.:. Seven .:.

Two Years Later

It was Chase's twenty-sixth birthday.

Endless streams of complaints had spewed from the chef's lips for the entirety of the week around the fact that he was now closer to thirty than twenty. Molly had tried to console him—that twenty-six was a cool age!—yet he moped further, reminding her that she was twenty-four and her understanding was limited. In an attempt of comfort, she opened her arms to hug him, but he leaped backwards and chased her from his kitchen with the clanging of pans.

Molly knew her efforts would be in vain. She lingered on Chase's doorstep, swiping a streak of flour from her cheek as her eyes lowered to the cake within her grasp. It was an orange cake—and in messy, smudged piping read: 'Happy Birthday Chesney!'

Her hand lifted to knock, but the door whipped open to reveal Maya—pigtails frayed, mascara smudged and dress creased. Molly was stunned, lips parted and eyebrows raised at the shameless sight.

"M-Molly! Hi!"

Maya's eyes were saucers. Clearing her throat, she masked her embarrassment though cheeriness as her hand shielded her eyes from the glare of the sun.

"How are you doing? I was..." she craned her neck, searching for something inside of the house. Evidently, she failed in locating it as she exhaled with defeat. "I was just leaving," her smile faltered, a tear rolling down her cheek.

She bustled past her, shrouding her face in her hands.

"Hey—Maya—wait!" Molly dashed after her, hoping not to damage the cake in her pursuit. Maya stumbled to a halt and spun around, shoulders shaky from sobbing. "Are you... um, are you okay?"

"S-Sorry," she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, offering a pitiful smile. Black circled her eyes, but Molly wasn't about to voice her resemblance to a panda. "I don't want anyone to see me like this," her head snapped from side-to-side, checking for passers-by. "I look totally un-cute. I'm so~ embarrassed."

"Don't worry," Molly smiled reassuringly, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I get embarrassed being seen with Chase all the time."

"Oh, Molly," her lip trembled. "Now you even sound like him!"

Molly swallowed the guilt, shifting the cake in her arms. "But hey. At least I didn't roll my eyes, right?"

Maya's blue eyes were serious and searching. "Promise you won't fall in love with him, 'kay?"

She groaned. "Maya, he's my best friend. I don't—"

"Because all that meanie will do is hurt you—crush your heart into a million pieces!" She teetered on her heels, eyes glued to a spot above Molly's shoulder. "Oh no! Is that Anissa? See you at the inn, Molly!"

"Bye-bye," she raised her hand in a static wave as she watched her flouncy dress vanish around the corner.

.:.

Without knocking, Molly barged into Chase's house.

The familiar scents of orange and cinnamon assaulted her nose, yet they were mingled with perfume. She spotted the chef instantly—he stood in his kitchen, arms folded over his bare chest, clad in tartan pyjama bottoms as he stared out of the window. He was lost in thought, lips pursed and eyebrows bowed as he followed the fluttering journey of a butterfly. The morning sun spotlighted him and haloed his hair, making it appear golden.

"You haven't gotten smarter with age, have you?" said Molly as she clanked the cake onto the dining table.

He flinched with surprise, twisting his neck.

"Is that the new birthday greeting these days? I wonder how that caught on."

Molly joined him at the window and glared up at him, flicking up her sunglasses.

"Oh my god," she gasped.

He whipped his head down, hair wild and tousled.

"What?" His voice was deep and heavy, yet it broke with sleep. Molly failed to take notice of how early it was.

"Is that…?" Her finger jabbed his head, tone frightful, as though gesturing to a dinosaur in the distance.

"What?"

"I think that's a grey hair!" Molly exclaimed and ripped out one strand of—non-grey—hair.

"Ow, what the hell!" his eyes blazed as he massaged his head.

"Don't 'what the hell' me!" Molly fumed, hands-on-hips. "You're an idiot, Chesney! You know that Maya loves you—you can't keep using her when you're lonely or bored! It's not fair!"

A humourless sound formed in his throat as he slumped down into a dining chair.

"You know, it dawned on me the other day—" his speech was cut abruptly as he eyed the cake under his nose. "Huh. What's this?"

"I'm no culinary expert, but by the looks of things, a cake," Molly clapped her hands, beaming. "Happy birthday!"

