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  Helena dropped her face into her hands. “Oh God. I should not drink champagne.”

  “Maybe not.”

  Her bout of shame didn’t last long, though. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I think you two should at least go out. Just to see if anything sparks. She’s pretty and smart and owns her own business . . .”

  “Enough,” he snapped. “I’m not going to ask Molly out on a date, okay?”

  “Ahem.”

  The interruption had both his and Helena’s heads snapping around.

  Molly was standing half out of the kitchen door, eyebrows near her hairline in surprise. “This is either a very good or very bad time for me to interrupt,” she said dryly, “but dinner is almost ready.”

  Damn it.

  “Now look what you’ve done,” Helena grumbled as Molly went back inside. Then she smacked him on the arm.

  “Me? This is not my fault.” He rubbed his arm. That had hurt.

  “You’ve probably hurt her feelings.”

  “Only because you were badgering me. And anyway, I don’t think Molly has any romantic feelings for me.”

  “Well, now she certainly doesn’t. But that doesn’t matter. No one likes to hear that someone’s not interested in them.”

  “Then don’t try to fix people up, Helena. It’s extremely annoying and leads to situations like this.”

  Surprisingly, all the snap went out of Helena’s voice. “I’ll apologize to her—”

  “Good.”

  “But you should, too,” she said as she stood. Then she disappeared inside the house.

  Tate leaned his head back and cursed softly. He would apologize, of course, because he certainly hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings. He hadn’t even meant to sound that repulsed by the idea.

  He could only hope Molly would be just as understanding this time as she’d been on New Year’s Eve, when she’d simply smirked and rolled her eyes before offering up her cheek for a kiss. They’d never mentioned it again.

  If he was lucky, Helena would confess to her hounding when she apologized, giving at least a partial excuse for what he’d said.

  It wasn’t as if he had something specific against Molly. He’d been dating Tamara when she first arrived in town, and by the time they’d broken up, it was already well known that Molly had turned down every guy who’d asked her out, and she was just “Molly-from-Latte-Dah” to him by then.

  And she’d remained just “Molly-from-Latte-Dah” until she’d become friends with Helena—and, by extension, him, too—so she’d never pinged on his radar in that way.

  But now Hell-on-Wheels had dragged him into yet another fine mess, and he was going to be the one trying to clean it up.

  Again.

  For years, he’d been the one standing up for Helena when other people said she was bad news. A troublemaker.

  Right now, he agreed with them.

  Chapter 3

  Under different circumstances, this would’ve been quite funny. And Molly was pretty sure that at some point in the future she’d look back on this and laugh.

  Right now, though, it was pretty awkward.

  She’d already had words with Helena about Tate once tonight. Inviting him to dinner so things could casually come around to the Children’s Fair was just plain manipulative, and she resented being roped into it. But now . . .

  She hadn’t felt this humiliated in years. At least it was contained to only three people, but that barely mitigated the situation.

  She hadn’t heard much beyond Tate’s avowal not to ask her out, so she had no context for the statement, but, honestly, would context help? There wasn’t much to misunderstand, with or without the rest of the conversation.

  She could guess at it, though. Helena had, once or twice—including orchestrating the most awkward New Year’s Eve kiss ever—made it clumsily clear that she would like to see Tate and Molly together, but the idea wasn’t completely out of left field. She and Tate occasionally did things with Helena and Ryan, and logistics often split them up like two couples instead of one couple and two singles. And she also understood the urge to fix up single friends once you were in a relationship.

  And considering how important Tate was to Helena, Molly almost felt as if she should be honored that Helena thought she was good enough for him.

  If only Ms. Louise had sent her out to get them just a few moments later . . .

  Helena had whispered an apology in passing and promised to explain later, but Molly was planning to claim a headache and go home before this night got any worse. Tate looked distinctly uncomfortable when he followed Helena in a few minutes later, but Ms. Louise had called them all to the table before anything had been said.

