Jake hefted a large box, his arms and legs protesting with every step forward. He'd always thought of himself as strong... until he picked up this box. He couldn't decide if it was filled with books, rocks, or if it had some kind of gravitational pull that attracted it to the floor. Whatever it had, it was fighting him. And it was winning. 

"I will defeat this," he gasped with what breath he had left. "I will escape this place."

"A little dramatic, but I like the enthusiasm," he heard Molly say behind him. 

"Not enthusiasm," he grunted. "Despair. I'm going to die here. And then you'll be sorry." Jake glanced enviously at Molly, serenely sailing past him with an over-sized sock monkey.

She walked backward as he trudged forward. "I will be. I promise to honor your legacy. You died in a state of grace. I'll commission a statue -- Saint Jake, patron of lost souls and heavy lifters."

"Laugh all you want, but I deserve it for this box alone." Jake was sure his canonization would be announced any minute now. 

He'd been home from college for summer break for a measly three days and Molly was putting him to work for the Summer Bazaar. It was really just a fancy word for a flea market run by church ladies. Worse yet, it was in their old high school cafeteria.

And this was their last free summer. Next summer would be that tricky time after junior year. Next summer they would be expected to get some fancy internship or other. He'd had no plans for this summer. And he was really looking forward to that! 

Then Molly, his best friend who was supposed to support him in all things, including doing nothing, had to go and guilt him into this.

"You were the one bragging about how many pounds you can lift," Molly had to go and point out.

"They were going to have me help set up jewelry," he grumbled. "That's not a manly job." 

Molly rolled her eyes. "And God forbid you do something less than manly!"

"Thanks for understanding," he grunted, placing the box on one of the folding tables none too gently. It was the fourth table he'd taken it to. There was always a new old lady to tell him it didn't go here or there. Well, it was going here, at least until he could breathe again.

He heard a clatter inside. It definitely sounded like rocks. 

Molly held her plushie tighter. "You know, I think I'm getting attached to this guy. I'm going to name him George and love him and squeeze him."

Even Molly's Abominable Snowman impersonation couldn't cool him down today. "I've got a name for this box of rocks," he whispered, leaning in, "but I can't say it with all these church ladies around."

She giggled and put her monkey down, fanning him with one of the flyers scattered on the tables. "Is this really that bad?"

"I don't know. When you came over, I thought we were going to go swimming or get water ice. I had very specific and lazy plans for this summer and this was not one of them."

"Look, it's only a couple hours. I was listening to this thing on NPR about being active in small endeavors and how..."

"How exhausting it is?" he cut in. Damn Molly and her do-gooding. She listened to way too much NPR and it gave her ideas that got in the way of the do-nothingness that should define summer. Or at least the first week of it!

"It was all about how the act of helping others, even with simple things, makes you feel more satisfied than doing those same things for yourself. That whole good deed for the day thing is as good for you as for others." She paused, sighing. "Also when I told my mom about it, she handed me this flyer and told me to put my money where my mouth is. So here we are."

"We could do a better good deed. It's hot as hell in here. Remember that sweet old lady," Jake suggested, "she gave out those cheap squeeze popsicles for all the kids on our street in the summer?"

Molly laughed. "I remember you dragging me at inhuman speeds to line up at her door before all the cherry ran out."

"Hey, it worked. I think we only got stuck with lime twice ever. And it was probably a half-hour of work for her and I will never forget her till the day I die. Can't we do something like that?"

"She did that every day," Molly pointed out, fanning herself now. "Are you willing to make that kind of commitment every day?"

"I'm willing to eat a popsicle every day and see where it takes me." He quickly grabbed her sock monkey. 

"Give him back!"

"No! I'm holding George hostage until you say we're done."

She lifted her chin and one eyebrow. "Fine, then. You can be done. You can walk away right now."

"Maybe I will."

"Go, then. I'm sure these gals can fend for themselves." Molly tapped her chin. "I wonder who should lift this box? Doris with her arthritis or Hyacinth with her recent hernia surgery... Maybe Florence. She can balance it on her walker." She stared him down. "Yeah. Go on. We got this." 

