Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
“Really?” She looks disbelieving as she closes the door and hangs her coat up next to it.
“Seriously.” I look back at the house and shake my head. “The woodwork is incredible. Is the railing hand carved?”
“Oh.” She seems surprised by this question. “I don’t know. This was my aunt's house. We moved here when I was little, but she passed away recently, and I don’t know the history of it.”
“There’s a historic plaque on the front porch,” I say, and her eyes widen.
“There is?”
I’m well aware that I notice things like this because I’m an engineer. I love structures and the way things are built, but I’m also a sucker for a historic home. “Yeah, it says it was built in 1890. They don’t make them like this anymore.”
“I guess I always thought of it as a gingerbread house,” Molly shrugs. “It kind of looks like one from the front.”
“Yeah, Victorian revivals have that look. They’re usually pastel colors, so the pink was a good choice.” Molly seems surprised by this information. “And I can see the Christmas decorations reflect that.”
“I thought that’s what you were commenting on when you first walked in.” She looks around the space like she’s trying to see it through my eyes. “I know it’s a lot, but I love it.”
“I don’t have a problem with extra.” She narrows her eyes on me. “What? It would be different if you brought me into a modern house with minimalist vibes and you had decorations everywhere. But in a house like this, extra is exactly what it’s supposed to be. Look at the ceiling and the floors and all the woodwork around the door frames. Everything is ornate and over the top. Hence, extra.”
“Maybe that’s why I love it so much,” she says. “Come on, I’ll show you to the kitchen.”
The back of the house is where some updates have been made with a modern kitchen and a family room that was most likely a bedroom at some point. The restoration was done with care to the house, and I can’t get over how beautiful it is. I can see why Molly loves it and also why she could probably never leave it.
Not that I’m thinking about her leaving here. I mean, where would she go? With me? Yeah, right, it’s not like I’d want her to come live with me in the city. My apartment is cramped and sterile compared to this soft space. Molly’s home is a place to raise a family, where mine is cold and impersonal like an office. The city isn’t the place for her. She’s meant for a town like Cheerful. Where everyone knows her and celebrates her talents. Not in the city where she’d get pushed off the sidewalk and lost in the shuffle.
The thought of her not fitting into my world saddens me for reasons I’m not willing to admit. But it’s not like I could fit in here. I’m surly, and most people find me standoffish. I work well with others on projects, but I’m not their friend. We’re not working together to have a good time; we’re working toward a goal. Once that’s done, so are we. I’m not the type of person that walks down the street and people say hello to me, even if that’s exactly what happened today. They were only being nice because of Molly. Not because they know me.
Our lives can’t mix, so why the hell am I here? The work I’m doing for the next town over can be done from my apartment. Sure, the bridge is still closed, but I could drive around. It would take ten hours longer, but I’m not stuck here or anything. Yet, when Kim asked me when I was heading home, I got that pain in my chest again.
“I stand corrected,” I tell Molly when I place the groceries on the counter. “Pink is clearly a Christmas color.”
“So if I were to translate ‘I stand corrected,’ that would mean…” She trails off, letting me finish the sentence for her.
“I was wrong.” I press my lips together and scowl, and she thinks it’s hilarious.
Molly’s laughter dances through the house, and it’s like the world stops spinning. I blink, and there’s a vision of the future right in front of me. Molly is standing there, pregnant with a ring on her finger. She’s got her hair up in a bun while she wears Christmas pajamas and helps a little girl make cookies at the kitchen counter. There’s flour everywhere, but Molly tells her it’s like fairy dust and makes the cookies magic.
“Noah?” Molly says my name, but it echoes in the distance like I’m far away from her.
The scene I imagine changes, and now it’s Molly with children as tall as she is. Only now she’s got gray hair and lines around her mouth because she smiles so often. She’s helping her granddaughter make cookies in the same spot, and I want to reach out and hold her hand.