She thought it would be fitting for party poppers to explode and a sea of balloons to drop from the ceiling. Yet Chase ignored her, their silence filled with the faint twitters of birds while the light distributed from the window warmed her arm.

Molly watched him intently as he scooped the 'C' from 'Chesney' with his finger and sucked it. His lips twisted into a grimace. "This is a crime. It should be illegal for something to be this bad. Did you use lard instead of butter for the buttercream?"

She exhaled hopelessly and smoothed her hair. "Of course I didn't!"

Molly knew Chase would never entertain her culinary practices—or trust them, for a better word.

His hatred begun a year ago when he contracted the flu and was bed-ridden for a week. Kathy covered his shift while Molly became the bar's temporary waitress. She packed a suitcase and camped out on his couch for the duration to look after him. He was ungrateful and stubborn and complained. Yet Molly ignored him and fetched tissues, damp flannels and even attempted to make chicken soup.

It wasn't her fault that it slipped his mind to label expiration dates.

She deduced that the horrid smell of the chicken was some of the chef's strange seasoning. But a dosage of food poisoning paired with the flu was enough to land him in the care of Jin for another week.

Suffice to say, he wasn't happy with her.

A few weeks passed without mention and Chase offered to cook for her. Not suspecting anything, Molly continued to chew through her food. Bursts of laughter and swift glances were tossed her way until he asked: 'so, Dolly. How do you like the food?'

The food was awful. Molly thought that he must be trying a new dish, and as always, using her as the guinea pig. But before she could undertake her negative feedback, her stomach turned. She caught a final glimpse of his smirking face before she sprinted into the bathroom to puke her guts out.

"I don't care, anyway," Molly continued, eyes locked on the cake. "I knew you would hate it. I made it to cheer you up. I was considering writing 'Happy Retirement!' or 'You've Had A Great Life!' to enhance that thirty-fear of yours."

Chase rolled his eyes and pushed the cake aside.

"Like I was saying before I was interrupted by this monstrosity—it dawned on me that I'm not getting any younger. Sure, there's been countless girls in the city, just stupid one-night-stands that I can't even remember. But Maya—as annoying as she is—is the only one who stuck around and dealt with me. I don't like conversing with people—but I don't like loneliness twice as much. Maybe Maya is all I can have a future with. Maybe I should just accept it."

"Do you love her?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

Molly's eyes rolled to the ceiling in the hope that she would discover her friend's brain.

"That has everything to do with it!" Her voice was shrill, hands tossed into the air with exasperation. "You can't have a relationship with somebody unless you love them! It's not only selfish, but also sad—it would never work—love is one of the foundations to a relationship!"

Chase jerked up, knocking his chair backwards. "What right do you have to give me relationship advice?" he snapped. "Your first boyfriend cheated on you and Calvin is never even here. If either of them 'loved you', where are they now?"

Molly's hands curled into fists.

"Come and find me at the bar when you're in a better mood."

With that, she stormed out of his house.

But she didn't fail in hearing the splatting sound her cake created as it made contact with the tile.

.:.

It was evening and Molly sat at the bar, swinging her legs to entertain her boredom.

Her fingers tugged her necklaces. One was a shark-tooth which Calvin had brought back from his travels. The other was the one Chase had presented her with for her birthday the previous summer. It was a silver rabbit pendant with an initial tag. Molly inquired about the 'I' initial and he revealed that it stood for 'Insane'—yet Molly liked to believe it stood for 'Interesting' instead.

Her thoughts were disrupted with a dragging sound. She lowered her gaze to the pot of home-made strawberry ice-cream. Underneath the dish was a note—the paper used for taking orders.

I'm the worst. I'm sorry.

Was written in Chase's recognisable cursive. She caught a glimpse of peach-hair as the kitchen doors swung shut. She smiled to herself.

Molly finished her ice-cream when the chef reappeared, leaning his elbows against the bar. His eyes were cross-eyed as he looked up to his hair, fingers swiping back loose strands.

"This must be your worst birthday ever," she exhaled, offering a half-smile. "I'm sorry, Chesney. Can I make it up to you?"

"I want to see what this hype is about."

"Hype?"

