No Bunny But You (Holiday Romance Series) (2 page)

“And that football jock guy you dated after Drake was
pretty hot himself.” Abby grinned. “I’ve seen the photos. Why
didn’t you get any photos with his shirt off?”

This time it was Molly who made a face. “We were in
high school, let me remind you. And this was before kids had the
option of posting naked photos of themselves on line.”

“Most people don’t know who they want to be with when
they’re in high school,” her friend said, clearly trying to comfort
her. “They wait until they’re seeing their first flame at a reunion
or start chatting with them on FaceBook after twenty years.
Then
they realize they need to leave their husbands for
their first loves.”

Molly stared glumly into her glass. “Guess I’m just
doing it backwards. I wonder if Drake would be more interested if I
were married to some other guy.”

“I don’t think that’s your best option, at this
point. Just give him some time to adjust to the blog thing and then
show up to his house wearing nothing, but a raincoat and a smile,”
Abby recommended. “That’ll get his attention.”

Shaking her head, Molly laughed. “I think I’d like to
try something a little less, I don’t know, extreme? Scary? Out
there? Maybe I could just talk to him.”

Her friend made a face. “He is a word guy, but on
some level, men prefer action over conversation. Besides, you can’t
do any of that until the blog deal is taken care of.”

“I don’t need this,” Molly wailed suddenly. “Why do I
have to get a thing for my best friend!”

“Could be because he’s pretty spectacular.” Her
friend sent her a wry smile. “I mean smokin’ hot. With his dark
eyes and his muscles—. If I didn’t have a boyfriend,
I’d
be
into him. As it is, my heart belongs to another, but hormones….
They notice.”

Holding up her hand to stop her friend, she said,
“Please. Don’t go on. I know he’s hot. I know too well.”

* * *

“You really want me to do the big annual Austin
Women’s League Easter Picnic? Really?” Molly stared at her older
friend a few days later, not sure she’d heard right. “But you do
the Easter Picnic every year. It’s a huge plum for an event
planner.”

Cheryl smiled. “I know, but Dr. Filler is insisting I
get the lumpectomy now. Right away. I have done the League picnic
for some time now—“

“Ten years. You’ve done it ten years in a row,
despite other event planners trying to poach it away from you.”
Molly couldn’t believe her friend and mentor would hand her such a
prize.

“And now I’m handing it off to you,” Cheryl said
comfortably. “You’re ready. “

“Are you kidding?” Molly stood, walking over to the
window that allowed her friend to look out from her hospital bed.
“I just started this business in the last year. You think I can
really do it?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t you have a code or something? Other event
planners in Austin—who’ve been doing this longer than me—would kill
to do the Easter Picnic. You must know more experienced planners
who would love to step in.” She’d love this event, but she didn’t
want to mess up one of the city’s premiere social moments. “The
Easter Picnic is always huge.”

Cheryl nodded. “It is. And I think you’ll make it
even better. Don’t tell anyone I said this, but bringing new, fresh
ideas to a celebration is important. As you said, I’ve done it for
ten years. You’ll have some new ideas.”

“You must be kidding. I’m not going to mess with
success. You’ve thrown some great parties for the Austin Women’s
League over the years. Particularly the Easter Picnic. Those little
foster kids live for it.”

Her friend shook her head. “The only stipulation to
my handing this over is that you have to make this year’s picnic
your own. Don’t think of this as a tribute to me or anything.”

“But this is only a one-time thing. The Picnic is
your baby.”

“Yes. I’ve loved doing it and I’ll do it again next
year, if the Women’s League awards it to me, but I want you to go
all out, Molly. Do your own thing. Blow it wide open and give me a
run for my money.”

Sitting in the hospital bed with blankets covering
her, Cheryl didn’t look like the skilled, competent woman Molly
knew she was. She looked like a healthy woman in her forties
dealing with a health issue. But Molly knew looks could be
deceiving. There was nothing
middle aged
about Cheryl. She
was a petite, effective force. There was a reason the Women’s
League of Austin relied on her to handle this—and other fundraising
events—she was the best.

