Page 69 of The Last Autograph
Jesse Sinclair.
The smoothness of the hickory beneath her fingers comforted her, and Molly gave thanks to Jesse for his roundabout way of showing her that he cared.
Armed with paper, scissors, and tape, Molly wrapped both items separately and tied them with neat bows, then slipped them into her bag for the following day.
After work on Monday, with the wrapped drumsticks and photo book on the passenger seat, her mood upbeat as she thought of Jake and how he’d react, Molly drove from the CBD, through several sets of lights, and turned onto Seaview Road.
When she pulled up outside the patisserie, the closed sign was already hanging in the window, but she could see Ari inside, wiping down the tables before placing the chairs on top.
She knocked on the front door, and he opened it, flashing his usual charismatic smile. “Hey, you want to see the boss?”
“Yes, is he still here?”
“He is. I’ll leave you to it, or I’ll be late for rugby practice.”
“Thanks, Ari.”
Jake appeared from the back storeroom, wiping his hands on his apron and flaunting that lazy smile she’d come to love. Butterflies still danced in her stomach every time they met, and she couldn’t take her eyes off him. “Hi, I’m glad you’re still here.”
He leaned in for a kiss but seemed a little distant. “Yeah, just organizing a few things for the morning. You hungry?”
“No. But I’d love a decaf if you have time.”
“Coming right up.”
Molly sat at the table closest to the kitchen while Jake fired up the staff coffee machine, and as the Barista Express hissed and dripped into the cups, she recalled their Saturday evening with a sense of contentment. The way Jake read to her without embarrassment and the warmth of his arms around her as they drifted off to sleep after their bath—after their mind-blowing sex.
Coffee made, Jake set both cups on the table and took a seat opposite her.
“I’ve brought you a gift.” She reached into her bag and offered the drumsticks across the table.
“What is it?”
“Just something I figured you might like.”
Molly studied him as he unwrapped the package, his brow furrowed in puzzlement.When Jesse first sent them to her, she’d taken those drumsticks everywhere. They’d laid on the back seat of her car, on her bedroom desk; they’d even accompanied her on an Australian holiday once, slotted into the side pocket of her suitcase. Their presence somehow gave her hope.
But a week after that holiday, while back home in Tulloch Point, Molly finally questioned why—with no further contact from Jesse—the autographed drumsticks held such a special place in her heart, and she knew it was time to pack them away. So, with the sticks wrapped in the pillowcase, Molly climbed the stairs to the attic and tucked them away in the glory box—out of sight but not quite out of mind.
Jake’s posture stiffened. He held the sticks in both hands as if about to drum a beat on the table in front of him. “Where did you get these?”
“Jesse gave them to me. Well, he sent them to my parents’ house about a month after our last night together. He didn’t include a note or even a return address, and I always wondered why he bothered, especially after the fact.”
“And you’re giving them to me?”
As a wave of melancholy swept over her, Molly simply nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak as she considered his expression.
“Thank you,” he said finally. “These are unique.”
“Unique? In what way?”
Still lost in his thoughts, Jake continued to stare at them. “He said they were the last thing from his band days that he put his name to. He only ever autographed one pair.”
“How do you know that?”
Jake ran his fingertips over his brother’s name. “I was there at the time and handed him the Sharpie.”
“Was this after his diagnosis?”
