Part Three: Yenta
Nick is still reeling as he heads to DNA to pick up some results. Sara and Officer Boyfriend are on the outs. And he's the reason! He's not sure what to make of this, but he's a little relieved to learn that they're not together anymore.
He chastises himself. "It's wrong to find joy in another's pain, Nicholas," his mother's voice echoes in his mind.
Now, Sara's reaction to last week's breakfast invitation makes more sense. No wonder she was so angry with him. He was the cause of their breakup.
He gloats, just a little bit, because Sara chose him over Cory.
That doesn't really mean anything, though, he tells himself. She doesn't like to be told what to do.
It's not that he did anything right.
It's that Cory did something wrong.
The tiny high is over almost before it began. Now, instead of joy, he feels a greedy sort of satisfaction in his tummy, and it makes him feel a little guilty.
He hopes Greg can take his mind off of this, and he yells for his friend from the hallway. "Got my results, Sanders?"
"They're in the tray, Nick," a feminine voice responds. "There's a pink post-it with your name on it," the petite woman continues.
"Molly," Nick smiles at the substitute from the Trace lab. "I wasn't expecting you."
"Apparently not," she smirks at him.
He peruses the results. "Huh," he says. "Not a match for anyone we know of. Bummer." He turns to leave. "Like your new haircut," he adds.
Molly rolls her eyes and rakes her fingers through the short tangle of curls. "Thanks," she says.
He turns around to face her again. "When do you get off?"
The substitute DNA tech looks at her watch. "Another hour."
"Want to grab breakfast? Sara and I go every morning."
Molly shakes her head. "Nah, you go on," she says.
"Come on, it'll be fun."
"Nick," Molly lowers her voice and looks about before continuing. "Aren't the two of you an item? I don't want to be a third wheel."
It's Nick's turn to roll his eyes. If only she knew.
"First off, Sara and I are not an item. You wouldn't be a third wheel. Secondly, invite someone along if you want. I don't mind."
"I don't know," Molly shrugs. "There's really no one to ask," she says.
"Nick," David Phillips, the assistant coroner, sticks his head into the DNA lab. "I've got something interesting for you, if you have a moment."
"Sure," Nick says. A flicker of something familiar passes over Molly's face, and he knows, now, how to make the sick feeling in his stomach go away. "You're going. Be ready." He flashes her a grin and takes off after David.
"Hey," he says, once he catches up with him, "what are you doing after shift?"
The shy coroner looks at Nick out of the corner of his eye. "Nothing," he says.
"A group of us are going to breakfast," Nick tells him. "Why don't you join us?"
He looks, for a moment, like he might refuse.
Nick continues. "Come on, it'll be fun."
"All right," he consents. "I'll go."
Over an hour later, the four young coworkers arrive at the diner. Molly steps out of her Volkswagen and shoots Nick the look of death.
"What's the matter," Nick teases, knowing full well what the problem is.
Molly hurries over to him. "Could you be a little more obvious?"
Nick makes a confused face.
The petite Trace tech rolls her eyes. "I don't want you getting all Yenta on me."
Nick grins. "Is that what you call it? We're just having a friendly breakfast."
"Friendly breakfast my ass," Molly said, fishing a headband out of her purse. "This is an ambush, man," she slides the band into place and attempts to smooth her chestnut curls.
"Potato, potahto," he smiles. "David's a great guy," he tells her.
Molly takes a sudden interest in her footwear.
Nick stops dead in his tracks. "I don't understand why you never told me," he tells her. "You have a thing for him, and you're too shy to say anything!"
Molly turns to face him, walking backwards. "Cease. With. The talking."
"I'm right, aren't I?"
She chooses not to answer the question. "Does my hair look alright?"
"You look great."
Molly picks at the food on her plate, cutting the fresh fruit into even tinier pieces. She clammed up the moment they sat down, and she and David just follow Sara and Nick's conversation, back and forth, like a tennis match.
