The Christmas Wedding Ring

* * *

Dylan automatically hit the button on the remote that controlled the garage door. As he slowed, he saw Molly’s dark blue compact parked off to the side. That gave him pause. He wasn’t used to coming home to find someone in his house. In the two years he’d lived there, he’d had overnight company maybe three times. When he was involved with a woman, he generally stayed at her place. He preferred being able to leave when he liked and not having to ask her to go when he wanted to be alone.

He stared at the sensible American car. It was basic transportation, nothing fun, nothing flashy. But then, flashy wasn’t Molly’s style, or it hadn’t been back when she was a teenager. He eased into his parking space and turned off the engine. After collecting his briefcase, he closed the garage door and entered the house.

“I’m home,” he called, then frowned to wonder if he’d ever done that before. It was old television sitcom cliché. “Honey, I’m home.”

“Hi,” Molly answered. From the direction of her voice, he would guess she was in the library.

Dylan left his briefcase on the kitchen counter, collected a couple of beers from the refrigerator and went in search of his guest. He found her curled up in one of the leather recliners, reading. A floor lamp cast a warm circle of light over her and the book. Her feet were tucked under her and her shoes were neatly off to the side of the chair on the floor.

She hadn’t noticed him and seemed engrossed in her book. For a moment Dylan simply watched her. He couldn’t shake the odd feeling of knowing she’d been in the house while he was still at work. At the office he’d managed to focus on what he was doing and relegate their lunch to the back of his mind. But from time to time he’d found himself remembering something she’d said or picturing a quick movement of her hands. While he hadn’t been excited about coming home to find her here, he hadn’t dreaded it, either. The few occasions he’d let one of his women spend the night at his place he had felt trapped and awkward. Maybe the difference was he’d known Molly for a long time. More likely it was because they weren’t involved, nor were they likely to be.

He moved toward her. “I probably should have asked if you like beer,” he said, holding out one of the bottles. “Except for water and coffee, it’s about all I have. I don’t do much entertaining.”

She took the offered refreshment and smiled. “Thanks, it’s fine. I confess I did take a peek in the refrigerator earlier. I had an apple. I could tell you don’t spend a whole lot of time cooking.”

“Never learned how.” He took the seat across from hers and settled on the comfortable leather cushion. After a long swallow of beer, he loosened his tie, then pulled it free of his shirt.

“At the risk of sounding like a suburban wife, how was your day?” Her voice was teasing.

He liked that she was comfortable enough to kid him. Earlier, at the restaurant, he’d seen a lot of tension in her body. She’d downed her margarita as if it were a lifeline...or maybe the Dutch courage she’d needed to ask him about going away. Whatever it was, he was pleased that she’d finally relaxed a little.

“I’ve been busy. There’s a lot to get through before I can leave.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and holding the bottle of beer in both hands. “I’m not going to be much of a host tonight,” he said. “I have a briefcase full of work to finish up before morning. I fig—” He caught her smile. “What’s so funny?”

She flicked her fingers toward him. “Nothing, it’s just—” She shrugged. “Let’s say you’re not exactly what I expected. The Dylan I remember wore jeans and a black leather jacket. You’re in a suit, with a tie. You’re so respectable.”

“Tell me about it,” he grumbled. “I never thought it would come to this. I used to work in jeans all the time. Half my day was spent assembling bikes or fiddling with designs. Now I push around papers. I’ve become everything I hated when I was a kid. I wear a tie—something I swore I’d never do. I drive a Mercedes. I get my clothes dry-cleaned.”

“You have a very impressive Christmas tree.”

“I can’t take credit for that,” he said. “My decorator does them as a fundraiser for the local food bank. I tried to just give her the money, but she insists I get the tree and all the trimmings.”

“You’re a responsible citizen.”

“Worse. I’m old. Just last week I was in the grocery store and there were these three teenage boys making a lot of noise. Without thinking, I told them to quiet down. They walked off, but not before calling me ‘an old man.’ I realized they’re right. I am old.”

