Page 21 of The Homemaker (The Chain of Lakes #1)

Chapter Twenty-One

Alice

You’ll never fall in love if you don’t jump.

Eight Years Earlier …

“I love your wood,” I said.

Murphy smirked behind his shield, glancing up from his wood-turning lathe. The garage was sticky despite the whirling fan hanging in the corner, and the air smelled musty from the scraps of walnut.

Nothing felt as cathartic as watching him create something beautiful from a simple piece of wood, not even sex. And that said a lot because Murphy Paddon knew his way around a woman’s body.

“Did you build this rocker?” I asked, rocking in said wooden rocker with Palmer on my lap .

“My dad did,” he replied, as ribbons of wood shavings dropped to the floor.

“So your dad’s better with wood than you are?”

Murphy turned off the lathe and stepped back before lifting his face shield. Then he looked at his watch. “We’re late for afternoon delight. No wonder you’re infatuated with wood talk.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m joking. Keep working. I’ve got Palmer to keep me company.”

“Yeah, but he’s a pussy. You need a real man.”

I giggled. “I want to watch you work. But I also want that other thing you’re talking about. Also, I’m hungry. I should start dinner now. Or what do you think about going out?”

He pressed the button, and the garage door closed. Then he tugged on his belt to unbuckle it. “The thing with wood is you need to be confident but gentle. You have to know when to go deep and when to have a light touch.”

Palmer jumped off my lap as Murphy stepped in front of me, unzipping his jeans.

“Stop!” I laughed, standing and grabbing his wrists to prevent him from going any further. “Keep working, or let’s go somewhere.”

He narrowed his eyes, sighed, and zipped his jeans. “Where do you want to go?”

“I heard you have some hidden falls around here. Let’s go to lunch, then to the falls. After that, we’ll grab groceries.”

His thumb traced the scar on my arm. He did it a lot. “Where did you get this?” he finally asks. “It looks like a recent scar. Red and raised.”

I swallowed hard. “I was swimming in the river and snagged it on a branch. ”

Murphy nodded and continued to study me. “Can you give me ten minutes before we go?”

I smiled, delighted that the scar conversation was over. “Of course.”

“Good.” He kissed my neck and unbuttoned my jeans.

“What are you doing?” I grinned, sliding my fingers into his hair.

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll be done in less than ten minutes.” And before he kissed my lips, he grinned and whispered, “Hi.”

There were three important things I learned about Murphy Paddon that day. One: He knew where to get the best Banh Mi sandwich in Minnesota. Two: He carried snacks for the squirrels in his pockets. Three: He organized the cart returns in the grocery store parking lot.

Food connoisseur.

Animal lover.

Perfectionist.

“Not cool,” I said, resting a hand on my flipped-out hip when he nested the carts in a perfect line.

“What’s not cool? Helping the store out?” He laughed.

“Those employees probably fight over who gets to bring in the carts because it means they get outside in the sun and fresh air for a while. But now you’ve done half their job, which means less time outside.”

“Get your sexy ass in the car and stop pestering me about my stellar manners.”

I stood at the end of the cart return checking my nails as if his command meant nothing .

“I bet you were spanked a lot as a child,” he said, after pushing the last cart into the others.

“Why would you say that?” I glanced up just as he grabbed my arm and the back sides of my legs.

“Murphy!” I squealed when he hoisted me over his shoulder.

“Because,” he swatted my ass, “you can be too sassy for your own good.”

“Put me down! This is embarrassing.”

He continued toward his Explorer and placed me on my feet at the front passenger door. I scowled while straightening my shirt and righting my shorts. When I opened my mouth to give him another round of “sass,” he grabbed my face and kissed me.

No “hi.” No warning. Just his tongue sliding past my lips.

I moaned as it scraped along the roof of my mouth.

The warm door met my back as his body pressed against mine.

My heart ached knowing our time was ending.

And then it ached even more as memories of why it had to end seeped through the walls I’d built around the wreckage.

