Page 31 of Love in the Lab (Delaneys in Love #2)

Chapter twenty-five

Jonathan

I pull Molly by the hand through the crowd, trying to get to Tchoupitoulas Street before the parade. We bob and weave around tourists and locals alike, adults dressed in a variety of barely-there costumes and children decked out as superheroes and princesses.

I glance back at Molly, worried I might be rushing her along, but she’s laughing. My whole body is vibrating, an internal buzz that starts where Molly’s hand touches mine and radiates down my arm and throughout my nervous system.

I know Molly told me to lay low this weekend while her sister is here. Even though I just saw her yesterday at work, it wasn’t enough. I couldn’t stay away.

I find us a spot along Tchoupitoulas Street that’s not too crowded yet.

The parade has started, but it will take time to reach us here toward the end of the route.

Before long, the space around us fills with groups of people, many in costume, and we hear loud music filtering down the street toward us.

I love this parade. It’s not as wild as the Mardi Gras parades, but it has all the other hallmarks of New Orleans celebrations: colorful, loud, fun, and a little rowdy. I’m breathless, energized as we wait for the parade to reach us.

As the parade approaches, the crowd thickens, and people unintentionally jostle us from every direction.

I widen my stance and maneuver Molly so that her back is against my chest. I wrap my arms around her shoulders, folding them in front of her.

I’m a human forcefield, encasing Molly in my embrace and deflecting the chaos around us—at least that’s my goal.

Police motorcycles signal the beginning of the parade, and Molly jumps when one of them sounds their siren right in front of us.

She leans one side of her head into my arm, her ear against my sleeve to muffle the noise.

As the floats and dancers amble past, the street overflows with Lady Gaga songs, drum corps, and cheers from the enthusiastic crowd.

Ducking my head so my mouth is next to her ear, I ask, “How are you feeling?”

She twists her neck so she can look up at me, a grin on her face. “Safe,” she answers. “I’m having fun.”

Warmth oozes through my chest, spreading like melted butter until it pools in the tips of my fingers and toes.

I have a sense of how much it means to her to be out here enjoying the parade, how significant this is for her.

Playing a role in making it possible for her to enjoy the parade and sharing this experience with her, knowing she feels safe with me, it’s a rush.

I’m proud of her for taking a risk, trusting me.

At the same time, I feel a responsibility to guard and protect her.

It’s astounding how quickly I’ve fallen for Molly.

I’ve always recognized her beauty and intelligence; now I also know how funny she is, how nurturing, how bold and creative.

When I’m with her, I experience everything in dazzling saturation; ordinary scenes are more vibrant and resonant.

Before we started working together, my life felt full and satisfying.

I didn’t realize anything was missing. Now that I know what life is like with her beside me, I can never go back to the sensory deprivation of life without her.

By the end of the parade, Molly feels confident enough to leave my arms. She still stays close to my side, our elbows linked.

We laugh and dance, grabbing for the candy and other swag falling from above our heads.

Her eyes light up at the impressively designed Krewe of Boo!

float showcasing a spooky skull the size of a small car, flanked by dancers in extravagant costumes.

Tonight, I’m falling in love with the parade all over again, because watching Molly experience it is a blast of dopamine like I’ve never felt before.

After the last of the festivities roll past us and the crowds of people start to disperse in every direction, Molly and I walk back to her apartment hand-in-hand. We don’t have far to go, and when we get there, I don’t want to leave.

Standing on the sidewalk next to my truck, I scratch my chin. “Do you think your sister is home yet?”

“I doubt it. They were watching the parade closer to Jackson Square, so even if they were coming straight home afterward, it would take them a while. And I’m sure they aren’t coming straight home.”

I raise my eyebrows and give her an expectant look.

She knows exactly what I’m suggesting. She puffs out a breath. “I’m not inviting you up, Jonathan. Not tonight.”

I consider exaggerating a pout, making her laugh, but I need her to see how serious I am about her, that I’m not just a prankster.

So instead, I tilt her chin up until her eyes meet mine. “I don’t want to say goodnight.”

