Page 6 of The Homemaker

After releasing Blair, he shakes it. “The engagement is still on, huh? I’m impressed, young man,” he says as a jab to Blair because this is the third time she’s been engaged, but she has yet to make it to the altar.

I’m either delusional or the most confident man alive for hoping the third time’s a charm.

“It’s a miracle that she puts up with me.” I smile at my fiancée, earning bonus points for “taking her side.”

“Tuesday, we meet with the wedding planner,” Vera announces, sitting at the opposite end of the table as Hunter while I pull out Blair’s chair for her.

“That looks amazing,” Vera says when her house manager carries a tray of food to the table.

“Alice, this is our daughter, Blair, and her fiancé, Murphy. Kids, meet our homemaker,” Hunter says.

Blair’s head whips in his direction. “Homemaker?”

Vera clears her throat. “House manager.”

“Dear, you’re the only manager,” Hunter responds with a side-eye, daring her to dispute it. “Your mom got her for me. An early birthday present. I think it went something like, ‘If you want a homemaker, then perhaps I should hire you one.’ So I said, ‘Sounds good to me.’” Hunter shrugs with a triumphant grin.

Now I know why Vera was nervous about Blair questioning the new help.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Alice says, setting the tray onto the table.

I lift my head, getting a good look at her because not only is her name triggering, her voice is so familiar it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

Jesus…

“Chicken and wild rice lettuce wraps. I’ll be right back with the rosemary sourdough rolls,” she says.

“Yourhomemakerbakes bread?” Blair murmurs.

Just as Alice turns to walk toward the kitchen, our gazes meet, and her steps slow, but her smile doesn’t falter, like something that Blair would carve and cook in a kiln.

I know her.

Chapter Four

Alice

Sorrow doesn’t care if you live. Do it anyway.

Eight Years Earlier …

The listing saidto park in the street, watch for wild turkeys, and remove shoes before entering the house. We had turkeys in Wisconsin, but I’ve never had an encounter with one. Prior to exiting my car, I googled “are wild turkeys dangerous?” The results were inconclusive, so I scanned the area for large, feathered friends before braving the walk to the front door of the old, two-story house outside of downtown Minneapolis. After entering the code, the door opened to stairs on my left, the vacation rental entrance to my right. A hook below the entry mirror held the keys, and a note card with a smiley face reminding me to remove my shoes. I toed-off my sneakers and set them on the plastic tray beforeunlocking the door that opened to a living room with a piano to my left, sofa, coffee table, and TV straight ahead. An impressive fig tree sat in the corner by the window.

The wood floor creaked when I walked up the two wide steps to the dining room, furnished with a table for eight and a modern brass fixture. Beyond that was a galley kitchen with avocado green cabinets and white-speckled countertops leading to French doors overlooking a patio. A short hallway to my left connected two bedrooms; in the middle, a bathroom featured a crisp white shower curtain that looked brand-new in contrast to the cracked white subway tiles and stained grout. The rental was old, but clean and cozy.

A note by a basket filled with a bottle of wine, fancy crackers, local honey, nuts and chocolate read:

Welcome to Fig Cottage, Alice. Make yourself at home and enjoy your stay. Please message me if you have any questions or concerns. There’s a folder on the coffee table with house rules and information about the area.

Sincerely,

Murphy

It exceeded my expectations, an old brick building with fresh renovations—a perfect curation of vintage and quality contemporary pieces. The scattered planters filled with pothos, snake plants, and colorful glass watering bulbs added to the homeyness. But mostly it felt different. Unreal. The perfectescape.

I had yet to see if I liked the feel of the mattress or if the shower had good water pressure, but I’d already decided I never wanted to leave. Two weeks wasn’t long enough, but it’s all I could spare before my family sent out the search party.

“When in Rome …” I said with a huge grin while opening the bottle of wine. It was kind of Murphy the Superhost to leave the corkscrew next to the welcome basket. He was off to a good start. I could already see a glowing five-star review in his future.