Jake tried to hold his end of the staring contest, but he couldn't. Fine. He might care just a little about frail old church ladies. He used George's dangling tail to mess Molly's hair as a small victory. "You're a mean boss." Even though he towered over her, somehow she always ended up being the boss.

"I think I'm tough, but fair," she said, smoothing her candy apple red bob back into place before stealing her monkey back, stroking his head. "Poor George. Now he has PTSD from being a hostage."

He couldn't argue, not when she was cuddling a sock monkey with that little grin of hers, her eyes all soft for a damned plushie toy when he was the one who could really use the sympathy.

Molly Doyle had lived across the street from Jake Roberts since he was born, when she'd already been there a month. And she never let him forget that. Once they were old enough to cross the street alone, they were in and out of each other's houses daily. Both being only children, they sort of fell into spending every spare moment together. Growing up, half the kids at school thought they were related. They weren't, but Molly insisted she was the eldest and therefore in charge of him, being a whole month older.

He bet they made an interesting pair to people outside of it, with him -- a large, lumbering thing with a mop of dark hair he never remembered to cut -- getting told what to do by a girl at least a foot shorter with an ever-changing haircut dyed whatever insane color she was into that month. Still, he had almost no choice but to obey. She was small, but very intimidating in her own adorable little way.

Adorable. Little. Molly hated words like that. Molly wanted to be taken very seriously and he tried, but the fact that he could, at this very moment, tuck her under his arm and walk them both out of here right now got in the way. He wouldn't, of course. He was still okay with letting her be the boss, if only because it was kind of cute when she put on her little scowl.

"What are you staring at?" Molly asked, giving him that very scowl.

Jake hadn't realized he'd been staring. "Just checking to see if George has a price tag," he lied. "You're getting cooties all over him."

She shoved George at his chest. "Are you twenty or twelve?"

"Little bit of both," he tried, leaning in, poking just under her ribs where he knew she was the most ticklish. She dropped the monkey and tried to dart away, but he grabbed her around the waist easily, lifting her against him with one hand and torturing her with the other as she squealed.

"Jake, stop!" she giggled.

"Never! I demand freedom and popsicles!"

"Jake—"

"I also demand to be the boss," he said over her squeaks. A few of the old ladies glanced their way, then a few more.

Molly seemed to notice, too. "Jake, stop it." Her giggles were gone. "Stop!"

He let her go quickly, feeling like an ass, what with everyone staring at them. It was one thing to mess around at their houses or away at college, where Molly never seemed to mind, but it was another to do it in front of all the church ladies in their town and even a knucklehead like him recognized it.

"I'm sorry. I was just being... I don't know what I was being. An idiot."

Molly stared at him, then sighed. "No, you're not. It's just... It's too hot for your tomfoolery." She smiled lightly. "So you shape up or you will be fired."

He put his hands up. "You're the boss."

"And don't you forget it." She poked at his chest, then stepped back quickly. "I don't think they have popsicles, but I'll get us something cold, okay?"

He stared after her as she moved to the old lunch window. He wasn't sure how to be with Molly sometimes. Most of the time, he tried to think of her in a sisterly way, but then she had to go and wear tiny shorts or tight tank tops or – like today – both at once. Maybe it was just the summer. Back at school, Molly wore shapeless sweats and giant sweaters, corrected his essays, stopped him from doing a keg stand after Jell-O shots. It was easy to know where he stood with School Molly.

Yes. They went to college together. Some people might call that kind of thing codependent. Molly did like to throw that word around, even in her own jokey way, but he had to wonder if she regretted it sometimes, even if the whole thing was her idea. They both applied to Ithaca as soon as their SAT scores came in, both in Communications – he with a football scholarship, going for his BS with vague ideas of broadcasting, and she with an academic scholarship, going after a BA with very specific plans to document the world. 

Both her parents and his (well, the one that was around) had been thrilled they'd be able to look out for each other, even if their dorm rooms were across a campus instead of across a street. He'd like to think Molly was as thrilled with the whole thing as her parents were, especially since she'd orchestrated it, but maybe it was different now. Maybe she was finally sick of him loping after her. 

