.:. Eleven .:.

Two Months Later

"She still won't answer the phone. She doesn't want to talk to me."

Chase was situated at the bar, multitudes of empty shot glasses cluttering the top. He was being pathetic, or perhaps harbouring an addiction—he wasn't sure which. He asked Kathy for another, yet she refused—she may be a waitress, but the role didn't involve mopping up vomit or carrying drunkards home, she had said. Chase grumbled about her hypocritical existence.

"She's being stupid," he continued. "Why does she have to take everything I say to heart? God, it's not like I meant it or anything."

"Then what did you mean?" Kathy questioned, curious.

"Look, I'm not going to lie. Of course it would have been easier if I hadn't of met her—she's not exactly what one calls low-maintenance. But I don't regret meeting her. How could I? She's the—"

Her lips formed a perfect 'O' shape as she sloped forwards, eager to hear his response. "She's what?"

The closest thing I have.

He averted his eyes and shrugged. "The embodiment of insanity."

Kathy hummed in musing as she doodled on the pad of order-taking paper—a heart and a flower. "Why don't ya try something different? When Owen and I get into a fight, he'd always leave a bouquet of my favourite flowers at the bar for me. I can't help but forgive him then."

Chase snorted. "We're not a couple."

"Uh huh," her eyebrows arched disbelievingly.

"You know what?" He stood abruptly, hanging his jacket over his arm. "No, if she wants to talk to me, she'll talk to me. I'm fed up of looking like an idiot."

Kathy shook her head and collected his glasses.

.:.

The blare of water from the tap silenced her sigh. Molly's nail-polish chipped from the monotonous scrubbing of dishes, the pads of her fingers pruned. Her eyes drifted to the frame on her kitchen window sill and a sad smile tugged her lips. The image was of Chase—it was caught in the moment, natural and unaware.

Molly recognised the backdrop of her living room, and if she recalled, they were watching a comedy on the television. He wore the navy speckled jumper that had found a home in her draws due to the complaints of her drafty farmhouse. He was laughing, shoulders hunched while eyes scrunched and crinkled. His lips stretched—wide and crooked and goofy as he palmed his forehead, hands trapping stray curls. He appeared childlike when he laughed—truly laughed—and Molly loved it. Real and imperfect and vulnerable.

Her chest ached when she thought about him. Occasionally, she considered forgiving him just so she could set eyes upon his face and his teasing smile and listen to his sarcastic, drawn out voice or taste the familiar flavours of his cooking.

The structure of normality in her life had been shattered by his words—she watched movies alone, the absence of a blanketed figure on her couch unsettling. She was forced to revert to store-bought ice-cream and she realised that her taste buds had been spoilt over the years. It tasted bland and chemical compared to his pink velvet sweetness.

Yet Molly hadn't spoken to him since the wedding.

On the other hand, Chase tried idiotic methods to talk to her.

For instance, there was the events of the previous week. Paris trotted the field in a thick, fleeced coat, fruitlessly searching for blades of green amidst the cold whiteness. Her tail swished while her sporadic moos filled the silence of the farmer's labour. Molly was tending her crops when she noticed a note anchored by a melon. She dusted the snow from the paper, splotches running the ink.

What do you get if you pair a melon up with a broccoli?

Molly rolled her eyes at his game, meandering over to the broccoli and plucking out another note.

Melancholy.

Please answer my calls.

The notes continued the following day, this time in the plot of bean-sprouts.

I know you find these punny.

Did you get the cookies? Call me.

I've Bean missing you.

And lastly, the beetroot.

Things have been down-Beet without you.

Dolly, don't let me do this forever.

I'm running out of puns. Call.

But Molly ignored his prompts and didn't call. Kathy swooned at his forgiveness attempts and implored her to give him another chance, but the blonde was still deluded with her post-marriage happiness. Molly was furious with herself—she was being cynical, just like him.

Among the town gossip, she had heard that Chase had been particularly moody in work during the past few months. The kitchen doors hung from their hinges in response to Renee ordering strawberry ice-cream in a rare, fleeting trip to the bar. Glasses and plates were routinely smashed with his short-temper and the cost of repairs were taken out of his tight wages. Guilt welled in Molly's stomach, as though the business of the bar rested upon her shoulders.

She wanted to forgive him, but she knew it wouldn't be earnest.

Did he really wish that he never met her? He was her best friend—did all those years mean nothing to him?

Exhaling, she slotted a soapy plate into the drainer and lifted her eyes to the window. Snowflakes clung to the pane in their hurried flurry, yet amidst the obstruction a glimpse of peach was visible on the path. Molly squinted and Chase's figure focused, face hidden with his houndstooth scarf as mittens poorly fluffed the snow from his hair. She made a noise of frustration and grabbed her phone to call him. He answered immediately, rosy cheeks rising with a smile.

"If you go near those onions I will hang up right now," she warned.

"And she finally answers," his voice was muffled into his scarf, yet it had undertones of joy—relief. "You know, you would make an appalling secretary."

"Luckily I'm a farmer then. How else would you have accomplished all of those terrible puns?"

"Easy—I would have sat outside your house and serenaded you with them instead. What else?"