  Now they were all paying for that one moment with extreme awkwardness. The presence of Ms. Louise and Ryan’s arrival with his dog, Tank—however tardy they might be—precluded any conversation about what had happened, which Molly was rather thankful for. The more she thought about it, the more she knew that actually having that conversation would only make the situation worse and more humiliating and should be avoided at all costs. So they sat there at the table, making small talk while Helena kept shooting her apologetic looks across her chicken and Tate looked as if he was ready to strangle someone—probably Helena. Ryan, bless him, was pretty much clueless about the undercurrents, and while Ms. Louise was probably aware something was going on, she was much too polite to bring it up.

  It wasn’t that she wanted to go out with Tate, nor did she necessarily want him to want her, but really, there was no way not to be a little bummed to hear it stated so baldly.

  And now that she knew, and he knew, and she knew that he knew she knew . . . Ugh. There was no way for it not to be awkward as hell.

  Oh God. What if Tate thinks I put Helena up to it?

  If Tate didn’t strangle Helena, she just might.

  The unable-to-be-addressed tension put a bit of a damper on dinner. And since Ms. Louise and Helena were the closest thing to family she had, she looked forward to these dinners. She didn’t want it to be strained and weird for everyone.

  “Helena says you’ve taken over the Children’s Fair for Mrs. Kennedy,” Ryan said with just the right level of interest for the mayor to have.

  That only served to remind her that she was now going to have to swallow a heaping serving of humiliation in order to work with Tate. I have a meeting with him tomorrow, too. Kill me now. “I have,” she managed to answer.

  “That’s a big job,” he replied, obviously not realizing how fraught that topic was.

  “It’ll be good to have some new blood in there,” Ms. Louise said. “Eula’s had control of it since God was a child, and she’s way too possessive of it.”

  “Grannie . . .” Helena scolded gently.

  “I’ve said the exact same thing to Eula’s face many times.” Ms. Louise was not in the least bit contrite over her words. “That’s how you end up killing things.” She turned to Molly and smiled warmly. “I’m sure you’ll do wonderfully at the helm.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Louise. I realize it’s a big responsibility I’ve been entrusted with, and I hope I can run it half as well as Mrs. Kennedy.”

  “That’s very diplomatic of you, dear.” Ms. Louise bit back a small smile. “Make all the changes you want. Eula will get over it.”

  Remind me not to underestimate the cattiness of little old ladies. But it was nice to hear Ms. Louise had faith in her. It both buoyed her and warmed her. Ms. Louise wasn’t one to offer empty flattery, so her words carried oomph. “Helena told me you might have some ideas you’d like to see implemented. I’d love to hear them—or any other advice you’d like to offer.”

  “Me? No. I don’t think I’ve set foot inside the park during the Children’s Fair in years. I’m happier over with the bake sales and things like that. I wouldn’t have a clue where to begin.”

  So the whole evening had been a setup. I’m going to kill Helena Wheeler.

  “Tate’s going to h
elp Molly get everything sorted,” Helena offered.

  Grannie smiled. “That’s good. I’m glad to hear you’ll be getting more involved with things, Tate. I’m sure the two of you will make a great team.”

  “Oh, I totally agree. They’ll be wonderful together,” Helena added, ignoring Tate as he quietly choked on his drink.

  Molly kicked her under the table.

  “Ouch.” Helena gave her a look, and Molly stared her down, hoping Helena got the very real threat of bodily harm being sent telepathically.

  “Are you okay?” Ryan asked.

  “I’m fine. Just bit my tongue.” Then Helena smiled the fakest smile ever as she turned to Tate. “Can we expect exciting and fun new things from you two?”

  Molly wanted to kick her again, but her foot only found air where Helena’s legs used to be.

  “Probably not,” Tate said. “It’s a little late in the process to make too many changes. But speaking of fun and exciting things, did I hear you say that you and Ryan had set a wedding date?”

  It was Helena’s turn to choke as Ryan quickly looked at his empty plate as if he’d never seen it before. Ms. Louise perked up at that question, saying, “How wonderful!” as a huge smile spread across her face. Had she been closer, Molly would have given Tate a high five for turning the tables like that. She loved Helena, but that was completely deserved.