“Me neither,” she whispers. “We could sit in your truck and talk for a while.”

I unlock the doors, and we climb in, settling into the seats.

“What did you think of the parade?” I ask.

“It was amazing. So much fun. No wonder you love Halloween.”

I chuckle. “And other reasons, too. How about you? I know you’re not a big fan of Halloween. Does that mean you’re one of those Christmas-obsessed people?”

Molly smirks and shifts her gaze from side to side. “Maybe,” she says, elongating the word.

“What’s your favorite thing about Christmas?”

Before she can answer, the cab light clicks off, dropping us into a murky darkness. Beams from the streetlights shine in through the windows, but the half-light feels cozy and private.

“My favorite thing about Christmas. Hmm … I’d have to say opening my stocking on Christmas morning.”

“What do you mean, opening your stocking?”

“Well, my family’s rule for Christmas morning was that when me and my sisters woke up, we weren’t allowed to open gifts right away.

We had to wait for our parents to get up, and then we opened presents one at a time.

That always felt like a lot of pressure to me.

Everyone was watching me, rushing me, especially if one of my sisters was eager to open their next present.

” She grimaces. “Opening presents felt like a performance. As excited as I was for whatever toys Santa brought, I wished I didn’t have to experience them with an audience. ”

I bob my head. “That makes sense, though I would have guessed you would like the orderly, one-at-a-time method better than the chaotic mass-unwrapping method.” I grin. “We’re a chaos family.”

She scoffs. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“So, you didn’t like all eyes on you while you opened your presents, but you did like opening your stocking?”

“Yes. The stocking was different. That we were allowed to open as soon as we came downstairs, no waiting for our parents or going one at a time. My parents figured it would keep us occupied until they woke up. Anyway, even when all three of us came downstairs at the same time, my sisters were so preoccupied looking through their own stockings that they didn’t pay me any attention as I opened mine.

I was free to pull out each item at my own pace, and I stretched it out as long as I could. It felt peaceful and … magical.”

I reach over the center console and find her hand, interlacing our fingers.

I remember magical Christmases. When I was really young, Christmas was magical and peaceful—my parents and sister and I would be together all day, playing with our new toys and eating sweets.

Then we’d go to my grandmother’s house for a big family Christmas dinner.

But after my mom left and I was angry with the world and taking it out on my dad, the day always felt haunted with thoughts of what I didn’t have.

Some of this must be showing on my face because Molly asks, “Do you not like Christmas?”

I squeeze her hand. “I … do. I mean, sure I do. But Christmas is such a family-oriented holiday, and after my parents divorced, I had a tough time feeling like I still had a family. My mom was gone; I was angry with my dad. I think that’s why I gravitated toward Halloween—it’s a friend holiday, you know?

Not a lot of pressure to go home and see the family. ”

Molly shifts in her seat and leans closer to me.

Her eyebrows are pinched together, creasing her forehead.

“I’ve noticed…” She hesitates before continuing.

“I’ve noticed that you don’t talk about your dad much.

When he calls, you send it to voicemail.

I feel like I know a lot about your mom and your sister, your nieces, and even your brother-in-law, but not your dad. ”

My chest tightens and my instinct is to deflect, make a joke or flippant remark and move the conversation along.

I almost do, until I feel Molly’s hand caress my shoulder, squeezing with the perfect amount of pressure to unfurl the tension I’m holding in my muscles.

She moves her hand to the back of my neck and runs her fingers through the hair at the nape.

I let out a whoosh of breath and start talking.

“My parents got divorced when I was twelve. You know that. My mom got an amazing opportunity to move to Switzerland and work for the World Health Organization. Dad didn’t want to go.

I feel like he abandoned her, like he refused to support her dreams. I blame him for breaking up our family. ”

Molly rubs my back as she responds. “That sounds hard.”

“It was. Nothing was the same after that. I couldn’t look at my dad the same way. He should have been willing to follow her to keep our family together. We only saw Mom about once a year after she moved.”

