Page 108 of The Homemaker

That’s unfortunate.

“Why? Do you want to double date? Maybe go to a movie?” The challenge in her eyes only makes it harder to keep my hands in my pockets.

“That would be fun.” I rock back and forth on my heels.

“Or …” She releases a third button of her dress.

For fuck’s sake, Hunter doesn’t need to see that much cleavage.

“Maybe,” she continues, “the homemaker could cook a nice dinner, then we can play cornhole or bowl. Teams. Callen and me against you and Blair.”

“What does the winner get?”

“Winner gets to sleep with the homemaker.”

I freeze, then clear my throat to keep from tripping over my words. “I’m not sure Blair would think of that as a prize.”

“Oh, Murphy. I think you’re too busy ogling me to see your fiancée sneaking a peek. She’s an artist. Artists are curious. Perhaps a little kinky.”

I stretch my neck from side to side. Alice loves a good reaction. She’s waiting for me to take the bait.

“Are you enjoying this?” I ask.

“Absolutely.” She winks and saunters toward Hunter’s study.

This doesn’t feel real. Alice and Blair. My past and my future have collided in the present, and I don’t see a way out of this without ripping my heart in two and hurting everyone around me. It feels like I’m falling and there’s a tummy-turning excitement when I think a parachute will deploy.

The adrenaline.

The euphoria.

But what if there is no parachute?

I return to my bedroom and manage to clear my head long enough to complete a project that’s due tomorrow. The small successes matter more than ever. They give me the illusion of control.

“Hey,” Blair says, closing the bedroom door behind her with her hands gripping paper bags from fancy clothing stores.

Vera knows Blair doesn’t splurge on herself that often, so when they’re together, she showers her daughter with gifts.

“Looks like a successful day.” I say, nodding to the bags.

When I look at her, my heart aches. What am I doing?And why can’t I stop? Is Alice a drug? Drugs destroy families.

Blair tosses the bags onto the bed. “I suppose.” She plops down and frowns, gathering her hair over one shoulder to braid it. It’s what she does when she’s nervous. “I hate that we’re fighting.”

“Are we? I just assumed you were upset with me, not an actual fight. I’m not upset with you.”

She deflates like I’m weighing her down with all the blame. It’s not my intention.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be insensitive or keep anything from you. It might take some time for me to perfect running every thought through a filter. But I’ll try because I’m sure it sounds worse than I mean it to sound. I don’t have icks or whatever you call them. Stress is my excuse, but it’s not a good one, and it’s not your problem.”

Blair runs her fingers through her braid to undo it. “How can you say that? Your problems are mine, and mine are yours.”

Had Alice felt that way eight years earlier, would we still be together? If she would have trusted me with her past and the trauma, would I have been able to prevent her from going to a psychiatric hospital?

“Why so many lines on your handsome face?” Blair finds her favorite spot straddling my lap. She runs her fingers along my forehead, tracing the craters of worry. “You’re not going to call off the wedding, are you? This isn’t a cruel joke where you’re trying to teach me a lesson, right?” She laughs, but it’s not without a hint of true concern.

“I would never call off our wedding to teach you a lesson.”