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Molly

Tonight, I cook dinner again.

It’s a simple pasta dish, nothing fancy, but whenever I cook now, I think of Mary.

One of my favorite things about going to the farm was spending time with his mother in the kitchen.

I always imagined that’s what my life would be like if my mom hadn’t died.

It was special to have those moments with Hudson’s mom.

A part of me wonders what the future will bring. Will there be more family games and walks around the farm . . .

“What’s got you so deep in thought?” Hudson asks as he walks into the kitchen.

“Nothing.” I look over my shoulder and smile at him.

All of this feels so domestic.

And I love it.

It feels like we have a future together. It’s felt like this ever since the day I unburdened myself to him. Now, how do I broach the topic? How do I know if he feels the same way?

I know we are currently staying married until the ink is dry on his endorsement deal, but this feels like it can be more, like it can be forever.

“So what is all this?” He grins, walks over, and presses a kiss to the top of my head.

“Dinner.” I laugh.

“Looks amazing.” He makes his way to the already set kitchen table and drops into the chair.

For the next few days, I try to keep busy.

I do chores around the house.

Little things to give me a sense of control.

I organize Hudson’s kitchen, rearranging the spices and utensils in a way that makes sense to me.

I clean out his fridge, throwing away expired condiments and wiping down the shelves.

While cleaning, I open a drawer to grab a blank notebook. While removing it, I notice the business card he tried to give me once.

Why does he still have it?

I’m not sure how I feel about it. My eyes narrow as I stare at it like it’s a bomb ready to explode.

I close the drawer.

Pretending I never saw it.

But in the back of my mind, I know it’s there, and for some reason, it doesn’t feel as frightening as it did before.

Maybe one day, I’ll fish it out and call the number on the card.

Maybe . . .

But not now.

With the notebook in hand, I take a seat at the island in the kitchen and start to make a list. It’s not much—just a few ideas of things I might want to try.

Writing, volunteering, maybe even taking a class. The list feels small and insignificant, but it’s a start.

As I look at it, a strange sense of hope stirs in my chest.

I feel like I’m moving forward, even if it’s just an inch at a time.

The sound of footsteps startles me.

Hudson walks over, placing a kiss on my forehead like he’s done every night since I’ve taken up residence at his place.

Of course, I still have my apartment, but I stay here for appearance, or at least that’s what I tell him and myself.

“What’s this?” he asks, picking up the notebook.

I shrug, suddenly self-conscious. “Just some ideas.”

He reads it silently, his eyes scanning the page. When he looks up, there’s a small smile on his lips.

“This is good,” he says, his voice warm. “Really good.”

I nod, and my cheeks feel warm. “Yeah. I think it’s time.”

“For what?”

“To figure out who I am,” I whisper.

His smile widens, and he sets the list I made back down. “You got this.”

And for the first time, I believe him.