He smiled, flashing that aggravatingly adorable dimple as he settled in next to her, and she had to admit…it wouldn’t be the worst way to go.

Chapter 2

Molly yawned and blinked, trying to clear her fuzzy eyesight. It didn’t help. The spreadsheet’s numbers still looked like someone had smeared Vaseline over the laptop screen. Letting out a huff of frustration that morphed into another yawn halfway through, she sat back in her chair and squinted at the clock on the microwave display.

“Almost one. No wonder I’m tired,” she muttered, rolling her head to stretch out her tense neck muscles. Her right leg felt stiff, and she was dying to move it, but a snoozing Warrant was resting his huge head on her foot, and she didn’t want to disturb the dog. She knew she should just go to bed and finish work in the morning, but it was almost impossible to get anything done while everyone else was awake. There were always distractions and crises to manage, as well as research to be done. It was good to be busy, to be offered almost too many jobs, but it was also tiring. The business was solidly established now, but Molly still hated to turn away work. Even though it wasn’t exactly logical, she worried that everything would collapse underneath them if she paused to take a breath.

Glancing back at the screen, she grimaced. The numbers weren’t any clearer than they’d been a minute ago. Saving the file, she shut down the laptop. If she tried to finish it tonight, she’d just have to fix mistakes tomorrow.

The kitchen was dimly lit by the gentle glow from the light over the stove. The room was just large enough to fit the small table that Molly used as a desk. No matter how much she would’ve loved to have an office with a door she could use to shut out the hubbub, space was at a premium when six women shared one house. There were officially three bedrooms, although solitude-loving Norah had tucked a twin bed into what was supposed to be an upstairs sitting room and had appropriated the hall closet for her own use. Molly and Felicity shared one room, and the twins—Cara and Charlie—took another. It irked Molly that their mother, who contributed the least to the household expenses, had her own room.

Tapping her finger absently on the closed laptop, she frowned, knowing that she was going to have to have a conversation with her mom soon about paying her way or finding another place to live.

With a groan, she let her head tip forward to rest on the cool laptop lid. She dreaded the drama that conversation would cause. Molly’d had similar talks with her mom over the years—the first was when she was twelve—and Jane had always somehow wiggled out of her promises or negotiated more time or had such a fit that Molly had backed off. Lifting her head, she drew her shoulders back. Not this time. She was determined to stand strong.