Molly's Mr. Wrong. Jeannie Watt

      Okay—that had been stupid of her, not cluing in on the fact that her neighbor’s last name was Culver. But she hadn’t thought about Finn Culver in a long time. She had fresher humiliations to think about, like her ex-fiancé spreading the love as he traveled with his ball team. Finn Culver hadn’t even been a blip on her radar—or at least not until he appeared at her door just now, looking even better than he had in high school. Of course he couldn’t be one of those guys who started to thicken up in their early thirties. If anything, he was more muscular, his face more sculpted. And the little lines at the corners of his eyes added to the package. She hated the fact that the package still looked so good.

      “Mercy date?” Finn repeated. Then an expression of dawning understanding crossed his handsome features and his face split into a grin. “Wow. That was a long time ago.”

      And that grin pissed her off.

      “Yes.” But not so long that she’d forgotten any of it. First there’d been the embarrassment of their mothers arranging the date so that Molly could attend the homecoming dance. To this day Molly didn’t know if her mother had been aware of the fact that she’d had a wild crush on Finn, who’d been two years older than her. She’d approached the date with anticipation and terror.

      When the big day had finally arrived, she’d gone to the game with one of her friends since Finn was playing, hooked up with him afterward for the dance, thought they were having a good time, and then he took her home as soon as the last song had ended. No kiss at the door. Nothing. Oh well, she’d told herself. So he wasn’t a guy who pushed.

      It turned out that he wasn’t a guy who pushed her.

      After dropping her off, he’d gone to a party where he’d scored with one of the high school’s socially elite. Molly knew because the girl had wondered aloud in the locker room if she was going to get pregnant because she and Finn had “forgotten” to use protection. And then in a nightmare moment, the girl seemed to remember (a) that Molly was standing at a locker a few feet away and (b) that she’d also been with Finn that night, though not in nearly such an intimate way.

      Heat rose in Molly’s cheeks at the memory. Everyone in school had soon known that Finn had ditched her to spend the rest of the evening with someone more in his league. And they’d sure had a great time.

      She realized then that even though she hadn’t thought about it in a long time, she hadn’t forgotten the searing humiliation of the homecoming episode—she’d buried it and stacked rocks on top. But the feelings were pushing their way to the surface, and Molly discovered that those feelings were still just a bit raw. She didn’t have to put up with guys like Finn or Blake anymore. Not for one lousy second.

      “You know,” she finally said, hoping he didn’t notice her overly pink cheeks, but needing closure on this matter, “I can understand how being saddled with a date our mothers cooked up might not have been the greatest, but did you really have to nail Sheena that same night?”

      “Shayna.”

      “I stand corrected.”

      Finn shifted his weight uncomfortably. Good. “I didn’t intend to humiliate you.”

      “Well, you did.”

      “Obviously you’re still angry about it.” He quickly held up a hand. “Not that you don’t have cause. You do.”

      “I’m not angry.” Molly drew in a breath. “But you know, honestly? I’ll be more comfortable calling a professional for this job.” She’d made her point and now she wanted him gone.

      Finn rubbed the back of his neck as if his muscles had gone tight, then met her gaze, and she was irritated to discover that she still thought he had pretty amazing eyes. “Let me look at the problem. I owe you.”

      “You owe me?” She spoke on an incredulous note.

      “I showed poor judgment.”

      “You were monumentally insensitive.”

      “I was a horny teenage boy.”

      “Who didn’t make one move on me.” The words blurted out and Molly was surprised to find that she didn’t regret them. Not one bit.

      A look of surprise crossed his face. “You were so...”

      He stopped before he got himself into trouble, but Molly was not letting him off the hook. Her eyebrows lifted coolly. “Please. Finish your thought.”

      “Mousy.”

      Molly’s eyes went shut for a fraction of a second as her lips thinned. Yes, she’d been mousy. Which was worse than being invisible, which is what she’d thought she’d been. She opened her eyes again and fixed her gaze over his head at his Mustang as her economical self battled with her pride. On the one hand, the incident had occurred a long time ago. His grandfather was her neighbor. On the other, he’d taken her out on a date, dumped her and screwed another woman that same night.

      “Tell your grandfather thanks for sending you.” She started to cross her arms over her chest, then stopped abruptly. No more drawing into herself. “I appreciate you taking the time to stop by. I’ll reimburse you for your gas.”

      “Forget the gas,” he said. “And for what it’s worth, I apologize for what I did.”

      “Accepted.” Molly meant what she said—even as she wondered if he did—because she was not going to let ancient history weigh on her. But she also wasn’t having the guy work on her drain. Wouldn’t be beholden to him in any way, shape or form. “Now, if you don’t mind...I have more unpacking to do.”

      * * *

      “YOU’RE BACK ALREADY?” Mike looked over his glasses at Finn.

      “Your neighbor—” for the life of him he couldn’t remember her last name “—wants to hire a professional.”

      “Are you sure it’s not a case of her feeling uncomfortable about taking up your time and getting help for free? I mean, she wasn’t just being nice, was she?”

      “Trust me. She wasn’t being nice.” She was totally pissed over an incident that he’d long forgotten. He doubted very much that she’d walked around regularly stewing about the incident for the past dozen years, but there’d been no question that once she’d been reminded, she still harbored resentment.

      “Meaning?”

      “She didn’t want me to do it. Maybe she took one look at me and decided I was incompetent.” Or an asshole. Actually, there was no maybe about that. He was not on her A-list.

      Mike studied Finn for a long moment, his gray eyebrows coming close together, making Finn feel very much as he had when he’d been guilty of some kid crime and Mike had wanted him to fess up on his own. Finn always had, but today he didn’t think that Mike needed to know all the details of what had gone down between him and Molly whose-last-name-escaped-him.

      “Is something weighing on you?” Mike finally asked. “You haven’t been yourself lately.”

      Finn gave a snort. “I’m good.”

      “You seem unsettled.”

      Finn almost said something about the military changing a man, but he didn’t want his grandfather to latch on to the notion that he was suffering from PTSD. He wasn’t. He forced a smile. “Maybe I grew up a little while I was overseas. I’m fine. Anything else?”

      His grandfather took a few seconds before shaking his head in a way that told Finn that the matter was not yet considered finished. “Nope.” Mike focused back on the ledger in front of him and Finn left the office.

      Until now, he’d thought he’d done a pretty good job of hiding the fact that he no longer wanted to spend his life selling grain and Western doodads. He wanted to do something that spoke to him, that meant something. It wasn’t sales and it wasn’t mechanics, which had been his specialty in the service.

      Finn