Molly burst out laughing. “You’re not even thirty-five. That’s not old.”

“It is to a fifteen-year-old.”

“Do you really care what those boys think?”

“No, it’s just—” He couldn’t explain it. Somehow everything had changed. He didn’t know when or how that had happened, but it was one of the reasons he wanted to go away. He needed to clear his head and figure out what was important.

“I sold out,” he said glumly, and wondered if he was about to do it again. Would he do what his lawyer and several other people had suggested and sell his company, or would he maintain his independence?

“You’ve become successful,” Molly said. “There’s a difference. You should be proud of yourself.”

Several strands of curly hair had escaped from her braid. They fluttered by her face and touched the top of her shoulder. Sometime in the afternoon she’d rolled up the sleeves of her shirt, exposing wrists and forearms. She had curves. Evie’s assessment had been that she was average. Dylan wasn’t sure what he thought of Molly. She wasn’t what he was used to in a woman. Okay, so no one would ever call her beautiful, but in this light, gesturing as she talked and smiling, she was sort of pretty. She had a sincerity he liked. Molly was a genuine person—he didn’t know many people he could say that about these days.

“Are you concerned the price is too high?” she asked. “Are you thinking that you’ve been forced to give up too much to get what you wanted?”

She saw way more than he was comfortable with.

“Too much serious conversation,” he said lightly, and rose to his feet. “If you looked in the refrigerator, you know I don’t have food around. How do you feel about pizza for dinner?”

“Sounds fine.”

“I know a great place that delivers. What would you like on it?”

“Anything.” She stood up, as well. “Do you want me to call?”

“No, I have the number memorized. Single guy who lives alone—no surprise there, right? I’m going to put on jeans and call the pizza place. Then I need to get started on my work.”

Molly held up her book. “Don’t worry about entertaining me. I’ll be fine.”

“I appreciate that. I don’t want this stuff hanging over me while we’re away.” He started for the door, then remembered something. “I’d like to leave about noon tomorrow. I thought we’d go to your place on our way out of town so you can drop off your car. Otherwise you’ll have to come by here when we get back and that’ll be nearly an hour out of your way.”

“That’s fine,” she said. “So we’re not heading east?”

If they were, leaving her car here would make more sense.

“Nope, but that’s all I’m going to say.”

“I think I like the idea of a pleasant surprise,” she told him.

They chatted for a couple more minutes, then he left the library and made his way to his bedroom. The guest room was at the other end of the hall. He’d forgotten to ask Molly if she’d found everything she needed. So much for being a good host. But when he returned to the library, she was gone. He ordered their pizza, collected his briefcase and started to work.

About a half hour later, there was a faint knock on the door. He called an absentminded, “Come in” but didn’t look up from the computer.

“Dinner’s here,” Molly told him. She placed a large plate with several slices of steaming pizza in front of him, along with a fresh beer. Before he could do more than thank her, she was gone.

Dylan stared at the closed door, torn between work and curiosity. Then he figured he’d better get back to his spreadsheet and turned his attention back to his papers.

* * *

It was nearly 1:30 p.m. the next afternoon when Molly closed the front door of her condo behind her. She could see through the courtyard to the street, where Dylan waited for her. She’d parked her car, taken in her big suitcase and checked for messages. Now she was ready to begin.

Her stomach tightened with excitement and a little bit of nerves. For a second she thought about calling the whole thing off. After all, she barely knew the man. What on earth had she been thinking when she’d asked him to take her on an adventure?

“I’m not going to back out now,” she said softly. “If I do, I’ll be stuck on my own. I refuse to spend the next two weeks waiting for the phone to ring.”

That resolved, she squared her shoulders and walked to the front of the building.

When Dylan saw her, he straightened and grabbed the extra helmet strapped on the seat behind him. He’d already loaded her small bag of clothes and toiletries. Molly eyed the helmet, then the motorcycle, and had another bout of second thoughts.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Dylan said, coming up to her and handing her the helmet. “My bike is perfectly safe. I’ve been driving it for years, so there’s nothing to worry about.”