did that mean for them?
“What have you girls got going tonight?”
Molly shook her head at him. “Wait. You haven’t explained how you got here.” She threw a curious glance out the entryway window. “Did someone from The Manor drive you? Why didn’t they call?”
“I walked,” he said, and strolled past them into the living room.
“Dad!” Molly said, following him. “That’s like fourteen blocks. Please tell me you didn’t. You know better.”
Mr. O’Brien took a seat and sighed deeply as he settled into the chair. “Relax. I made it here in one piece.”
“And what if you hadn’t?” Molly looked horrified. “Your heart can’t take that kind of exertion anymore. The doctors have been through this with you. Why won’t you listen to them?”
“Molly, I’m a sixty-eight-year-old man who wanted to see his daughter. And I decided to do just that.”
“I would have come to you. Or picked you up.”
Mr. O’Brien looked frustrated and a little sad. “I have to be able to do things for myself. Why won’t anyone let me? I’m more than capable—” But he was coughing now, and it didn’t sound good. Molly moved to sit beside him and Jordan sought a glass of water from the kitchen.
When the rattling cough subsided, he drank a few swallows from the glass. “I’m sorry,” he said to Molly resolutely. “I don’t like upsetting you, but I needed to get out on my own this afternoon. I needed to feel like a person again. Like myself.”
Molly nodded, but tears touched her eyes. She hugged him then, and Jordan felt a sentimental pull at the display. They’d always had such a strong bond, Molly and her father. For years, she’d watched their relationship with envy. She didn’t have very many gentle moments with her own father. He just wasn’t built that way. A ruffling of her hair, or a quick half hug. He meant well, she knew that, but it had never been easy the way it was for the two people in front of her. They were a team and it showed.
“Why don’t we all go to dinner?” Jordan asked. It wasn’t exactly her place to make such a suggestion, but it was out of her mouth before she could stop herself. Mr. O’Brien just seemed so sad and she wanted desperately to cheer him up.
He seemed to perk up a bit at the offer. “I don’t want to ruin any plans you might have.”
Molly shrugged. “We don’t have plans and I’m starving. Do you feel up for it?”
An enormous smile broke across his face, as if he were touched at the invitation. “I’d really like that.”
“Great,” Molly said. “Let me call over to The Manor and let them know what’s going on. I don’t want them sending out a search party for you.” As she passed Jordan, she squeezed her arm. “Thank you,” she said quietly, meeting her eyes.
Jordan nodded, happy to hear she hadn’t overstepped her bounds.
*
Molly listened to the two of them in awe. They were like long lost best pals.
“I think City Lights might have been his best work.” Her father set down his fork. “The opening scene where the tramp meets the flower girl, now that was a masterpiece.”
Jordan nodded, her eyes sparkling in excitement. “Did you know Chaplin shot that scene three hundred and forty-two times? He couldn’t figure out how the blind girl was going to mistake the tramp for a wealthy man. Can you imagine the mood on that set?”
“I wouldn’t want to.”
“Cheers to that.” They clinked glasses and Molly regarded them. They’d been chatting about movies for the past thirty minutes and seemed to be having a great time. It was fun to watch them exchange stories, each so involved in what the other had to say. She could listen to them all night.
It turned out that Jordan’s idea had been a good one.
They’d decided on Angelina’s, a quiet little Italian restaurant just on the perimeter of Applewood. They’d shared a bottle of Chianti, though her father limited himself to one glass. The homemade lasagna was to die for, and Molly had been eying Jordan’s spaghetti and meatballs ever since their food had arrived. When her father excused himself to the restroom, she made her move.
“Hey, isn’t that Mrs. Trimble, the hateful algebra teacher from high school?”
Jordan turned in her chair and Molly slyly stole a meatball and popped it into her mouth. Jordan whirled back around and shot her a look of feigned shock. “I can’t believe you just did that.”
“So incredibly worth it,” Molly managed as she finished chewing the most wonderful meatball on the planet.
“Totally blatant.”
“Yeah, well, I’m a daredevil. They actually call me that around town. Daredevil Molly.”
Jordan laughed. “First of all, no one calls you that, and second of all, you’re really cute when you have sauce all over your face.”
“And that would be?”
“Right now. Yeah.”
“Oh,” Molly said, appropriately embarrassed. She grabbed her napkin and went about scrubbing the side of her mouth.