CHAPTER ONE

“Shit!”

She ran around her tiny apartment, throwing things sporadically around her already messy bedroom as she searched for her work uniform. She sent her co-worker, Jacey, a quick text as she struggled to get one of her legs into her pants.

Be there in 20. Grab my section for me?

Jesus, Moll. Again? I just covered your prep work for you.

Please?

K. But you’re tipping me out.

Ty!

She got her things together, fed her cat, Jax, grabbed her keys, jumped in her car, and headed off to work. Her tires peeled as she pulled into the parking lot of King’s Diner.

King’s was an old, rundown place made of red and brown bricks, with a wooden sign that read “King’s” perched on the top, peeling red and white paint. It wasn’t much to look at, but it was the most popular place in her small, desolate town.

She had tried to sneak past the manager’s office, hoping her boss, Sam, wouldn’t notice she was late. Again.

“Moll!”

Damn it.

Sam ushered her into the office. She tried to defend herself, but he didn’t give her the chance. He went into a long spiel about responsibility, priorities, taking accountability, setting an example, and other things that she hadn’t fully listened to.

Since she was a kid, she had a habit of unintentionally tuning-out when people talked about things that bored her. Despite this, she was incredibly talented at appearing as if she was listening—nodding, eye contact, blinking—when she hadn’t heard a word. The only person who knew when Molly was fake or real listening was her dad. He would snap his fingers and go, “Hello? Lights are on, but no one is home!”

It wasn’t until Sam handed her a write-up slip that she snapped back.

“What? Why?”

“Did you not hear anything I just said?”

Not wanting to admit she hadn’t, Molly snatched the pen from Sam’s hand. She scribbled a sad excuse of a signature on the paper and stormed out of the office.

Whatever. Can’t get worse, right?

Wrong.

She was stiffed by four tables, her food wasn’t coming out on time, and she got into a heated argument with one of her favorite cooks because she forgot to put an order in. She spilled a tray of

drinks, sending them crashing and shattering on the ground. She was about to have a complete breakdown in the walk-in when Sam told her she was cut.

She walked out the backdoor to the warm evening June air. That was when her phone pinged. She glanced down at the screen, and stopped, startled by the name she was staring at. Bennie. Ger sister, whom she hadn’t spoken to in two years.

Hey Moll. I tried to call you. Dad has passed away suddenly. Please call me ASAP.

Molly opened her eyes again in the bathtub, still clutching the wine glass stem. She took another sip, the last few moments of the night flashing through her mind like movie clips.

The phone call with Bennie. The first time she had heard her sister’s voice in two years. Bennie crying. Molly seemingly unable to cry at all. Numb. Sam and Jacey, concerned, gathered around her. Molly told them in the blunt, stoic tone she had managed to master over the last few years, “my dad is dead.” The eerily silent drive home.

A sharp jab ran through Molly’s chest, like her heart was made of paper and someone had crumpled it into a tiny ball. She rubbed her fingers below her collar bone.

She wasn’t the average, grieving daughter. She was angry, she was confused, she was consumed with guilt. She hadn’t spoken to her dad in two years, either. Yet, in the same breath, she was relieved.

Molly, who had never been one to deal with emotions well, suddenly had to deal with all of them at once.

She stumbled out of the bathtub, her head filled with the sweet static feeling that only Pinot could give. She wrapped herself in a towel and grabbed her phone, closing one eye to help with her blurred vision. She had three missed calls and two texts from Jacey. God, Jacey is such a good friend. Molly didn’t think she deserved her. She had a text from Sam and two from Bennie. She didn’t have the energy to respond to anyone.

She put the phone down and glanced up at herself in the mirror. Her long, strawberry-blonde curls, wet from the bath, fell over her shoulders. Her green, almond-shaped eyes were gifted to her by

her dad—or so she was told. Being the younger of the two sisters, she didn’t have much memory of her mom, who left when she was two. Only on occasion had she seen an old picture of her. From what she could tell, Bennie looked just like her.

She studied herself fiercely, finding any physical trait of her dad’s. She lightly traced her lips, her bottom protruding just a bit more than her top, her narrow nose, and her soft jawline. As she finished staring into her reflection, she watched a single tear involuntarily fall from her right eye for the first time.