"There's one of this town's stupid festivals this weekend, right? Come with me," he cleared his throat, eyebrows pinched. "Strictly as friends."

Her lips parted in reply, yet the arms snaking around her waist halted her words. Scents of must and spice reached Molly's nose, stubble rubbing against her jaw.

"Molls," a husky voice whispered. "I'm back."

"Calvin!"

Molly bounced from the stool and threw her arms around his neck. He staggered backwards from her sudden attack, one hand caught in her hair while the other rested against her lower-back.

"You're certainly glad to see me," his chest vibrated with laughter. "Can't say that I mind."

"How was your trip?" she tilted her head back, lips stretched. "I bet it was really interesting, right? You even look a little suntanned. Was it hot over there? Did you meet any tribes? I heard that sometimes tribes over there still keep to cannibal traditions. Did you have to negotiate for the preservation of your arm? If you did, I'm glad. It would have been quite a shock if you returned without a limb!"

Calvin's mouth was slanted in amusement, head shaking as he ruffled her hair. "Boy, you're as enthusiastic as ever."

"Tell me about it," Chase drawled, staring intently at the object he was attacking with a cloth. "Though I wouldn't have called it 'enthusiastic'".

"I couldn't help but overhear your conversation," Calvin begun, flitting his eyes from Chase to Molly. He placed his hat onto the bar, earning a frown from Chase who was presumably thinking about hygiene. "But I was planning to go to the Firefly Festival myself. It's an ancient custom, which provides an excellent opportunity for research. Sorry to steal her away, but it'd be a treat to spend time with you, Molls."

His blue eyes crinkled with the makings of a smile.

Molly and Calvin had been dating for a year. But he was constantly away from the island, traveling and going on adventures. He wanted to see the world—yet she was never invited to see the world with him.

Her attention drifted to Chase, eyes asking for permission. After all, he had asked first.

His jaw was tight as he stretched and put the glass away, avoiding her stare. Yet when he faced her, his expression was blank.

"I didn't want to go anyway," he murmured, but his voice was edged. Molly's lips twisted apologetically. "What? Go with him," he insisted, waving his cloth in dismissal. "I don't care."

"You're not mad?"

"Why would I be mad?"

"I don't know."

Breezy laughter fell from her lips as she turned to Calvin, interlacing their fingers. "Sure. Of course we can go."

Her eyes fluttered shut as he kissed her. Chase made a strangled sound of disgust.

"Please, my eyes. Save me from the spectacle of the two of you exchanging saliva."

Molly sloped backwards and flashed the chef a grin. "Shut up and get the two of us some drinks. A strawberry—"

"I know what you want. Anything strawberry. What does he want?"

Calvin arched an eyebrow about being addressed in the third person, but made no comment.

"Blackberry cocktail should do the trick."

"Just my specialty."

Chase stormed into the kitchen, the door whacking the wall with his irritated force. Molly flinched at the sound.

"Don't have the funds to replace the wall, Chase!" Hayden's stern voice carried over and curses leaked from the kitchen.

"Sorry. I know he's kind of rude," Molly mused her hair, smile sheepish. "I would love to say he isn't always like this, but he really is. He's the worst."

"It's you I've come to see. No one else matters."

"You know, I may not be able to see you," Chase's drawl flooded from the window splitting the kitchen to the bar. "But I can still hear you. Keep it up if you like vomit in your drinks."

However Molly's attention was soon diverted from Calvin and Chase's mocking gags by an excited squeal. Swiveling on her stool, her eyes met Kathy—who appeared to be on a date with Owen on her night off—posture erect and hands clasped over her mouth as the miner knelt on one knee, extending a box.

"Oh, Honey! Of course I'll marry you!"

Molly's lips split into a wide, toothy grin. But it faltered as Chase slammed the two drinks down. The bottoms ringed from spillage.

"Too much 'love' in the air tonight," his mouth pulled in distaste. "I'm choking."

While Chase's eyes were cold, Calvin's were trained on the happy couple—bright and warm and crinkled at the corners. Butterflies danced in Molly's stomach.

Perhaps it was the influence of the cocktail, the so-called 'love in the air' or the spark in Calvin's eyes—but Molly had the sudden yearning to be the one in Kathy's position—to know that she was finding her happily-ever-after.