"No you wouldn't."

"You're right, I wouldn't. I would have paid Luke to do it."

Molly sighed and adjusted the phone against her ear. "What do you want, Chesney?"

He matched her sigh and toed the snow. "I'm the worst and I say things I don't mean. I'm sorry."

"Okay."

"'Okay,'" he frowned. "That's it?"

"I have to go."

"Go where?"

"Somewhere."

"God, whatever, I get it. You're still mad."

"Yes, I'm still mad! Unlike you, I actually remember the important things—like people's names and hurtful things!"

Molly punched the red button and stormed away from the window, but not without a final glance at the wilted anemone slide on the dining table.

.:.

This was fine. He was fine.

Chase had lived a perfectly fine life for twenty-two years before he met her. And he'd been fine.

He clicked his tongue as his hand clasped tighter around the frying pan, knuckles white. The mushrooms had frizzled, like tiny black caterpillars emitting smoke. He cursed and deposited them into the bin. He needed a distraction, yet nothing had worked. He'd cleaned, even organised. He glanced at his dining table where he placed small, worthless things of hers that he had found.

A pink spotted sock. A DVD sleeve, absent of DVD.

Why didn't he throw them out? They held no value.

But maybe she needed them, a stupid thought surfaced. They were missing pieces, lost without their other half. A sock without it's pair, a DVD case with no DVD. Over the past few months, he'd realised how much he took her company for granted. She drove him crazy—he couldn't hear himself think when he was around her. Yet in her absence, that's all he could do. Think.

He'd shamefully missed not being able to think.

He was... what was the word? Confused. He ran his fingers through his hair and shrugged on a coat and exited the house, the door slamming shut behind him.

.:.

"He isn't here, honey. I don't think he's coming."

Molly felt a weight on her shoulder—Kathy's hand. Her eyes ceased their scan of the town square and zoned in on green.

It was the New Year's Eve festival.

The small population of the island collated the town square for the yearly festivity, haloed by strings of glimmering fairy lights. A fashion contest was finalized with the victory of Luna, petite figure perched on the podium as she twirled, skirt fanning outwards like a Chinese parasol. Mayor Hamilton mingled with the residents, exchanging idle chatter about their respective families and businesses, shadowed by his son, Gill. Alcoholic beverages were a popular choice, many shocked and others relieved that yet another year was drawing to a close.

Kathy stood in front of her, clothed in a burgundy bubble coat while opaque tights shrouded skin. Condensation clouds left her lips with each breath, yet Molly imagined her warmth as she snuggled into Owen's chest. One arm slung around his waist while the miner shrugged his around her shoulders.

Conversely, Molly was cold and shivering. She tightened her scarf and tugged her jacket closer—she didn't know why she had come tonight. She promised herself that she would have found a date by the next festival; yet here she was, clad in her chiffon blue dress, alone and miserable without the company of her second-best-friend.

"I know he isn't," her smile was strained, cheeks sore. "I was just observing the scene. We really out did it with the lights this year, huh? Very bright. Maybe we'd even be seen from space. Perhaps not that far, but I suppose if the lighthouse went out of order, people could still find their way back."

The corner of Kathy's lips creased in sympathy at the words secondary connotations.

"Hello everyone!" Hamilton's cheery voice boomed from the microphone. "Welcome to the New Year's Eve festival! Now, it's only fifteen minutes to midnight, so how about you all make a wish before we start the countdown?"

I wish that he was here.

"What'd you wish for?" Kathy inquired lightly.

"Just something stupid," she murmured, flexing her frozen fingers. "You?"

Kathy craned and pecked Owen's lips, entwining their fingers. He was surprised, yet his mouth slanted, dark-blue eyes soft as he smoothed the collar of her coat. "I don't have anything to wish for."

Molly wanted to cry at the sight of their affection—she felt lonely and it was a painful reminder of her failed love life. She was overbearing and dramatic and eccentric—no man in their right mind would take her as a wife, not when beauties like Kathy and Karen roamed the earth. She wanted to go home and mope and ponder the names for her cats.

"Ten minutes to midnight!" Hamilton's voice resounded and Molly exhaled.

"Kaths, I'm gonna take off," she announced. "I have to get up early in the morning and to be quite frank, the thought of standing here, alone, in the middle of the town square while everyone exchanges midnight kisses makes me rather sad."

"Oh, honey! Don't be like that!" Kathy's lips puckered. "Just stay for five more minutes?"

"Yeah! Don't worry, Molly," Owen flashed her a fish-hooked grin. "I'll kiss ya."

"I'm sorry," she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she waved statically. "Enjoy the rest of your night."

Weaving through the crowds, she murmured apologies when she collided with an arm or stepped on a foot. Suddenly, a figure stumbled to a halt in her line of vision. He was breathless and rosy cheeked, palming his forehead as eyes darted around the vicinity. Molly stared at Chase with parted lips. They locked gazes and the tension left his body, eyes flooding with relief.

"Chase?" her voice carried the throng of people, eyebrows knit in confusion. "What are you—?"

He jogged to meet her, hands slapping down on her shoulders as he arched forwards. His eyes were bright and wild, hair frizzed and messy. He was smiling like a manic and he reminded her of a mad scientist.