  Instead, a glance at Helena’s face had her standing. “I’ll clear some of these plates away.” She wanted to get out of the line of fire—just in case.

  “I’ll help,” Tate added, jumping up and following her into the kitchen, leaving a hushed yet fervent conversation behind.

  While she understood Tate’s need to get out of there, she was a little worried about being alone with him in the kitchen. What if he wanted to talk about it now? She needed time to prepare herself, to figure out what the hell she was going to say before she had that conversation. She could only hope Tate would choose to pretend the whole thing had never even happened. That would be grand.

  “Helena will kill you for that,” she said, stacking dishes in the sink.

  “Probably. But she deserved it.” Tate leaned against the kitchen table and crossed his arms over his chest. “Look, Molly, about earlier—”

  Damn. She grabbed at the first available topic to sidetrack him. “I wanted to talk to you about Nigel.”

  Tate took the change in topic in stride. “Is he okay?”

  “Yeah, um . . .” Now she had to come up with a question. “I think he’s starting to get a little chubby.”

  “His weight was fine at his last visit, right? Did I tell you he was getting into the danger zone?”

  “No, but . . .”

  “Pet him and see if you can feel his ribs. If you can’t, he’s overweight, and you’ll need to put him on a diet. When’s he due to come in again?”

  “A couple of months.” Tate’s efficient answers suddenly had her wondering whether she’d felt Nigel’s ribs recently or not.

  “Unless you think he’s really packing on the pounds, it’s probably not worth a special trip to see me. If it’s just a little flab, cut back a little on the amount of food you’re giving him and try to get him some more exercise. If you’re worried, though, I’d be happy to check him out.”

  “I don’t think it’s that urgent.” But now she was a little worried.

  He nodded. “Good. So . . .”

  She was searching for another topic to keep him from going back to the one she wanted to avoid when she was saved by Helena, hands full of dishes, sliding the door between the kitchen and the dining room open with her elbow. Helena shot Tate a dirty look. “You’re dead meat,” she threatened, sliding her load onto the counter. “You did that on purpose.”

  “Yeah, I did,” he said, completely unrepentant. “It serves you right.”

  “What did I do?” Helena protested, all innocence.

  “Embarrassing me and Molly like that?”

  “Only three people at the table had any idea what I was teasing about, but now you’ve gotten Grannie’s hopes up about a wedding that’s not happening anytime soon. It crushed her when I told her you were just kidding. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  “Me? You’re the one—”

  Molly eased toward the door. Usually it was amusing to watch Tate and Helena bicker, but she wanted to get out of there before the topic rolled back around to her. She was almost out when Helena glanced over.

  “Wait a second . . .”

  “I’ve got a busy day tomorrow. Thanks for dinner, Helena.” She nodded in Tate’s direction. “I’ll see you later.”

  Saying good night to Ryan and Ms. Louise was not as easy, as Ms. Louise seemed determined to talk about wedding dates and Ryan seemed to be dodging the subject with some amazing verbal gymnastics.

  “Are you not staying for coffee?” Ryan asked, the desperation clear on his face.

  One benefit of owning a coffee shop was the ease with which she could refuse others’ offers of coffee—either they assumed she was over coffee in general or they assumed their coffee wouldn’t be good enough for her. Neither assumption was correct, but Molly wasn’t above playing that card when she needed to.

  “No, I can’t. Thanks, though. Dinner was wonderful, Ms. Louise, as always. I’ll see y’all later.” She stopped long enough to pat Tank’s head. He was a rather funny-looking dog, being hairless and all, but there was something irresistible about him, too—mainly because he thought he was a much larger dog than he was.

  On the porch, she took a deep breath. Some people might consider this to be a cowardly retreat, but staying really wasn’t an option. She understood why Tate had brought up the wedding, and it was a fair play, but she didn’t have a dog in the fight. Helena’s wedding date was not her business until Helena informed her it was.

  She had very strong feelings about that, both because marriage wasn’t something people should be rushed or pressured into—she knew firsthand exactly how bad a disaster that could be—and because she really tried to stay out of things that weren’t her business.

