Page 41 of The Last Autograph
“What? I’m not even thirty yet!”
“You young ones seem to think time is on your side, but time takes its hostages without a flinch. Believe me, I could write a book on the subject.”
Molly considered her words. Having buried three husbands, Gloria had every right to offer her take on life and expect Molly to listen. “Anyway, even if Jake is kind of interesting, despite what you say about puffing rain clouds, he’s too intense for me.”
“Well, he’ll suit your sunny personality just fine then, won’t he?” She stood. “Right, let’s put on some Fleetwood Mac and have a nip of Mitch’s limoncello before bed. It will help us sleep.”
Her sunny personality? Where had that disappeared to lately? “You think?”
“Oh yes. It’s better than sex now that I’m almost eighty.”
Molly smiled. Gloria was eighty-five last time Aunt Andrea mentioned her age. But who was counting?
Unfortunately, the limoncello didn’t help Molly sleep at all. Now after eleven, she tossed and turned, wondering if Jake was standing in the kitchen that afternoon, watching her through the one-way glass—just as she’d secretly watched him at the after-party.
Gloria had called him a grump, and at first, Molly’s assessment of him matched her landlady’s, but he’d been pleasant enough company on the ride home that night, albeit rather drunk, so perhaps that didn’t count. Then there was his early morning call as she strolled along the shores of Sandwater Bay, where he’d also seemed genial.
So how many times did she have to remind herself that he was Jesse’s twin before her head got the message to stop thinking about him? Jake Sinclair was off-limits, and she knew it.
Yet, the attraction drawing Molly to the man was beginning to override her better judgment—as is so often the case when two souls can’t quite reconcile their connection. It could be awkward until the emotional ice was broken or vice versa if a physical connection came before the emotional.
And as she lay in the dark, the ceiling revealing no secrets, she wondered if Alexia was right. Was Jake Sinclair a sloppy kisser? She suspected not and smiled at the thought.
Despite rushing to the patisserie straight after work the following Tuesday, the closed sign was already swinging in the window by the time Molly pulled up outside. She cursed under her breath. Gloria had ordered a dozen éclairs for her mahjong evening, and Molly promised her she’d pick them up.
However, just as she was about to text him, Jake appeared on the pavement, cap backward and looking as sexy in his chef’s garb as he did in a wetsuit. He opened the passenger door. “You’re late.”
“I know.” His gruff greeting amused her and she smiled. “But you’re still here, so how lucky am I?”
He shook his head. “Are you coming in?”
Yes, Chef.“Is that okay?”
“Of course. Gloria’s order’s ready. I was going to text to say I’d drop it off later.” He tilted his head toward the store. “Come on.”
Molly opened her car door and smiled at him as she climbed out and stepped forward. “You do home deliveries?”
“Not normally.” He didn’t return the smile, and Molly felt herself flush under his scrutiny.
Jake led her through the store and into the kitchen—a compact space clad in wall-to-wall stainless steel.
He entered the chiller and returned with a box tied with transparent foiled ribbon, which he placed in a cool bag. “Gloria’s order. The receipt’s inside.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem.” He hesitated, his expression still serious as he held her gaze just a fraction too long before looking away. “Right. I better get back to work.”
“You’re still baking?”
“Yeah, just a batch of choux for tomorrow.”
“May I watch?”
He raised both brows. She couldn’t quite tell whether it was in annoyance or something else. “What, you want a master class now?”
Molly failed to suppress a grin. “Yes. Is that okay? You can show me all the tricks of the trade.”
They locked eyes once again and she could see him weighing up his options.
