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she’d
     show up in Los Angeles with hands that belonged on a horror-movie poster. This was scary, but it was all going to be okay.
     It
had
to be. Laurel wouldn’t have pushed this if she hadn’t believed it would work out, and if Molly excluded the rather enormous
     lie regarding her parentage, Laurel had been a great mom. Besides, surely she wasn’t going to lose her mother
and
get rejected by her father in the same three-month period. Wasn’t that statistically improbable?
    Molly decided to make the thrill of anticipation unseat her nervous energy. She closed the magazines and let out a shaky,
     cleansing breath that drew the attention of the flightattendant (everyone seemed to care way more about your feelings in first class).
    “Would a chocolate chip cookie help?” the lady asked. “Fresh-baked.”
    See? The positive attitude was already working.

    Molly’s feet were on the ground barely fifteen minutes before her life took another Hollywood turn. A uniformed driver whose
     sign read MS. CHANANDALER BONG grabbed her at baggage claim and escorted her to a glossy Escalade with tinted windows—one of which was cracked enough for
     her to see a man wearing a deeply fake beard in the backseat.
    “Sorry for the cloak-and-dagger stuff,” the guy said, leaning out the window and peering at her over a pair of reading glasses
     with the lenses removed. “I didn’t want the paparazzi to ruin this moment. Get in!”
    Brick Berlin ripped off his chin fuzz with the gusto of a
Mission: Impossible
spy and threw open the door. His voice was every bit as deep and rich as it was in the movies—if it could have a flavor,
     it would be chocolate—and he looked exactly the same, right down to the unrealistic accessories.
    Molly froze. When she’d pictured meeting Brick for the first time, she’d thrown herself into his arms (and Brick hadn’t been
     wearing a beret). Instead, her legs abandoned her, so Brick scooted toward the edge of the seat andscooped her inside the car practically with one hand, while she did nothing but stare.
    Hazel. Like hers. She
did
have his eyes.
    As the driver slammed Molly’s door shut, Brick hugged her so hard she felt a few ribs quit on her. He felt as densely muscular
     as he looked on film, and he smelled like spray tan and expensive cologne (definitely
not
Trick by Brick). Molly was torn between being touched and wondering if he was acting, since this was exactly what his character
     did in
Tequila Mockingbird
when he rescued his fiancée from South American sex slavery. It made the moment that much more surreal.
    Brick pulled away and ruffled Molly’s hair.
    “You have Laurel’s freckles,” he told her. “Molly, I’m so sorry she’s gone. She was a wonderful woman.”
    “It’s okay,” she said, her voice trembling. “I mean, thank you. I mean…”
    “This is an emotional time for us all,” Brick said kindly. “Cancer is a vicious thief.”
    He paused to let that sink in and then grabbed her face. “I’ve been waiting to meet you all your life, Molly. And now that
     you’re here, I hate to look into those eyes and see an ounce of pain, sweet child of mine!”
    Molly’s heart skipped as she noticed she’d been right about their shared cheek dimple. She blinked back fresh, unexpected
     tears. Maybe it was the effect of being comforted by her father for the first time in her entire life, maybe it was that meeting
     a new parent reminded her ofthe one that was gone, or maybe it was the fact that he was gazing searchingly at her through fake Harry Potter glasses, giving
     him an air of permanent surprise. Probably, it was all three. Molly had gotten used to feeling every possible thing at once.
    Brick gave her damp cheeks a firm pat.
    “Let it out,” he advised. “Tears are full of toxins. If you hold them in, they’ll flood your brain.”
    Molly chuckled in spite of herself. Brick frowned and then took off his glasses.
    “That does sound kind of ridiculous,” he