“You want me to try to take the event away from you?”
Molly said, confused.

“Yep. Give me some real competition. You can do it.”
Cheryl’s voice was encouraging. “You’re creative and you have
unique ideas. Go for it. Make us all better.”

“OMG.”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t had ideas for a big blow
out,” her friend said with a shrewd glance. “I think you’ve got it
in you to make this one a picnic to remember.”

A few minutes later, Molly sat in her Celica in the
parking lot of the Austin hospital, still in shock. She’d made the
leap from interior designer to event planning earlier in the year
and had made a pest of herself, hanging around Cheryl and other
more seasoned planners. She’d developed skill in doing corporate
events and kids’ birthday parties for parents who were too busy,
too rich or too uninspired to arrange for even so small an event,
but there was still so much she didn’t know.

She found herself scrolling through the Contacts in
her phone, tapping on Drake’s number before she even realized
it.

* * *

“Hello” Still typing out the thought he’d been
working on when the phone rang, Drake answered absently, bending
his neck to hold it against his ear.

“Hey.”

He stopped typing and reached up to grab his phone,
recognizing Molly’s voice. Drake couldn’t help still feeling
betrayed by her, but she’d been his best friend for too long to not
answer. “Hey.”

Not even responding to what he knew was the guarded
sound in his greeting, she said bluntly, “Cheryl’s hospitalized.
She’s having a lumpectomy because a mammogram found a very small
suspicious lump.”

“Oh.” He knew her mentor was an older woman named
Cheryl. “Okay.”

Drake heard her take a deep breath. “She wants me to
do the annual Austin Women’s League Easter Picnic in her
place.”

“Okay.” He still didn’t know what was bringing the
strained sound to her voice.

“The Austin Women’s League Easter Picnic?”

“Yeah. I think I’ve read about it. So what? I’m sure
it’ll be a great way to make contacts.” It felt weird that the
conversation didn’t feel weird. His friend was blackmailing him,
after all.

“You don’t get it, Drake! This is huge. The annual
Women’s League Easter Picnic is one of the biggest social events
around Austin.
Everyone
will be there.”

He heard her wheezing a little, a sound he hadn’t
heard since she was diagnosed with stress-induced asthma her first
year in college when she’d taken seventeen hours and joined five
clubs.

“Huh? Molly, are you alright?” It wasn’t often that
tough, confident Molly struggled to believe in herself. This must
have been a bigger deal than he knew. Drake pushed back from where
his laptop sat on the work table by the window in his study.

“I know you’re probably really mad at me now,” her
voice wobbled a little on the last word, “but I need someone to
talk me down.”

Drake didn’t say anything for a moment. They’d done
this for one another every now and then since college—one feeling
overwhelmed and the other talking them through it. It had been easy
for him because he didn’t know of a thing Molly couldn’t do.

“Moll?”

He heard her swallow.

“Yes.”

“You do know you’re the most capable, amazing person?
I’m saying this even though you’re bailing on me and the blog
and
you’re blackmailing me. Just being totally honest here.”
He paused a moment for effect. “I don’t know anyone better suited
to do this picnic.”

She laughed. “Thanks for overlooking the blackmail
thing and all I can say is that you don’t know anyone who can do
this better, you must have a very small world. And you don’t know
how big this event is.”

“Don’t be silly,” he admonished. “I’m a
well-traveled, degreed journalist who just happens to write a home
improvement blog. I know what I’m talking about. You can do
this.”

Molly laughed again. “I’d be more impressed if you
knew anything about event planning.”

Drake smiled into the phone. Leave it to Molly to
point out his limitations at a moment like this. He said in a
gentle voice, “You know you’re a pain in the ass, right? I’m trying
to comfort you here.”

“Well, you need to try harder,” she recommended,
still chuckling.

“Thanks. Hanging up now.” His finger hovered over the
button.

“Don’t you dare!” she yelped.

“Did you need something?” Drake rocked back in his
chair. He found the acerbic back-and-forth with Molly both familiar
and comforting, in a strange way. Since he’d dealt with her
rejection by accepting her friendship, they’d always been together.
It wasn’t what he’d wanted back then, but it was damn good.

