Authors: Melissa Brayden
The second section of the funhouse was a rather complicated maze of mirrors. “Get ready,” Jordan offered. “I’m kind of a maze prodigy.” They maneuvered corners and squeezed through tight spots that forced them close together. But as is typical when dealing with a maze, every few minutes, Molly found herself stopped short up against Jordan’s warm body. As time went on, she started to anticipate it, hope for it. Long for it.
A rapid succession of inappropriate thoughts moved through her mind and she couldn’t say it bothered her. Her libido was clearly alive and well and trained alertly on Jordan and the incredibly sexy black top that dipped just low enough in front. The faded jeans she wore looked like they were made for her near perfect body.
They heard loud voices from up front as a group of kids entered the fun house. Jordan held a finger to her lips to indicate silence and gestured with her head for Molly to follow her into the darkened room that shot off the pathway at the end of the maze. Stealth was the name of the game and it was fun. Molly wasted no time and joined Jordan in the dim room, the only illumination a black light that caused the white tic-tac-toe marks on the wall to glow subtly.
Once they were inside and alone, Jordan gently pushed her up against the wall. “I thought we could steal a moment,” she murmured. “Want to steal a moment?”
Molly met her gaze. “Is that what this is called?”
“Something like that.” The sexy sound of Jordan’s voice coupled with the way she was holding her let loose another tidal wave of sensation that Molly felt all over. It was the worst kind of physical torture, yet completely welcome at the same time. She was drowning in need after the sly touches, rubs, and bumps of the last few minutes in the fun house. She leaned in to capture Jordan’s lips with her own, only to have her pull away at the very last second.
“Not yet,” Jordan whispered.
“No?”
“No. I just want to hold you right here for a minute, because
this
feels really good.” As she spoke, her hands drifted slowly down Molly’s waist, over the curve of her hips and around behind her until Jordan’s hands slid down and across her ass, pulling her in slowly, tightly. Molly’s mind went completely blank, but oh, God her body didn’t. It was alert and thrumming. She took in air and realized that she wouldn’t be able to take much more of the intense aching. “God, Jordan,” she murmured.
Warm lips covered hers, silencing her. And it was perfection, that feeling. She kissed Jordan back with a wild abandon that she didn’t know she was capable of. She accepted everything Jordan gave, but wanted more still. Jordan melded her more firmly against the wall, holding her tightly as their tongues danced and hands moved. But it wasn’t long before Molly reversed their positions, needing that give and take, the push and pull. She reached her hand up and around Jordan’s neck, then into her hair, loosening it from the clip entirely. But her knees were melting and she wasn’t sure how much more she could take. She knew she was rocking into Jordan and losing the last bit of control—
“Whoa. Check out this one, Justin. Tic-tac-toe time in here.” As the trio of preteen boys entered the room, Molly took a step back, though her eyes held fast to Jordan’s. It was quiet except for the distant sounds of music and the shallow breaths they took as they stared at each other. Molly took a moment to right herself, find her proverbial footing again. Because in all honesty, she was having trouble remembering her own name after the last few minutes.
Jordan took her hand and leaned in next to her ear. “Let’s get out of here.”
They maneuvered the rest of the funhouse clumsily, their limbs no longer as agile. They made fun of themselves as they went, bumping into mirrors and occasionally each other until they finally spilled out into the crisp night air, laughing as they always seemed to laugh when they were together.
Jordan smiled at Molly as their laughter subsided. “So it turns out I like funhouses.”
“So that’s all it takes?” Molly said, inclining her head in the direction of the funhouse.
“I’d hardly minimize the experience.”
Molly sobered and held Jordan’s eyes. “No. I wouldn’t either.”
Silence hung between them. Apparently, neither one of them seemed sure where to go. It was a tangled web they were weaving, but Molly just couldn’t seem to stop herself. In actuality, she wasn’t sure she wanted to, so she ignored the voice of reason in the back of her head.
Jordan took the initiative. “Do you want to—”
“There you are,” Louise said, semi out of breath. She’d appeared out of nowhere and grabbed Molly’s hand. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you. There’s someone who wants to talk to you. ”
“Can it wait, Louise? We were just—”
“No, it can’t. It can’t! You’ll want to meet this guy. Trust me.” Louise tugged on her arm more forcefully and Molly looked to Jordan in apology.
