All That Really Matters, Nicole Deese [best detective novels of all time .TXT] 📗

mile away from the house. It gave me a chance to clear my head, meditate, pray. To focus not on the things I couldn’t control but on the one thing I could: my immediate next step and then the next after that.

My feet pounded the dusty trail as the early morning sun beat against my neck and cut through the dense branches of the fir trees lining either side of me. In only a few more strides, I’d see the roof of the guys’ Bunkhouse, and then not long after that I’d see the back of the estate, where Molly had envisioned an entire black-tie affair to take place at the end of the summer.

My cadence picked up at the thought of her—at the way she’d looked at me last night when I told her about Carlos. At the way she’d traced my scar with her delicate fingers. At the way she’d pressed her cheek into my palm and told me I made her happy.

I’d kissed her.

And not a single part of me regretted it. Not even the part that hadn’t a clue how we’d coexist in the same work space, under the same roof, separated by a hallway, when all I wanted was to be near her. I didn’t understand how it had happened, and I certainly hadn’t planned for it to happen, but falling for Molly had been as quick as it had been all-consuming.

I’d never experienced anything like it.

As I rounded the wild rose bushes that lined the trail up to the street, I spotted the blue SUV I’d been expecting. My mom had texted early this morning to say she’d be running errands out this way and would stop in. I jogged to where she’d parked, grabbing my towel and water bottle on the way to her car.

She unlocked her door and stepped out of the vehicle in her typical cycling attire—dry-fit tank, workout pants, tennis shoes, and a bright smile. “Hey, sweetheart. Perfect timing.”

As I wiped my forehead and face, she reached for me. “I’m pretty sweaty, Mom.”

“Do you think a little sweat bothers me after all my years raising kids? Especially after raising Jacob?”

I laughed. “True, he still smells like gym socks and chlorine.”

She put her arms around my middle and squeezed. I kissed the top of her head, and when she pulled back, she planted both her hands on my cheeks, her gaze nearly eye level with mine. Jake’s height and athleticism had come from our mom’s gene pool, not our father’s. And while Jake had been their only biological child, the youngest of five, with four adopted children, our father’s genes had rubbed off on me the most, despite our lack of shared DNA. Daniel Whittaker was a studious man, never without a book, and serious about his hobbies, darts ranking near the top.

Mom assessed me in the way she had since I was a young boy, with a probing but gentle gaze. “Jake was right. You look good, Silas. Happy.” She patted my face, her dark, short curls bouncing as she did.

My mother may be in her early sixties, but age would never be what slowed her down. She cycled with a group of friends in the mornings, and she was as healthy as most of the early twenty-somethings we had in our program. “Did you want to come inside? I’m sure Glo would warm up some breakfast for you while I rinse off. I’ll only be a minute.”

“No, I wish I could, but I’m babysitting for Emily in less than an hour, so I probably shouldn’t.”

It wasn’t exactly rare that my mom stopped by the house, but it was rare that she’d stop by and decline to come inside to say hello to Glo. The two had been friends for decades. Her eyes drifted from mine, as if to search the parking lot beyond me. “Unless . . . unless there’s a chance your adorable new friend might be inside?”

I blinked to clear my focus, certain I’d heard her wrong. “My . . . my what?”

Her laugh was half nervous energy, half meddling mother. “I googled her, Silas. We all did. When you missed family dinner last night, well . . .” She shrugged. “Clara and Jake were just raving about her and all she’s doing for the house, and then you know how your sisters are. They asked to see her picture, and one thing led to another, and the next thing we knew, everybody was crowding around Dad’s laptop until Emily suggested we just put her channel up on the TV with that special cord your dad has. We ended up skipping a movie to watch Makeup Matters with Molly.”

The clock had barely chimed the twelve-hour mark on my relationship status change with Molly, and already my family had stalked her online over dinner? Though I could hardly pass judgment on the addicting quality of Molly’s videos, the idea of the entire Whittaker family watching her as entertainment felt all sorts of wrong.

By my lack of response, my mother picked up on this fact quickly.

“She’s an absolute doll, Silas. We all think so.”

“She’s more than that.” The words shot out before I could filter them. “Molly. She’s more than what you can see in those videos.”

“Oh yes, of course. I’m sure that’s true.” She placed a hand on my arm, studied me. “I’m sorry if we overstepped any boundaries by watching them. We were just so caught up by her engaging personality.”

“I understand, but Molly’s personality is only a small part of what makes her a stunning human being.”

At my words, my mother’s eyes glistened with tears. “Oh, Silas . . .” She pursed her lips together. “I wondered if Jake had been exaggerating, but it’s true. You really do care for her.”

“Yes, I do.”

She nodded. “Then I absolutely cannot wait to meet her. I’ve always told your father that the woman who turns your head and gets you to take a second glance when you’ve been so focused on the goals in front of you . . . well,