She makes a humming noise in her throat. “You and your sister stayed in Ohio with your dad?”

“Yeah. Until I graduated. I took a gap year and spent it with my mom in Egypt. She’s moved around to a few different offices over the years. Then I went to college in Florida before coming here for grad school.”

“Why didn’t you and Tamara move with your mom?”

I consider the question. “I’m … not sure. I don’t remember it even being a conversation. Maybe she didn’t think she could take care of us on her own with her new job?”

“Your dad’s job was less demanding?”

I frown. “Well, no. He was an engineer and had intense deadlines that kept him plenty busy.”

Molly makes the humming sound again, and I’m suddenly disoriented. Why wasn’t there a conversation about Tamara and I moving to Switzerland with Mom? Did she not want us to come with her?

As if she senses my impending existential crisis, Molly pivots the conversation back into safer territory. “Anyway, after the parade tonight, I might be coming around on Halloween. Are you doing anything Friday for Halloween night?”

I shake off my thoughts and focus on Molly. “Trick-or-treating is usually pretty lively in my complex, so I’ll be busy handing out candy. And then a friend of mine is having a party. Would you want to join me?”

“For which part?”

“Either. Both.”

She scrunches her nose as she thinks. “Handing out candy sounds fun. Count me in for that. And I’m a hard maybe for the party. Can I see how I feel day of?”

“Of course. You’ll need a costume, though.”

She grimaces. “Do I?”

I grin. “Yes. I’m not budging on that. It’s Halloween. You need a costume.”

Her eyes light up, and she smiles smugly. “Okay.”

“Not a scientist.”

She flings her head back against the headrest and groans. “Ugh, Jonathan! Why not?”

I laugh. “You are a scientist. Halloween is about dressing up as something you’re not. It’s fun!”

“If you say so,” she grumbles.

We’re quiet for a few minutes, and I check the time on my phone. “It’s getting late. Time for you to go inside?”

She sighs. “I suppose.”

“I’ll walk you to the door.”

I circle the truck and meet her on the sidewalk. Catching her hand, I pull her into me. “By the way, I really loved sharing the parade with you tonight.”

She rests her head against my chest. “I had fun, but it also drove me a little crazy.”

I peer down at her in concern, pulling back enough to see her face. She’s smiling. “What do you mean?”

“You did such a great job of blocking out the smells around us that might have overwhelmed me.” Her nose crinkles. “The problem was being surrounded by your scent all that time. It had me thinking … things.” Her eyes spark, holding my gaze.

“Yeah?” I ask, my voice coming out huskier than I intend.

She nods slowly, looking up at me through her lashes.

“What kind of things?” I ask, sliding my hand to the back of her neck. “Things like this?” I duck my head and kiss a trail up her neck and down again.

“Hmm.” She wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me closer. “More like this.”

She crashes her lips against mine, and I walk us backward until I’m pinned between her and the truck. She controls the kiss: the pace, the intensity. She leads the way, and I’m an eager follower.

I run my hand through her hair, nestling my palm against the back of her head.

Her lips are soft and insistent, but I break away from them to kiss along her jawline.

She nudges my cheek with her nose, and I chuckle, making my way back to her mouth.

We dive in again, tongues tangling, battling for command.

Molly kisses me, not with the polished, standoffish mask she presents to the world, but with the reckless and impulsive determination she hides underneath.

And I’m here for it. I relish every second, each taste of her tongue, every nip from her teeth.

Her hands slide down my sides, wrapping around my waist and ducking under the hem of my shirt.

I’m on fire where her fingers touch my bare skin.

We’re full-on making out on the sidewalk, and while we’ve got a modicum of privacy tucked away in the shadows next to my truck, we’re very much in a public setting. I can’t fight my smirk. Dr. Molly Delaney, the queen of control, coming undone for me . Damn, that makes me feel good.

Of course, I’ve been losing my head over this woman for weeks now, so it’s about time I get my turn to drive her a little crazy, too. It’s heady and addictive, being with her, and I want more.

Yeah, definitely no turning back now. She’s stuck with me; I’m all in.