"I hope you're happy, Dolly," he began. "Because you've defeated me."

Molly recalled his words on the boat—'Love? I'd feel defeated to fall in love.'

She shook her head while a humourless sound formed in her throat. "You don't love me, Chesney. It's New Year's Eve and you're deluded with loneliness and boredom." Her arms shoved his and she attempted to walk past him, but he made a noise of frustration and grabbed her wrist, forcing her to face him.

"I've been walking around this stupid town for hours, and you know all that's been going through my head? I wish that Dolly was here. And then I thought, why do I want her here? And you know what my instant reaction was? Because I love her. Not because she's my friend, and not because I'm bored or lonely. Because I love her."

"Five minutes to midnight!" Hamilton reminded while cheers and whistles echoed the square.

Her attention switched to Chase and his expression was serious, eyes flecked with anxiety. A crease formed above his nose with the furrow of his eyebrows as he held his lip between his teeth, awaiting her response.

Tears pricked her eyes as they burned holes into her silver shoes. "You hurt me, Chase," Molly mumbled. "What do you want me to say?"

"How about you love me too."

"How about I don't believe you?"

"Believe this—I love your awful taste in movies; I love that all you can eat is strawberry ice-cream; I love your insane fashion sense; I love your rambling speech; I love your unfunny jokes and I love that you're the last person I want to speak to on the phone before I go to sleep at night."

Molly glanced up at him, eyes bewildered.

Chase raked his fingers through his hair, the rare sighting of a blush dusting his complexion. "Like your blue dress," he gestured. "I'm here because I want you and I'm not about to wait for someone else to act on it. It's all on me."

Molly was rendered speechless—he loved her, faults and all. Her mouth twitched into a smile, a single tear rolling down her cheek.

"There you go," she laughed shortly, the pad of his thumb swiping the droplet. "Being all poetic, again."

He curved an eyebrow. "Well?"

"You're a catch."

"Whose?"

"Mine."

"Ten… Nine… Eight…"

"Wow," his lips quirked modestly, despite the evident sarcasm. "Some men have all the luck."

"…Five… Four… Three…"

Molly smiled as she tugged on the material of his coat, closing the distance. She felt his heartbeat drumming underneath her fingertips, pale strands tickling her forehead as cold noses brushed.

"…One… Happy New Year!"

Eyelashes batted cheeks. His head tilted and lips met, a hand curled around her waist while the other cupped her cheek, thumb trapped between short snow-dusted strands. Molly flung her arms around his neck and drew him closer, aching for warmth against the winter chill. Snow fluttered and stung their skin, inharmonious cheers and the explosions of fireworks resonating behind them.

"Molly, Chase! Well, what do we have here!"

Hamilton's exemplified voice shattered the enclosure they had built for themselves, all flushed cheeks and swollen lips. Molly met Kathy's eyes and she was beaming, bouncing on the balls of her feet as her hands began to clap. It was slow and staggered, but soon enough, the crowds followed suit until the square erupted in noise.

"What next?" Chase whispered in her ear. "Roses thrown to our feet?"

"I see our predictions were rightly judged!" The Mayor continued once their congratulations dimmed. "Now, who was it that bet on six years? Was it you, Julius?"

Molly gaped and glanced upwards at Chase. With his pursed lips, she assumed that he was irritated. He still held her waist, fingers idly running along her side.

"You bet on us?"

"I know Dolly's horse-face may have skewed your judgement, but shockingly, we're not racehorses."

"Hey!" she whacked his arm, repressing a smile.

"Ouch?"

"Ouch to my feelings, too."

She buried her face into his chest and he lazily shrugged an arm around her.

"Be careful, people might get the right idea."

His chest vibrated when he spoke, indicating a laugh. He was warm and orange and cinnamon drifted to her nose—scents of home after a long vacation.

"I missed you," she murmured into the fabric as her frame shook with sobs. She silently pleaded that Chase hadn't caught onto her crying. Yet with the dark splotches staining his shirt and the way his hand followed and moved to her shuddery breathing, she was certain that he had.

"Crying and hugging, huh? You're good at that."

She lifted her head, eyes apologetic. "Sorry—"

"Don't. It's okay."

His hand cradled the crown of her head and she hid her streaked face into his shirt once more. Both of his arms were tight around her, lips brushing her ear.

"I was painfully aware of your absence, too."

.:.

Mayor Hamilton ignited a series of fireworks in their honour. They snuck away to the docks, legs swinging from wooden planks. Sparkling bursts of colour reflected against black water, the lights flashing and irradiating their faces. Molly craned in an attempt to see the skyline of the city, yet all that met her eyes was the endless expanse of stars.

"Why can't we see the city from here?"

Chase shook his head, the toe of his shoe rippling the water. "It's too far away."

"How far?"

A firework exploded, his face washed in a myriad of blue and green and red. "A distant memory."

"Chesney?"

"What?"

Cold, hesitant fingers fumbled for his in the darkness, intertwining to the dying rings of sound.

"Happy New Year."

He squeezed, thumb sweeping her knuckles. "Right back at you, Dolly."

The End