Page 99 of The Homemaker

He scowls at me. “Too far, Murphy. Too far.” Then he opens the door and climbs out.

I chuckle then wait a few minutes and head upstairs to see if I’m still engaged. Before I reach the main floor, Blair appears at the top of the stairs in her workout wear.

“I’m going to exercise so my body doesn’t go on your ick list.” She descends the stairs and tries to slide past me without our bodies touching. I wrap my arm around her waist to stop her.

She huffs, lip protruding in a pout.

“I’m sorry. There is no ick list. You’re perfect just the way you are.”

“Liar,” she says, rolling her eyes.

I nuzzle my face into her neck. “I’m not lying.”

“You need to shave. And you smell like cigar smoke. Yuck.” She tries to push me away.

“Wanna know a secret?” I ask.

She refuses to smile, but she stops trying to wriggle out of my hold. “What?”

“My dad used to make things out of wood. He had a lathe and carving tools in his garage. My mom resented all the hours he spent with a ‘tree stump’ instead of her. I was fascinated by it, so he taught me.”

Blair’s forehead wrinkles. “You’re a woodturner?”

I nod.

She blinks several times, face soured. “Why have you never told me this?”

“Because I don’t do it anymore. And since my dad died, I let that part of my life die too.”

“Murphy, I’m an artist. I create things out of clay. Youmet me at an art expo, and you never thought to mention that you’re an artist too?”

“You’re far more talented. I never wanted to sound like I was competing with you.”

Her head juts back. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because I told your dad that my dad would have liked you because he was an artist too.”

“So the only reason you’re telling me is because you don’t want my dad to tell me first? Jesus, Murphy. What is wrong with you?” She jerks out of my hold and continues down the stairs.

I drag a hand over my face. There is nothing I can do right today. Perhaps I should take a nap and try again tomorrow.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Alice

Only fools judge others for their mistakes.

“Where’s your mom?”

I look over my shoulder at Murphy in his swim trunks and baseball cap. Wiping the dirt from the garden off my hands, I sit back on my heels.

“Visiting your nephew?” he asks.

I stiffen.

“You have a brother, right? You met Callen the day you were watching your nephew’s soccer game. Right?”

“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “No. My mom is shopping. Waiting for me to get done working so we can spend time together.”