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November 6 - November 15, 2025
I have so many questions. First and foremost—why? Why would anyone think to fry butter? But also—HOW? Butter melts at even warm temperatures. How did it remain solid while submerged in hot oil? And if I decide to satisfy my curiosity, am I going to scald the inside of my mouth with boiling butter when I bite into it? IF. If I bite into it. And at this point, it’s a very big if. Although … Pat does seem unscalded and very content with his. Maybe there’s something to this fried butter thing.
Before I can tell myself not to dig a deeper hole, I’m touching his arm and asking, “If you’re single, can I borrow you for an hour or so?“
Molly: sister to Chase, who is married to my sister. Which does not make Molly my sister-in-law. Or any kind of sister. I know this thanks to a very serious discussion Pat and I had when we first met Molly at Harper’s wedding. It’s an important distinction because, to put it mildly, Molly is hot. Not mildly hot. All the habaneros hot.
“All right, sugar. Let’s do this thing.”
“Then we’ve got this, sunshine.” Oddly, this statement makes me feel better. I think it’s the we. We’ve got this. Not just me, all by myself, floundering and fumbling my way through a mistake. Which is how most of my life feels. “Sugar, sweetheart, sunshine—are you really into nicknames?” I ask. “I’m just trying to land on the perfect one for you, darlin’.” We reach the door, and I don’t get a chance to hesitate at the sight of the full room because he steers me forward. “That,” he adds, his lips brushing my ear, “and you haven’t told me your actual name.”
Clearly, sending a text to my brothers with a picture of Molly and the unicorn along with a text saying, Look who I’m holding hostage, was a poor choice on my part.
“How’re you doing there, darlin’?” Molly grins, and I see the first signs of alcohol haze as her eyes go half-lidded. “I like that nickname best, but I’m still not sure it’s the right one,” she says, then lowers her voice. Dropping one hand from my neck and crooking a finger toward me, she whispers, “Before I knew your name, I decided to call you Mr. Biceps.” I can’t hold back a smug grin. “Is that right?” “Yep. Don’t act like you don’t know you’ve got great guns.” She finds my upper arm and tries to wrap her hand around it. “See? It’s more circumferamence—circumfratense—circumventerence—”
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“You barely know me.” “Not true.” I give her arches a little squeeze. “I know your brother pretty well. I got to be your boyfriend for a whole afternoon and am now up close and personal with your feet. I mean, how many people can say they’ve rubbed these feet?”
I am not her boyfriend. And yet thinking about some other guy taking care of her or touching her has me hot under the collar, as Tank would say. My dad’s corny expressions have taken firm root in my head and are harder to shake than fleas from a dog—and there’s another one.
“I’m sure everyone in my family has questions or suspicions since I’d been with them moments before you absconded with me at the festival.” “Absconded?” “Do you have a better word?” Collin smirks and doesn’t give me time to answer. “Didn’t think so. Anyway. Tank called me on it like he’s been calling me on everything I’ve ever tried to get away with. Maybe we should sit them all down together. When were y’all planning to head back to Austin?”
“Okay, then—next order of business.” Collin pulls out a legal pad seemingly out of nowhere. His tone is suddenly serious. Only the glint in his blue eyes gives a hint of amusement. “Time to set down some rules and expectations for this fake relationship, Molly-girl.”
“My friends won’t ask. They don’t care what weird things adults are doing.” Molly laughs. “Well, that’s good, I guess. She puts a hand on Jo’s shoulders. “I’m sorry for not telling you the truth right up front,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry too,” I add. “It’s fine.” Jo shrugs. “Though I don’t know why adults make everything so complicated. It’s obvious you both actually like each other, so I don’t know why you don’t just date for real. Is there any dessert?”
Molly is like a vault of secrets, and I’m twirling the lock, my ear pressed to the door, listening for the smallest click.
“We wouldn’t want to look uncomfortable or like we’ve never kissed before.” “You really think they’d do that?” I’m stalling, because I want to kiss Collin so badly, which makes me feel like I absolutely should not kiss him. “No,” he says. “But I kind of wish they would. And it sounded like a really good excuse to kiss you, Molly.”
Maybe all twentysomethings feel like they’re cosplaying as adults with no idea what they’re actually doing.
“You stepped into my life less than a week ago, and I think you see me better than anyone else ever has, Molly-girl.”
This isn’t the first time I asked a woman to be in a committed relationship. Somehow, though, this feels like the only time it’s mattered. It’s faster than I usually move, but because I do tend to be slower to process, how quickly my feelings escalated makes them more real to me. More sure. That might not make sense to someone else, but I feel the truth of it.
“Does she have an opossum on a leash?” Molly asks, staring after the woman. “Absolutely. But if you ask, she’ll tell you it’s a special breed of hairless cat, known for fainting. Classic Sheet Cake. You’ll get used to it.” I pause. “Actually, no you won’t. But it’ll grow on you.”
“You’ll never feel like you’re good enough,” he said simply. “I know I’m not nearly good enough for Harper. But let that fear of not being enough drive you to be the best you can be instead of letting it push you into a dark place. If you really weren’t good enough, you wouldn’t even be worried about it.”
