20Molly was making a salade Niçoise for her and Frances to eat on the terrace while they talked wedding plans. She cut some romaine and added a few handfuls of baby greens, and was bent over looking for olives in the refrigerator when Frances breezed in, looking glamorous as ever in skinny jeans and a white silk top that set off her jet-black hair beautifully.
“Bonjour, Franny,” said Molly, standing up with a crick in her back. “Jeez, you’re looking fab. I would hereby like to give myself some major credit for being your best friend all these years. It’s not exactly easy standing next to you, you know.”
“What has gotten into you?” said Frances, genuinely wondering.
“I don’t know.” Molly scrunched up her face. “Ignore that. What I meant to say was, that outfit looks amazing, and what are
