Page 46 of The Homemaker

“He lived a good life. I’ll miss him. But I’m sad that you’re leaving next week, and I’m going to get so much work done and hate every minute.”

“Is that your way of saying I’m an excellent distraction?”

I kissed her nose. “It’s my way of saying, don’t go.”

She slowly sat up, holding her bra to her chest. “I wish we were real.”

I shook my head. “What does that mean? Is this about the diamond ring? Have I been screwing another man’s wife?”

Alice stood, stepping past me toward the house. “I’m not married. Never have been.” She opened the door. “Never will be. But …” With a flirty glance over her shoulder, she let her bra drop to her feet. “I’ll be in bed. Bring your list of fantasies, and I’ll see what I can do to start checking them off.” She winked.

Chapter Nineteen

Alice

You’re never too old to play.

Stay young at heart.

“You ever been married, Alice?”Hunter asks as he pours me a glass of water before his afternoon story-slash-nap time.

I’ve come to enjoy our midday ritual. It’s hard to explain, but our time together feels intimate in a way that’s not physical or any sort of cheating. Maybe it’s like therapy, like we have an unspoken agreement that what’s said during our time in his study will never leave this room.

“I have not,” I say.

“Can I give you some sage advice?” He sets the water on the end table.

“Sure.” I use my finger as a bookmark and rest the book on my lap.

“Skip the big wedding. Go to the courthouse if you want to make it legal or have a minister or priest marry you midweek with a witness if necessary, but skip the theatrics. Save your money. If your parents are paying, ask them to give you the money instead and invest it.”

“Spoken like a true romantic, Mr. Morrison.”

He settles on the sofa. “Just trust me. It’s not worth it.”

“Well, I don’t think I would have taken this job had I planned on getting married.”

“Because I’m your sugar daddy?”

Laughter bubbles up my chest. Despite his “fetishes” or rich-guy eccentricities, Hunter Morrison is a kind soul.

He peeks open one eye and glances at me with a smirk. “Don’t deny it. You’re grossly overcompensated, yet somehow worth every penny. Go figure.”

“Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should.” He chuckles. “By the way, the hand soap you made for my bathroom is amazing. It’s robust and masculine. What’s the scent?”

“Vanilla.”

He barks a laugh.

“Cedar and citrus,” I say with an unavoidable grin because I bought the handmade soap from a local store where they cut and sell it by the ounce. He doesn’t need to know all of my secrets. “Is it weird that my favorite character in this story is the dog?” I ask, returning my attention to the book.

“Montmorency is a hoot,” he says. “But you gotta love the camaraderie between the men.”

“For sure,” I say, opening the book and reading to him. By the end of a chapter, Hunter appears to be asleep.

However, before I utter the first word of the nextchapter, he says, “You’re a beautiful young woman with a calming disposition. Why don’t you have dreams of getting married?”