He'd suspected it for years. Molly was too damned good for him. She was smart, a total do-gooder, and probably a decade more mature. He might make fun of her lording her tiny age difference over him, but she always seemed to have her whole life figured out while he felt like he was still working moment-to-moment. So, yeah. It made sense why she was his best friend, but what did he even bring to the table?

Molly came back with two red cups. "So I should probably confess something."

Jake took one, trying to steady his hand, just a tiny bit paranoid she was going to say they should do their own things this summer. She was still the boss, after all.

"This flea market thing wasn't all about charity for me."

"Okay," he prodded, not sure where this was going. But she hadn't fired him yet, so that was something. He waited, draining his ice water in a single gulp, which did little to pass the time.

"I want to scope out a present for my dad here," she finally said.

He barked out a laugh. "That's all?"

"What? It's stressful. Father's Day is two days away, and I have nothing. The man is impossible to shop for."

"Oh." It was a bit of a relief. At least she wasn't cutting him loose.

"Seriously, he doesn't even leave me an opening," Molly was saying. "This one time, he was going on about how he wanted a shredder for his home office and I was like 'Finally! He's basically hinting at what he wants. Making it easy for a change.' So I get him this shredder thing and--"

"You told me this," Jake cut in, "basically the day it happened." There wasn't much he didn't know about Molly by now, including all her "this one time" stories. 

"But did I tell you I was so excited to present it that I did actual trumpet fanfare?" Molly prodded.

Well, that part was new. "You hated trumpet."

"I know."

"You also sucked at it." 

"Hence me hating it. FYI, everyone in band sucked at trumpet. But I thought the least I could do is learn one good 'Da-Da-Da-Daaaah!' before I surrendered my trumpet forever. And I saved it for my dad." She rolled her eyes. "Honestly, I never told you the stupid trumpet part because it was all embarrassing enough without that."

"What's so embarrassing?" Jake scoffed loudly. "If I knew you could do a trumpet fanfare, I would have had you announce me everywhere I went."

Molly laughed. "Another good reason not to tell you. Anyway, I marched in there, did the fanfare, then announced with pride, 'You, Joshua Doyle,  have a paper shredder!' And before I could bring it in, he was like 'Oh, did Mom tell you?'"

Jake knew the rest of it, but he let her finish anyway. 

"And there it was, this fancypants silver and black thing he'd got himself. And I was like 'Yeah. So glad you got one!' as I backed away with my off-white, adjustable POS shredder that's designed to fit over a trashcan behind my back. So do you get it now? Do you get why he's impossible? He can afford to buy himself a better, fancier version of anything I can think of. So gadgets are out." Molly scanned the half-full tables. "This present needs to be something special -- something he can't get the better version of, something that can only be found in the right place at the right time..."

Jake didn't actually get it, but he nodded anyway. He also had a dad who could afford way better things than Jake's budget could buy, but he never felt this kind of pressure about it. On his end, he'd always done a tie or a wallet. Then again, his dad lived in Costa Rica with his current secretary and they usually did present exchanges for all the things once a year, sometimes at the cabin in The Poconos, sometimes in whatever city his dad ended up in and flew him out to... if he had time. 

He usually didn't.

His dad never made a big deal about what Jake did or didn't give him. Jake, on the other hand, always went home with a couple bags worth of games, gear, and gadgets. "He's trying to shop his guilt away," his mother said, whenever she unpacked everything. Maybe that was true. But Jake supposed it was better than nothing.

He wasn't bothered by it... or he tried not to be.

"It's easy for my mom," Molly was saying. "All she has to do is cook him something covered in cheese, which is not a skill set she passed on to me. I can barely microwave."

"So just get him an Eagles jersey," Jake tried.

Molly snorted. "No. That's what you want." Her smile went dull. "Wait. Scratch that. I think there's something here you want more."

He glanced toward the doors. "Please tell me someone brought in popsicles."

She poked him in the ribs and gestured to the windows. "I bet you wish you were helping with the jewelry now."

He turned and there she was. He felt dizzy at the sudden motion, or maybe that was just a side effect of Juliet.

Juliet Bloom.

TBC

************

Well, here I am, giving you a contemporary romance. I know you might be used to my historical by now, but it's a new year, so I'm trying new things.

Hope you enjoy!