Page 77 of The Homemaker

“It feels like a crime that you’ve never shown me your synchronized swimming moves.”

She sets the jars in the divided storage bin. “Look up the word synchronized and you’ll discover it means two or more things occurring at the same time. Then you’ll think about it for a moment and realize there’s a reason synchronized swimming doesn’t have an individual field.”

“Are you mocking my intelligence?”

“No. Am I embarrassed for you? Perhaps.”

I chuckle. “I’ll be your synchronized swimming partner.”

She slides the bin full of jars off the counter, so I take it from her and carry it to the root cellar in the basement, hoping Chris wasn’t her synchronized swimming partner. Was Chris a man or woman?

“Thirty minutes,” I say, setting it on the empty shelf.

She closes the door behind us and heads back up the stairs. “Then I’ll have to dry my hair.”

“It’s a little after one. I’m meeting Hunter at the country club for dinner, so he won’t be home until eight or later tonight. I think you have plenty of time to dry your hair.”

She heads toward the laundry room, and I grab her wrist to stop her. I feel all kinds of things I shouldn’t feel. Her eyes flit to my hand on her wrist and then shift to my face. “It’s a bad idea.”

I smirk. “I can think of worse ones.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Alice

Pain doesn’t disappear.

It multiplies, divides, disperses,

and even hides for a while.

It’sa thirty-minute dip in the pool. Yet, I’ve tried on all three bikinis a half dozen times. Murphy is marrying Blair. I’min lovehaving sex with Callen. I like my job. It’s been eight years. And the list of reasons I don’t need to fuss over what bikini to wear goes to infinity.

When I reach the pool, he’s casually doing back strokes. He lifts his head to look at me. And when he smiles, I jump in so he doesn’t see my whole body blush. Before I lose my nerve, I go straight into a series of pikes, arches, thrusts, and twists.

Murphy gives me a slow clap and whistles when I finish. After I swim to the shallow end, I return a dramatic bow.

“Damn. And here I thought you were feeding me a line of shit about synchronized swimming.”

I slick back my hair and wring it out over one shoulder. “Okay. Your turn.”

“My turn?” He jabs his thumb into his chest.

I nod.

“You’re supposed to teach me.”

“I just did.”

He laughs. “That’s not teaching, but fine. I’ll show you my moves. Prepare to be impressed.” He dives under the water and does a handstand in the shallow end, followed by several somersaults in the deep end. Pushing off the bottom of the pool, he shoots into the air with his arms out like the aquatic edition of YMCA.

When he finishes, I reciprocate the enthusiastic applause and whistle. He shakes his head like a dog, his grin on the verge of cracking his face in two.

“Not gonna lie, I’ve been practicing,” he says.

I roll my lips together and nod, eyes wide.

“Are you mocking me?”