“Maybe we can talk later.”
“Yeah. Definitely. Go take care of whatever it is you need to.” As Molly backed away, Jordan flashed the amazing smile. “I’m going to hit up the Ferris wheel, because Lord knows you wouldn’t go with me.”
There was that tremor again at just the mention of the ride. She swallowed the reaction and instead called over her shoulder to Jordan. “Show-off.”
*
Jordan did ride the Ferris wheel. Twice. Not only did she love the exhilaration of being up so high, but quite honestly, she needed to cool off. The interlude with Molly had carried her somewhere between amazing and torturous, and the cold air rushing across her skin helped bring her back to earth.
She was happy though, and it must have showed.
“What’s going on inside that head of yours?” Little Bobby asked, as they exited the car. She’d run into him at the base of the ride, and he’d eagerly offered to go up with her. They’d been friends since they were kids, and Bobby just seemed to get her. He didn’t say a whole lot to other folks, but with her he always seemed to relax.
“Long story.”
He slung an arm around her waist and pulled her in. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with that Flour Child booth over there, would it? Or its proprietress?”
Jordan stopped walking and turned to Bobby, unsteady by what he might have picked up on. Whatever it was that was transpiring between her and Molly, she knew one thing for sure. Molly wouldn’t want it up for public consumption, and that meant she needed to do damage control. Just the idea of word drifting to her parents…well, she didn’t even want to imagine that moment. “Um, no, actually, it doesn’t. Why? What are you alluding to?” She hated lying. She really did, but it was the best course of action.
“Just feels like there’s some friction there. The good kind.”
Jordan raised a shoulder. “We’re friends. We always have been. That isn’t going to change.”
“Fine. But if you break her heart, you know I’ll have to kill you. The whole town will. That girl’s been through enough and we collectively have her back. Got it?”
“I wouldn’t let that happen. Besides, like I said, you’re misreading the situation.”
“If you say so.” But he didn’t seem convinced. Bobby had always been an intuitive guy.
She decided to turn things around on him. “What about you? The murmurings about you and a Miss Felicia Reid are a bit out of control these days. She sits at your bar and bats her eyelashes while you work. It’s all very adorable. Interested?”
“Nah. You know me, Jordy. I prefer to be on my own. Felicia’s a nice woman. Hell, she let me cheat off of her in algebra back in the day, but I’m not in the market for anything. I have the bar, my Monday Night Football. I’m a happy guy. See?” He pointed at his face and smiled a tiny smile.
Jordan studied him. “That’s the most pathetic smile I’ve ever seen. Don’t close yourself off to anything, okay? Just because you’re used to being on your own doesn’t mean you’re happier that way.”
Bobby’s eyes widened and he gave her a little shove. “Look at you, getting all sentimental on me. All right, Dr. Phil, I’ll keep an open mind.”
“That’s all I’m asking. I’ll send you my bill.”
Jordan and Bobby parted ways when he ran into his more boisterous buddies. Jordan wasn’t in the mood. She walked the fairgrounds, saying hello to friends and friends of friends and even stopping in for a dance or two near the bandstand. Her spirits were high and the night just seemed to thrum with energy. She kept a lookout for Molly, scanning faces in the crowd, but came up short each time.
“Aha, just the girl I’ve been searching for.” Celia Foster, the town librarian, smiled at her conspiratorially. Oh, that couldn’t bode well.
“Hey, Celia. What’s up?”
“Library fundraiser is about to start. And since you’ve spent more than a little time there on your trip home, I thought you might be willing to help us out. We could use the funds.”
Trapped. “Of course. What can I do?”
Celia smiled widely and Jordan knew she was in trouble.
Molly looked on as the middle-aged man in the five hundred dollar boots sampled his fifteenth gazillion truffle. The man, introduced to her as Grant Tranton from Chicago, took a moment to think, or study the stars. She wasn’t sure which.
“Who else has this recipe?” he finally asked.
“Um, no one outside of Flour Child. It’s my own. I mean, I developed it.”
He stared at her intently. “It’s remarkable. I have to tell you, and I know chocolate.”
