She ignored his probing gaze and stared straight ahead. “Everyone let them get away with it, claiming they’d outgrow it. They never have.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“As a kid, I had no power. As an adult, I moved away. I’d always been so malleable . . . until I wasn’t. I’ve had minimal interactions with Jennifer and Brandi since I went to college. After all this is over, I’m done with them.”

“Good. No one needs bad people in their lives that make them question who they are.”

Sounded like he was speaking from experience, but she knew better than to ask.

The trip to the grocery store was uneventful—weird as it was shopping with Deacon.

At the checkout she said, “Am I missing anything?”

Deacon peered at the meat, veggies, bread, canned goods, and fruit in the cart. “Where’s the ice cream?”

“I didn’t buy any.”

His eyes turned shrewd. “You aren’t lactose intolerant or something?”

“No. I’m intolerant of fat on my belly, hips, and ass after I’ve worked so hard to keep it off,” she said dryly.

“We’ll share. What’s your favorite kind?”

“Coffee or vanilla,” she lied. Both those flavors would be safe from her.

He strolled to the frozen-foods section while she unloaded the cart.

The last item that rolled off the conveyor belt was a carton of rocky road.

Deacon put his mouth on her ear. “You’re a shitty liar, babe.” Then he deftly shunted her aside and handed the clerk his credit card. His death glare meant she’d be wise not to protest.

At least not here.

He pushed the cart outside. As soon as he’d opened the hatchback, she got in his face.

His mouth was on hers before she’d uttered a word. The kiss wasn’t sweet and gentle. It was decisive. When she eased back to speak her mind, he murmured, “Let it go.”

And so she did.

Back at the motel, Deacon carried in the groceries while she put everything away. She fixed her favorite comfort food for lunch—canned chicken noodle soup and deviled ham sandwiches. Halfway through the meal, the reality of why she needed comfort food hit her. The first couple of tears fell in silence. But then they came too hard and fast to maintain decorum.

When the first sob broke free, Deacon picked her up and carried her to the couch.

•   •   •

THE sobbing woman in his arms was killing him.

Killing. Him.

Fuck.

He rarely felt helpless, but he sure as hell did now. Molly’s keening wails might just do him in.

Deacon pressed his lips into her hair. Her tears dampened his shirt. How was he supposed to comfort her?

First off, don’t be a dickhead.

Amery’s warning had given him pause after he’d stormed into Hardwick Designs Monday morning, demanding to know where Molly had gone. Hearing that Molly’s grandmother had died was bad enough. But when Amery shared her concern about Molly being back in her hometown and dealing with her family members, who had had made her life hell, he’d booked the next flight to Nebraska.

Molly’s sobs had morphed into hiccups. Then she wiggled to free herself from his embrace.

“Where are you goin’?”

“To get a tissue.”

He released her.

She pushed off his lap and shut herself in the bathroom.

Deacon got up and waited for her.

When Molly finally emerged, she jumped at seeing him leaning against the doorjamb to the bedroom. “I’m sorry I’m such a blubbering mess.”

“Come here.”

“But I’m better now,” she continued as if she hadn’t heard him, “so I’ll just go clean up the kitchen—”

“I said come here.”

“Deacon—”

“Now.”

“Fine.” She marched over to him. “What?”

Deacon curled his hands around her shoulders. “You need to crawl into bed.”

“I’m not tired.”

“Bull.” He turned her and gave her a gentle push toward the bed. “In.”

She stopped at the edge of the bed and stared at the neatly folded-back covers. “Did you do this?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you fluff my pillows too?”

He dropped his hands to her hips. “Babe. I draw the line at that.”

Molly snorted and crawled between the sheets fully clothed.

He pulled the covers over her and smoothed his hand over her hair.

She closed her eyes and sighed. “If I ask nicely, will you stay here with me? Just until I fall asleep?”

Say no. You’re not a fucking monk. If you lie next to her, you’ll be hard as a brick. You want a repeat of last night? Thinking of Iceland as you’re in her warm bed, feeling her curves pressed against you, with her scent tempting you as you listened to her soft sleep noises? Say no. Say hell no.