Saving Molly's Community
Author
Heather Teston
Reads
16.5K
Chapters
29
When Molly returns to her hometown fresh out of college, she finds everything she loves under threat—a powerful developer is buying up her community piece by piece. Determined to stop him, she storms into Adam’s office ready for a fight, only to meet a man as infuriating as he is magnetic.
Adam, wealthy and used to getting what he wants, makes Molly a scandalous offer—one that could save her town at a personal cost she never expected. But when sparks turn into something neither can control, their deal becomes far more complicated than either planned. Pride, passion, and power collide—and this small-town standoff is about to turn deliciously personal.
Chapter 1
Molly Hansson returned to her parents’ home in a small community called Memory Lane, tucked into the edge of Manhattan. The sidewalks were familiar, the air thick with the smell of coffee, oil, and warm bread.
They lived in a modest two-bedroom apartment with a tiny kitchen and a fair-sized living room. It was small, cozy, and crammed with more memories than furniture.
Their home sat under her father’s shop. Nicolaus Hansson owned a narrow shop in the community, called Hansson’s Clocks and Repairs. He was a master of his craft—every clock handmade, every tick a part of him.
Memory Lane was a place of family-run businesses, built by people of foreign nationalities from all over the world. Germany, Sweden, Africa, and various other places had somehow learned to share a block without losing what made them different.
No one here was wealthy. Just honest, hard-working people trying to build something decent for themselves and their families.
Molly had just finished her fourth year of college, graduating at the top of her class in business and finance. She had no idea how much the next few weeks would rearrange everything.
She stopped in front of her father’s store. It was only midday, and the shop was closed.
She frowned. Every door on the street was dark, and a cold chill raced through her body as she realized what that meant.
The shops never closed unless there was a death in the community. Please don’t let it be that.
Fearing the worst, she used her key and slipped through the front, then dashed up the back steps toward the apartment. Her breath sounded too loud in the stairwell.
Her mother and father sat at the round kitchen table, fingers intertwined, heads bowed. Neither of them heard her come in.
“Mom, Dad, what’s wrong?” Her voice cracked in the quiet.
They both looked up, surprise cutting through their worry.
Anna, her mother, was the first to speak. “Molly, dear, we thought you weren’t coming home till tomorrow.”
A tremor moved through her as she looked from her mother to her father. “I wanted to surprise you, so I caught an earlier flight.”
Anna stood and folded her into a warm hug. “What a wonderful surprise. Your father and I missed you, and we’re so glad you’re back, sweetheart.”
“Has someone died?” Molly whispered, bracing for the answer.
“No, dear, but we do have some bad news. Sit, and I’ll make you some tea.”
Molly loved her mother, but getting answers from her was like pulling teeth. Tea won’t fix this.
She went to her father, knelt in front of him, and laid a hand on his knee. When she looked up into his eyes, she saw pain, sorrow, and the shine of tears he had already shed.
“Dad, are you all right? What happened?”
Nicolaus was sixty-nine. He and Anna had met and married in Sweden when they were sixteen, two kids who believed in work and each other.
Times were hard then, and he wanted more for her. They packed what they owned, left family and friends behind, came to America, and settled in Manhattan.
He worked long, brutal hours—sometimes up to fifteen a day—taking whatever jobs he could find. With grit and stubborn hope, he saved enough for a down payment on a shop where he made and repaired clocks.
Neighbors helped turn the upper part into an apartment. They had only one child, late in life—Anna was forty-six when she gave birth to Molly—and they devoted themselves to her and to each other.
To this day, they could be caught hugging and kissing in the kitchen. They were more in love now than when they first married.
Nicolaus motioned for her to sit, then cupped her cheek with his rough palm. “Honey, we are losing our home and our business.”
Molly stared at him, the words not fitting. “Dad, that’s not possible. You pay your bills on time, and you’ve never missed a mortgage payment.”
She knew because she did the bookkeeping and made sure everything got paid. It was why she’d taken business and finance—to help her father, and the others in their community.
“It’s not that, my child.” His voice wavered. “It’s not only us losing our home and our business; it’s the whole community.”
Molly’s stomach turned, bile burning her throat. “I still don’t understand. What is going on?”
Nicolaus stroked her cheek again, softer this time. “You’ve just come home, and I’m sorry you had to walk into this. Your mother and I have missed you so much.”
“Dad, you still haven’t told me what’s happening. I want to know,” she said, gripping his hand.
She heard her mother pulling out pots and pans for supper. Molly would have stopped her, but she knew better than to try. That was how her mother handled stress—she cooked.
Before long, the warm smell of tomatoes and onions wrapped around the tiny apartment. It was sweet and sad all at once.
Nicolaus turned his head and stared out at the unusually quiet street. “A land developer bought all this land. Everything is being torn down to make way for condos and high-rise office buildings.”
She rose and crossed to her father. “But, Dad, that’s not possible. Mr. Bowie promised he’d never sell—he said it would always be safe from this happening.”
“Molly, Mr. Bowie passed away months ago.”
“I know, Dad, but the land was left to the community. It was in his will,” she said, her voice breaking.
“Yes, it was. But his son took it to court, and he won. Once he got his greedy little hands on the land, he sold it.”
Molly started pacing. The room spun with memories and worry.
She looked at her parents with love and a sharp ache. They were getting older, and she hated seeing it. They had worked hard to give her an education, a roof, and food, and she had never gone without.
She never had designer clothes—most of her outfits came from secondhand stores—but she didn’t care. She’d grown up in a happy, loving home, and to Molly, that was what mattered.
Her mother was tiny and frail. Her father was tall, strong, and proud—a man who never missed a day of work.
He never accepted handouts, yet he was always the first to help someone in need. He told her she had her mother’s beauty and his strength. She was also headstrong, and he never knew where that part came from.
She stopped pacing, knelt by his chair, and took his hand. “We’ll fight this, Dad. We won’t let them take our community.”
“Honey, that means lawyers. They cost money—money none of us have. It’s hopeless. We have one year to be out.”
Molly shook her head. “It’s not hopeless. I’ll think of something. I’ll go see the developer tomorrow—maybe I can reason with him.”
Nicolaus handed her a letter from the company. The paper rattled in her hands.
Her stomach dropped as she read. Sweat gathered at her hairline. “My God. Bancroft Enterprises. I’ve heard of them—they own most of New York, and they have property all around the world. They said they’re using it for a project, building a research center.”
Nicolaus let his head fall against the chair. “Then there is no hope. People like that only care about money, not people like us.”
She squeezed his shoulder and forced a smile. “There’s always hope, Dad. Now I’m starving. I’ve been waiting all day for one of Mom’s home-cooked meals.”
***
In the morning, Molly dressed in a skirt, a pink cotton top, and heels. She wore her long blonde hair down. She checked the mirror, took a breath, and told herself, You can do this.
She was ready to face the owners of Bancroft Enterprises.
Downstairs, her father was already at work.
“Dad, I’m going now,” she told him. “I found their office address, and I’m going to demand they listen. Maybe once he hears about our community, I can convince him to change his mind.”
“And what if they won’t, Molly? What then?” he asked quietly.
“Then we’ll fight them any way we can. I won’t let you lose your home.”
Nicolaus kissed her forehead and wished her luck. He knew it was pointless—people like the Bancrofts always won with their money and power—but he also knew his daughter. She was stubborn and determined. When she believed in something, she didn’t give up—she fought.
She was so much like him in that way, at least the younger version of him. And she was so much like her mother, a kind and gentle soul.