This last statement came from Molly, spoken in an amused tone as she reached around him and scratched the cat behind the ears. “She likes you.”
Trying to decide if that was a good thing or not, Garrett shifted the animal in his arms.
The purring took on an unrestrained edge.
“She really likes you.”
Arms overflowing with giant kitty, he answered in his best philosophical tone. “I guess we can add cat wrangler to my list of various talents.”
“So it would seem.”
They shared a laugh. It felt surprisingly good to enjoy the moment with Molly, like old times. But as those big, expressive blue eyes held his a moment too long, his breath clogged in his throat. The impact of all that beauty was like a gut-punch.
“My sweet girl doesn’t usually like men.” Retrieving her cat, Mrs. Singletary looked from him to Molly and then back again. “You are a rarity, Mr. Mitchell.”
Sensing an undertone in her words, Garrett’s smile tightened. “Am I?”
“Of course. My cat is an excellent judge of character, don’t you agree, Molly?”
When she sniffed in response, Garrett’s shoulders stiffened.
Mrs. Singletary laughed outright.
“I wish to leave for the opera at once.” After a quick kiss to the cat’s head, she set the animal on the floor then retrieved her reticule off a nearby table. “I prefer to arrive early whenever possible.”
“Whatever you desire.” Garrett gave her a short bow of his head. “I am your humble servant for the entire evening.”
“Wonderful.”
He offered her his arm, turned to Molly and, after only a slight hesitation, offered her the other. “Shall we?”
They left the house in companionable silence.
Not more than a half hour later, Garrett escorted the women into the recently finished Tabor Grand Opera House. They entered from Curtis Street, straight into the rotunda with its impressive stained glass roof. The newly finished building was an architectural marvel.
After speaking to several people she knew, Mrs. Singletary indicated they could continue into the lobby. A large chandelier lighted their way across the well-laid parquet floor. Thanks to several more social opportunities for the widow, it took considerable time to maneuver their small party into the main auditorium.
Eventually, they passed through the main area and climbed the stairwells to the top tier of the theater where she’d secured a box.
As they settled in the crimson plush chairs, Garrett took the seat between the two women and looked around. Paintings and murals decorated the entire theater. Senses overloaded, he shut his eyes and concentrated solely on the sound of the orchestra tuning their instruments. Recognizing several notes, he winced in dread.
Hoping he was wrong, he looked at the playbill in his hand. A groan shot past his lips. Perfect. Just perfect.
The traveling opera troupe was set to perform The Barber of Seville, absolutely the worst tale of love and deception ever composed. The convoluted story was Molly’s all-time favorite and—ironically—the source of their infamous first argument as a couple.
Their mutually heated words slammed through his mind. And, then, because he was a man after all, his thoughts leaped to the end of their verbal tussle, straight to that remarkable kiss. The first for them both.
Lost in the memory, he glanced over at Molly. She was staring back at him. With a wry twist of his lips, he lifted the playbill and pointed to the title of the opera.
Her pupils instantly dilated, but it was her cheeky half grin that told him all he needed to know. She remembered their argument as well as he did. And the concluding kiss.
His heart tripped.
They were in tricky, dangerous territory.
The precise place they both liked best.
Mind stuck somewhere between past and present, he leaned forward. Molly did the same. He might have said her name. She might have whispered his.
He moved his head a fraction closer to hers, and—
A masculine clearing of a throat stopped his pursuit.
Attention averted, Garrett swung around to look at the curtained entryway. Two men, both impeccably dressed, stood in the halo of light pouring in through the slit behind them.
Garrett knew one of them by name, reputation and, more importantly, by his recent connection to Molly.
The other had been among her suitors this afternoon, the one who’d continually taken her hand in his and spoke to her with far too much familiarity for Garrett’s liking.
The evening only needed this added dramatic twist.
It’s going to be a long night, Garrett thought glumly.
And the screeching Italian hadn’t even begun.
* * *
Molly rose to her feet at the same time as Garrett. Her stomach dipped to her toes, then whipped straight to her throat and stuck.
Swallowing several times, she concentrated on the man to her left. Marshall Ferguson. Her former fiancé, looking exceedingly elegant in his evening attire. He’d even managed to tame his unruly, blond hair into neat, orderly waves.
Eyes on his handsome face, Molly braced for the change in her heartbeat, for the sickening roll in her stomach, for...something. She felt nothing, nothing at all, not even a quickening of her breath.
Odd. Wasn’t she supposed to feel a physical response to seeing him again?
As though he were equally unmoved, Marshall looked at her with a benign smile on his lips. He didn’t speak, nor did he try to move deeper into the box. He just stood at the entrance, waiting for someone else to break the silence.
Garrett didn’t do the honors.
Mrs. Singletary didn’t, either.
Molly couldn’t. Because, well, Marshall wasn’t alone.
There, beside him, stood Mr. Giles Thomas, dressed, for once, in black rather than his customary brown. Even more disconcerting, a look of disapproval pinched his ordinary face into a rather unattractive scowl.
“What is the meaning of this?” demanded Mr. Thomas in a voice full of outrage. “Miss Scott. You told me you were attending the opera with Mrs. Singletary, and yet here you are with—” he stabbed a finger at Garrett “—him.”
Oh, honestly.
Did he not see Mrs. Singletary standing beside them, looking...amused? The widow found this situation funny?
Molly frowned.
“You will not speak to Miss Scott in that tone of voice.” Tightening his jaw, Garrett took a step forward. “Have I made myself clear?”
“Now see here, who are you to go ordering me about?”
“Mr. Thomas.” Mrs. Singletary shifted into view, diverting disaster with the move. “And Mr. Ferguson. I say, how very good of you both to stop by my box this evening.”
The two addressed her in return—Marshall with genuine regard, Mr. Thomas with a much more fractious attitude.
Unaffected by his rudeness, the widow chattered away, oh-so-casually moving between him and Garrett. When she took a breath, she wrapped her fingers around Mr. Thomas’s arm and led him toward the exit.
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