Page 27 of The Homemaker

“Enough with the flowers,”Blair grumbles, traipsing into the kitchen before breakfast. She tightens her robe sash. “I’m here for the summer. I’m a goddamn artist. There’s no reason for you to arrange flowers every morning. There’s no reason for you to do most of the things you do, but certainly not this.” She slides the vase away from me.

“Okay then.” I give her a tight smile.

“I stripped our bed, so why don’t you throw the sheets in the washer if you’re looking for something useful to do.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Blair.Please stop the ma’am shit.”

I bite my tongue and take a few steps toward her bedroom.

“Alice?” Blair sighs. “I’m … ugh! I’m so sorry. I’m PMSing, miserably on the verge of starting my period. And literally everything is irritating me. Planning this wedding is stressful. I just want to move to New York. And I’m sure you don’t care about my problems, but I’m really sorry for snapping at you. I was out of line.”

Is sheapologizingto me? I’d rather she not. It’s easier for me to deal with my feelings for Murphy if I don’t relate to his fiancée.

“It’s fine. Planning a wedding isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Oh, have you been married?”

“No,” I murmur, continuing to her bedroom, stopping at the doorway because Murphy is on the phone, pacing the room.

He smiles, holds up a finger and mouths, “One second.”

I point to the pile of sheets on the floor and quickly gather them before he’s off the call and we’re forced to make small talk.

“Okay, that sounds like the best plan. Thank you, Rob. I’ll call you later.” He ends his call. “Good morning.”

Too late.

“Morning.” I focus on gathering the sheets instead of looking at his bright smile.

“Give me a sec. I need to shake them out because I think Blair, in her impatient mood, gathered up my wallet that I tossed onto the bed.”

I slowly release the sheets and step aside just as Murphy steps in the same direction, then we do it in the other direction.

Risking a glance up at him, I return a nervous smile.

“I guess you can dance after all.” He smirks.

I step to the side to put space between us, but bump into the desk. It hits the wall, and I cringe, inspecting for any damage.

“Sorry, that was my fault,” he says. “And don’t worry. If it dented the wall, it won’t be the first time I’ve had to do a little wall repair from a desk.”

Is that a reference? Why would he? He doesn’t know I remember him.

Thereisa little dent from where the desk hit the wall. “Dammit,” I whisper.

“Hey, I’m serious. It’s okay,” Murphy says, shaking out the sheets. “Ah, there’s my wallet.”

I run my finger along the dent.

“It’s barely noticeable,” he murmurs over my shoulder.

When I turn, Murphy is so close our noses nearly touch. I feel pinned to the desk while craning my head back to create space between us.

His gaze sweeps across my face. “Have you ever had déjà vu?” he whispers.

It’s not déjà vu, and he knows it.