Molly felt her cheeks color. “Thank you.”
He consulted his phone. “Are you free a week from Thursday for a meeting?”
“I guess that would depend on what we’d be meeting about.”
He practically rolled his eyes at her. She wasn’t sure how she felt about this guy. “I’d like to discuss how we might work together on these amazing little things. Get them into the hands of lots of people. What do you call ’em again?” He popped another. Kind of greedy.
“MollyDollys. Wait, so let me make sure I understand this. You’re saying you want to—”
“Mass produce them. But we can discuss the details Monday. You’re interested?”
Was she interested? This was a back handspring kind of moment. She hadn’t done one since she was eighteen, but she was considering it right now. What kind of crazy question was that? “I think I could be interested. I’d like to hear the details though.” Well played, Chocolate Jedi. Don’t show your hand quite yet.
“Perfect. Here’s my card.” She took the glossy green rectangle. “I’ve already taken one of your brochures from the booth. How about we meet at this, uh, little place you have?”
“Sure. We can meet at the little place.” She could put up with his patronizing, big city tone, just as long as he could back up what he was saying. And somehow she had a feeling he could.
They shook hands and Grant Tranton headed off into the hustle and bustle. As he was absorbed into the crowd, Molly couldn’t help but smile as she looked down at the shiny green card. Her heart swelled at just the sight of it.
Good things were starting to happen. Who would have guessed?
*
Celia Green stood at the podium that had been wheeled out onto the bandstand. Most of Applewood had gathered at the base of the stage, and Jordan was wondering why exactly she’d agreed to this. Because it was for a good cause, she reminded herself. She should shut up and be a good sport.
“You all ready to rustle up some more cash for some new books?” Celia called into the microphone. She’d transformed herself from quiet librarian into animated emcee without much difficulty. It was a little frightening. In response to her question, there were some serious hoots and hollers from the crowd. It was pretty clear that the alcohol was now flowing as the festival moved into the later stages of the evening. Tipsy townsfolk yielding money wasn’t a bad combination as far as charity was concerned.
Celia continued. “Next up for auction is one of Applewood’s homegrown favorites. Jordan Tuscana is now a famous moviemaker, who’s making our small city proud. The winning bidder gets three hours of around the house handiwork from Jordan, who from what I hear is handy in more ways than one.”
What in the hell? Perhaps Celia had indulged in an adult beverage or two herself. Or maybe she just wanted to spice up the bidding. Jordan began to understand her role and smiled widely as she joined Celia onstage.
“I’ll start the bidding at seventy-five dollars. Who will give me seventy-five for Jordan?”
“Seventy-five,” called a familiar voice from the left side of the crowd. She narrowed her eyes at her brother, who grinned proudly up at her. Oh no. This was not good. She didn’t even want to entertain what sort of hazing Mikey would have in store for her if he won.
“A hundred,” called Mr. Huskill, her parents’ elderly neighbor. She blew out a breath in relief. This was good. If he won, they’d probably spend the time over a game of chess and some coffee. She decided to root for him. Go, Mr. Huskill. The odds were on her side, as Mikey wouldn’t want to go over a hundred.
But damn it all, in a shocking turn of events, he countered. “One fifty.”
She shot a warning glare at her brother, who was enjoying this way too much. She would pummel him later.
“One seventy-five.” That’s right, Mr. Huskill, take that guy down. You got this.
Mikey lifted his ball cap. “Two hundred. My floor needs some washing with a toothbrush.”
Oh no. He was kidding. He had to be kidding. Seriously, someone had to put a stop to this. But Mr. Huskill wasn’t saying anything. In fact, Mr. Huskill was tragically silent. He was some distance away from Jordan, but she did her best to give him her puppy dog eyes. Anything to keep her out of the hands of her merciless big brother.
“Two twenty-five,” a female voice called out. Jordan swiveled and Summer smiled up at her from a few rows in. This was good. Summer would flirt with her mercilessly, but she’d be kind. She’d be hospitable. There would be no torture or humiliation involved.
“Two twenty-five going once.” Celia surveyed the crowd. “Going twice.” She pointed her gavel at Summer. “Going three times and—”