Our kiss slowed, and his lips brushed along my cheek as his hands threaded through my hair, tugging at the roots. “I don’t want you to go,” he whispered.

I knew that. And I didn’t want to leave Minneapolis, the quaint little apartment, Palmer the resident cat, or the woodturner with a killer smile and equally sublime dance moves.

Reality was overrated. But the only way to escape it forever was to leave the world behind.

Since I chose life, I couldn’t stay with Murphy, but I hated to go.

And the realm between what was real and what was not wasn’t strong enough to contain my grief .

“You can’t ask me to stay,” I said in an equally agonizing whisper. “And you can’t love me.”

Murphy paused. “I’m not asking you to stay. I’m just asking that you never fucking forget that I don’t want you to go.”

I wasn’t sure if the heart could grieve two things at once.

What if I had to let go of one to let go of the other?

I blinked back the tears brimming in my burning eyes, and I wrapped my arms around his neck to hug him as hard as possible.

He held me just as tightly. And I don’t know how long we stood in the parking lot like this.

It felt like an infinite moment, and I knew those arms were the only things holding me together.

After a silent, melancholy drive back to his place, we put away the groceries, and I pulled out a skillet to start dinner.

“It’s my place,” he said.

I glanced over at him. He had his shoulder resting against the fridge, arms crossed over his chest, face pensive.

“What?”

“This is my place,” he said in a chiding tone.

I laughed nervously, drizzling oil into the pan. “I’m aware.”

“I make the rules here. They’re in the binder on the coffee table.”

“I’m aware of that too.” I capped the oil and risked another glance at him.

The muscles in his jaw flexed. “So if I say you’re not allowed to cook for me and then just leave, you have to obey.”

Again, I managed a tiny, nervous laugh as my insides twisted. “Is that so?”

“Yes. And you can’t befriend Palmer and just leave.”

“Mur— ”

“And you can’t step all over my toes while I teach you to dance and then just leave.” His face turned red as his volume escalated.

I had no more nervous laughs to offer, just trepidation gripping my chest.

“You can’t let me touch you and kiss you and”—he swallowed hard—“be inside of you and just. Fucking. Leave!” His hands balled into fists.

The already shattered pieces of my heart turned to dust. The nauseating whoosh of blood echoed in my ears. I wasn’t scared of him. I was scared of all the feelings pouring out of him in waves so big I knew they would suffocate me.

In the next blink, several tears slid down my face. “I told you?—”

“I know what you told me!” He stabbed his fingers through his hair.

“I know. I know what you told me. But that was then, and this is now. And I’m all too aware that we haven’t known each other for a full two weeks yet, but I don’t care, Alice.

Some things in life you don’t have to figure out.

You just know. And I know,” he jabbed a finger into his chest, “that you didn’t come here for a two-week fling.

“I know it’s killing you too. And I don’t know if you’re married, if you have two kids and a dog waiting for you.

I don’t know if you’re terminally ill, or just really fucking lost in life, but I want to.

I want to know everything about you because you didn’t give me a chance not to fall in love with you.

Instead, you made up this stupid rule that I am not allowed to have feelings.

And it was cute at first, but then you just …

FUCK!” He turned his back to me, hands laced behind his neck, head bowed as he huffed.

I wiped more tears as the oil in the skillet smoked. So I quickly pushed it off the burner. “Ouch!” I recoiled my hand after the metal burned it.

Murphy whipped around and shut off the burner before turning on the water and guiding my hand underneath the stream. I didn’t look at the burn mark; I stared at the scar a few inches above it on my forearm.

Everything good in life left a mark.

I swallowed past the lump in my throat, waiting for Murphy to say something, but he didn’t.

Instead, he retrieved a first aid kit from the linen closet, applied burn cream, and wrapped my hand as I sat on a dining room chair.

Then, without breaking the silence, he stood, leaned forward and kissed my cheek, letting his lips linger while I closed my eyes.

I didn’t open them until after the thud of his feet faded and the back door clicked shut behind him.