  Even if she didn’t feel that way, a strong sense of self-preservation would keep her out of it tonight. Tate could risk his life in that mess all he wanted. She was staying the hell out.

  Clouds had moved in as the sun set, cooling things down and making her wish she’d brought a sweater for the walk home. She’d run home, even in these shoes, both for the exercise and the heat, except she was way too full to consider that kind of exertion. She could walk fast, though. It wasn’t but a few blocks.

  It was quiet outside, with most folks home for the evening, and the people in the houses were backlit behind their curtains as they moved around. A few folks were still out walking their dogs or taking after-dinner strolls, and she could hear the shouts and laughter of children playing nearby as a man’s voice called them inside.

  At the foot of Ms. Louise’s driveway, she paused long enough to pull out her phone and check her mail—just long enough for Cindy Claris to spot her and break into a trot down the sidewalk, dragging her Chihuahua, Itsy, behind her as she tried to catch up. “Molly, wait!”

  She did, and Cindy came to a stop beside her a few moments later, panting from the brief run. Itsy danced around her feet, seemingly delighted at the change of pace.

  Cindy started in on a long, convoluted story involving Latte Dah, the War Memorial, and the Fourth of July parade, but Molly was having a hard time making the connection between the three things. Since she hadn’t been drinking, she had to wonder whether Cindy had been. “I’m not sure I—”

  She was interrupted by a loud barking, followed by shouts of “Tank! No!” and Itsy trying to climb Cindy’s leg as a small dark smudge dodged around them in the twilight. Without thinking, she reached down and grabbed Tank’s collar, stopping his pursuit, and scooped him into her arms, where he wiggled furiously and alternated between growls and barks.

  Tate was only seconds behind, apologizing profusely at lettin
g Tank past him and trying to soothe both the dogs and Cindy. Cindy, though, was convinced Itsy had suffered trauma—psychological, if not physical—from Tank’s bolt in her direction, so Molly carried Tank back up to the porch, where Ryan was emerging to find out what was going on.

  “Sorry, Cindy,” he called in that direction, lifting Tank out of Molly’s arms. Dropping his voice, he explained, “He doesn’t like little dogs.”

  That was funny, since Tank probably weighed only six or seven pounds himself. “I don’t think he got hold of Itsy,” she assured him. “He just startled everyone.”

  “Damn,” Ryan said, surprising her.

  Looking over her shoulder, Molly saw Cindy stalking across the yard in high dudgeon. “Oh. Good luck with that.”

  At least she’d escaped Cindy’s confusing conversation, she thought with a small twinge of guilty pleasure. Cindy would follow up eventually, but maybe when Molly wasn’t so full of baked chicken and Ms. Louise’s famous potato cheese casserole the conversation might make sense. Or she’d at least have more patience for it.

  Tate was waiting at the end of the driveway where Cindy had left him. “You okay?” he asked.

  “Fine. Tank didn’t do any damage to Itsy, did he?”

  He shook his head. “Nah, Itsy’s fine.”

  “Oh, good. Well, good night, then.” Belatedly, she noticed only Helena’s and Ryan’s cars in the driveway. Which meant Tate was on foot as she was. And since he lived two blocks past her house, he’d be walking in the same direction. If Cindy hadn’t stopped her, she’d be far enough ahead to avoid Tate offering—

  “I’ll walk with you.”

  There was no way to politely decline, which meant the uncomfortable kitchen conversation she’d avoided was now simply going to be her uncomfortable walk-home conversation instead.

  She scrambled to gather her thoughts. As she knew fine well, no one liked to hear, “I’m not interested in you,” and, dinged pride aside, she saw no reason to throw something like that in his face out of petty revenge. Tate was nice, and cute, too—tall and broad shouldered with inky black hair and bright blue eyes. If she were shopping the market, he’d be an excellent choice. But she wasn’t, so it didn’t matter. Now she just needed to get back to the friendly-acquaintance footing they’d lost tonight due to Helena’s meddling.