A few days later, Molly stared at the message on her phone for the hundredth time that day, thumbs hovering above the screen like they were made of stone.
Jack: Next week. Friday night. Let me take you out, Molly.
She should’ve said no. Should’ve played it safe, like always. But instead, she’d typed:
Molly: Okay. One date. One real date.
And now she was freaking out.
Her phone buzzed again and she dropped it into her purse like it had bitten her. Scarlett giggled from her stroller, waving her new stuffed bunny—one of the treasures they’d found at the thrift store. She was all giggles lately. Especially in her “new” wardrobe, full of soft florals and stretchy cotton. Molly had gotten her everything in her current size, the next, and the one after that. Little boots, footie pajamas, a t