“Yes, asshole. I need you to help me remember that
I’ve always pulled this kind of challenge out. That I’ve done tough
things before.”

“You have,” he confirmed. “You always have. Every
single time something was thrown at you. Remember the two week
design job you had with that crazy owner in Buda? You know, the
town right outside Austin?”

“Yes. He’d bought the house and was coming back from
Europe with a new Russian bride.”

“And you did it. Right on time and in budget. In
college, that play you were designing the sets for—“

“For the insane director. Yes,” Molly drew in a deep
breath and released it. “Yes, I remember that. Must be something
about me that I attract insane headcases.”

“And the time in your senior year when that inept
professor kept saying she hadn’t gotten your final project—“

“And I produced time-coded emails. Yes, yes, I did
handle that.”

“And you’ll handle this. Brilliantly. Why do you
think I took this home improvement blog?” There it was. He’d thrown
out the bone between them. What the hell was the matter with
him?

Molly didn’t respond and he slogged on. “I took it
because I knew you’d have my back. I knew you wouldn’t let me
down.”

Only now she had. He cursed himself for having
mentioned it. She was struggling as it was and he had to harp on
this thing between them.

“I’m doing this for you, you know. Quitting giving
you content.” Her words were abrupt, but softer. “Blackmailing
you.”

“What are you talking about?” Drake could hear the
hardening of his voice.

“Pulling out on this blog thing. Saying I’d tell your
boss. It’s for you.”

Drake stared at the cursor blinking on his screen.
She sounded kind, loving even, which made no sense in hell as she
had bailed on him so completely.

“You need to feel strong. Independent. It’s no good,
you being dependent on me. I said it before—you can do this,
Drake.”

“Yeah.” He rolled over to back up to the words on the
screen. “Yeah, you did say that before. Well, I gotta go.”

“Drake?”

“Yes,” he knew he sounded cold, but how the hell was
he supposed to sound, what with everything the way it was between
them.

“We need to do a project, You know, so you can
learn,”

He didn’t respond. Drake wanted to tell her to take a
flying leap.

“You don’t want to do this all on your own, do
you?”

He’d never thought he’d have to do this on his own,
but now that was how it felt. “No.”

She didn’t say anything to the bald word.

“No. No, I don’t want to do it on my own.” He looked
down at his hands resting on the keyboard.

“Then we have to work together. I have to teach you.”
She paused a minute. “Didn’t you say you have a sink that drips.
That’s a simple fix. Want to help me? You should get a column out
of it.”

“Okay. When do you want to do it?”

“How about Saturday afternoon. We can do it
then—start to finish—and you can get it written up before your
deadline.”

“Okay. Okay, I’ll be your plumber’s assistant.” Drake
pushed the button to end the call. Molly had called him in her
moment of distress, but she didn’t really need him the way he
needed her.

* * * * * * * * *

“Hand me that wrench. Yes, the crescent one over
there. See,” Molly said, “it’s shaped a little like a crescent
moon.”

She stood over the open back of his toilet. Wearing
short shorts and a work shirt tied at her waist, her long tanned
legs made her look young, healthy and surprisingly friendly,
despite the very unfriendly position she’d taken about the
blog.

Drake fought with a sensation of heaviness in his
chest. He’d get through this. He always did, but it stunk that she
was pulling the plug on their joint venture. Even though he didn’t
know crap about working with his hands, he realized that wasn’t the
only thing bugging him about her defection.

He’d enjoyed the weekly back and forth over her text.
Him and Molly, together.

Well, after they’d moved beyond her ending things to
go out with another guy.

The girl was right about one thing. She was no
writer. On the other hand, Drake mused, looking at her poised over
the toilet, she had skills he lacked.

And she looked a heck of a lot better in work
clothes. The view was distracting him from learning anything.

“Yeah, that wrench there.” She pointed at the pile of
tools on the postage stamp floor, clearly believing she was being
helpful.

Drake’s hand hovered over the tools before he picked
one. He handed it to her, reaching around the porcelain bowl again.
“I was much younger the last time I hugged a toilet.”