"So, Moll," Nick says.
She kicks him under the table.
He winces. "You still got that puppy? What was his name, Bert?"
She nods. "Yeah," she digs in her wallet for a photo. "Here's my baby," she offers him a photo of herself with the dog.
Nick oohs and ahs appropriately, making sure that David sees the photo, which in turn earns him another sharp kick to the shin.
David flashes Molly a genuine smile. "He looks like a Vallhund," he says.
Molly grins at him. "He is," she says proudly. "You're familiar with the breed?"
"We had one, when I was growing up," he tells her. "Named Anna."
She smiles at him unabashedly.
"Hey," Sara pipes up. "Could we stop over and see him when we're done here?"
She, too, gets kicked under the table.
Sara yelps just a little. "Wow, that coffee's hot."
"Sure," Molly says. "You guys can visit."
David smiles at her again.
The four of them ride caravan style to Molly's small town home. She fiddles at the door, a nervous tremor in her hands making the keys jingle.
Nick distracts David with talk of his case.
Once they're in the sunny, cheery home, a small dog runs straight for them, yelping. "Hello, big boy," Molly greets him, picking the squirming animal up and scratching him behind the ears. He licks her face in greeting.
Molly doesn't mind, wrapped in her world of dog love.
David looks at her with adoration.
Molly hands the dog off to David and heads to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. "Make yourselves at home," she calls. The three move from the entryway to the living room, which is decorated with modest furnishings and framed black and white photos.
"Great shots," David observes, looking at the photos. "Who is the photographer?"
Molly blushes, beaming. "I am," she tells him. "I have a darkroom in the basement."
"Wow," he says. The dog still squirms in his arms. "I'd love to see it sometime."
"Sure," she says. "No problem." She holds out a steaming mug. "Coffee?"
An hour later, Nick and Sara exit the town home. David and Molly are in the backyard watching Bert attempt to herd songbirds.
"Score one for us," Nick says.
Sara rewards him with a gentle smile. "That was mostly your doing," she tells him.
"Well, yeah, but you did get injured in the line of duty."
"Yeah," Sara lifts her pant leg to look at the beginnings of an ugly bruise. "Why does she have to wear steel toed boots? Good God, that woman can kick."
"I think she went to college on a soccer scholarship."
"Well, that explains it." Sara leans against Nick's Tahoe. "How come putting other people together is so much easier than trying to find someone on your own?"
"Jesus, that's the fifty million dollar question," he grins at her under his eyelashes.
Sara doesn't return his smile for a moment. Instead she blinks, and takes a breath. "I need to tell you about what happened when Cory was here," she says.
Nick thinks maybe he knows, after overhearing the conversation in the break room. As much as he cares about Sara and only wants her to be happy, he can't help but think she's better off without some jerk that gets jealous of her friends.
He smiles at her and then looks away, a little nervous. "Okay, you want to go to the gym?" He climbs into his Tahoe and starts the engine.
"Nah," she says. "Let's go do pushups instead."
"You got it," he tells her, and closes the door. He's glad for the tinted windows. They conceal the blush that's creeping up the back of his neck. All the way back to his place, he practices his surprised face, and his shocked face, and his 'you've got to be kidding me' face. He's not supposed to know about the breakup, after all, so he's got to have a convincing reaction.
The sick satisfied feeling that went away when he was with Molly and David is sneaking back into the pit of his stomach.
He wills it to go away by telling himself that it's not his fault that Sara broke up with Cory; not directly, anyway. It's not like he told her to do it; although he would have liked to, if only because he was a little jealous when she was with Cory.
He likes it when they are both lonely, he thinks.
His nerves are a little on edge when they arrive at his home. He wants to beg off, tell her he's too tired for pushups this morning, but one look at her earnest face and he knows that he can't.
If nothing else, he owes it to her to listen.
So he lets her in, and he practices his faces when her back is turned.
