New York, Actually: A sparkling romantic comedy from the bestselling Queen of Romance. Sarah Morgan
been enough for her mother either.
Her father’s voice boomed down the phone, dragging her back to the present. “How’s my girl?”
“I’m good.” She deleted a few spam emails with a stab of her finger. “Busy. Working on proofs of my next book.”
“Always helping other people with their relationships. How about your own? And I’m not talking about Valentine.”
“I have plenty of men in my life, Dad. I have a packed schedule. Tuesday and Friday is salsa dancing, Thursday is spin class, Wednesday is cooking class, Monday is theater group—there are men at all those places.”
“But you’re single.”
“That’s right. It’s because I’m single I can do all those things.”
“Relationships are important, honey. You’re the one who always told me that.”
“I have relationships. I had supper with Gabe and Mark a few nights ago. Mark is taking an Italian cookery class. His tortellini is incredible, you should taste it.”
“Gabe and Mark are gay.”
“So? They’re my closest friends.” Although she’d never truly tested that friendship, of course. She’d discovered to her cost that the test of true friendship was whether you were willing to stand by someone being named and shamed. She seriously hoped she never had to test that out again. “And friendship is a relationship. They’re great listeners and very happy together. It’s good to be around them.”
“You know you’re a hypocrite? All those years you tried to pair me up with someone and told me to take the risk, but you won’t take the risk yourself.”
“That’s different. I didn’t like seeing you on your own. You have wonderful qualities that were crying out to be shared with someone special.”
“You have wonderful qualities, too, Molly.” He made a little sound. “Still feels weird calling you that.”
“It’s my name, Dad.”
“But not one we ever used until you moved to New York. Do you feel like Molly?”
“I definitely feel like Molly. I like being Molly. And I share Molly’s qualities with a bunch of people who appreciate them.”
A sigh reverberated down the phone. “I worry about you. I worry this is all my fault. I feel responsible.”
“You’re not responsible.” It was a conversation they’d had numerous times over the years, despite the fact that in the weeks and months after her mother had left, Molly had only ever cried in the bathroom where her father couldn’t witness her distress. The rest of the time she pretended she was coping well because she hadn’t wanted to make it worse for him. It was hideously unjust, she thought, that he felt guilty about something over which he’d had no control.
“Carly read your book. She thinks you have abandonment issues.”
“She’s right. I do. But I came to terms with that a long time ago.” Molly picked up her pen and started doodling on the pad next to her desk. Maybe she should get a coloring book. They were the latest non-medicinal stress reliever. She glanced at Valentine. “Maybe I could use a black marker pen and join your dots.”
“What?” Her father sounded confused. “Why are you using marker pen?”
“I’m not. It was a joke. Dad, you need to stop worrying about me. I’m the psychologist in this relationship.”
“I know, and I know people talk to you about everything. But who do you talk to, honey? Do something for me. Go on a date. Do it for me.”
“Do you have anyone in mind? Or should I just grab the first person I meet on the street?” She thought about the man in the park with the wicked blue eyes and the sexy smile. Just thinking about him was enough to get her heart pumping a little harder.
“If that’s what it takes. Just get out there. Get your confidence back. In all those things you go to, you’re telling me you haven’t met a single man who has gained your attention?”
“Not one.” Molly glanced at Valentine, pleased that he couldn’t talk. If he could, right now he’d be calling her a liar. “So where are you and Carly going next?”
“Traveling north to Oregon. We’re going to hike part of the Pacific Crest Trail.”
“Have fun and send me photos.”
“Carly has started a blog, You’re Never Too Old to Be Bold.”
“I’ll take a look. And now I need to go, I have a ton of work to do. Go and be bold. Only try not to do it in public. And give Carly my love.” With a smile, she ended the call and returned to her computer.
She was happy being single. And if that seemed like a strange admission for someone who specialized in relationships, she didn’t care. These days she separated her work life from her real life.
Her mind wandered back to the guy in the park. For a few forbidden seconds she wondered what it would be like to be with a man like him and then she snapped herself back to the present.
She knew what it would be like to be with a man like him. Trauma and trouble.
She wasn’t going to wonder if she was a coward for not accepting his offer of coffee.
It wasn’t cowardice, it was common sense.
It meant that she’d learned from experience, and experience told her that an invitation to coffee didn’t stop there. It was a beginning, not an end, and she wasn’t in the mood to begin anything. Especially not with a man like Daniel. Daniel…? She realized she didn’t know his last name.
She opened an email and read the question.
Dear Aggie, my mother picked out sexy underwear for my girlfriend but she’s refusing to wear it. Why?
With a groan of despair, Molly sat back in her chair and reached for her water.
Was the guy serious?
Because nothing says “I care” like underwear picked out by your mother.
Some men didn’t have a clue.
She sighed and started to type.
Not only was she making a good living by doing what she did, she was performing a public service.
* * *
The next day there was no sign of him.
Valentine ran in circles, sniffing the ground and the air, looking hopeful. When it was obvious that he was going to be playing alone he sent her a long reproachful look.
“Not my fault.” Molly paused to draw breath. “Or maybe it is my fault. I gave him the brush-off, but trust me, it was the right thing to do. Let’s go.”
Valentine sat, refusing to budge.
“There is no point in us hanging around because I can tell you now he’s not going to show. And that’s good. I’m glad he’s not here.” She felt an unfamiliar tug in her gut. “You have a lot to learn about relationships. They’re complicated. Even friendships. My advice is to lower your expectations. People let you down and disappoint you. I’m guessing dogs might be the same. Looking out for Brutus is a very bad thing.”
Valentine ignored her and sniffed the ground, passing up the company of a sleek-looking Labrador and an overenthusiastic bulldog in his search for his preferred companion.
Breathless from her run, Molly stretched and then sat down on a bench.
That feeling inside her couldn’t possibly be disappointment, could it? She’d spoken to him once. Once, that was all.
But they’d been exchanging glances for a week, and those glances had shifted from a look to a smile, and