Page 26 of The Homemaker (The Chain of Lakes #1)

Chapter Twenty-Six

Alice

Temptation is unavoidable,

but not uncontrollable.

Nurse Alice to the rescue.

Vera and Blair take a private jet to New York for the holiday while I stay here and take care of Mr. Morrison. He has a cold, and Vera says he’s the worst when he’s sick.

I’m fairly certain it was their wedding vows that contained the “in sickness and in health” clause, not my employment contract.

“Did you get that chicken from the coop out back? Chase it down? Break its neck? Pluck all the feathers from it?”

I smirk, keeping my attention on pulling the meat from the chicken bones as Murphy refills his coffee mug.

“Or is that just what you tell Hunter, like telling him you made his favorite hand soap? ”

“What makes you think I didn’t make the hand soap?”

Murphy pulls out a barstool to the island and gets comfortable watching me work. “For starters, common sense tells me you didn’t make it. But I’ve seen you take it out of the sack from the store where you also buy the lavender linen spray that he thinks you make as well.”

I lift my head and we have a stare-off.

“Your secret’s safe with me.” He winks.

Without acknowledging him, I return my attention to the chicken and keep tossing the meat into the stockpot.

“Is your nephew good at soccer?” he asks.

I can’t hide my grin. “Yes.” I toss the bones into the trash and wash my hands. “Were you good at soccer?”

“I was decent.”

“Do you have other siblings or just a brother?”

“Just a brother. How did you meet Blair?”

“I met her at an art expo in San Francisco. What’s your brother’s name?”

“Why? Are you making a family tree for me?”

“I can if you want me to.”

I shake my head.

“What’s his name?” Murphy is unrelenting today.

“Arnold,” I say.

“Like Arnold Palmer?”

“Like Arnold Yates.”

“Alice and Arnold Yates. Interesting. You know, I used to have a cat named Arnold Palmer. He went by Palmer.”

“Surprising. You don’t seem like a cat guy.”

“Why is that? What constitutes a cat guy?”

“Empathetic. Sensitive. Nonconformist.”

He laughs. “You don’t think I’m sensitive and empathetic? ”

“Are you?” I lift my gaze briefly while cutting carrots.

“Blair would say no, but she hasn’t been in her right mind lately. Wedding derangement syndrome or something like that.”

“Probably the most important time to be sensitive and empathetic is when your bride-to-be is stressed over the wedding.”

“Thanks for your advice. I’ll take it with a grain of salt.”

Again, I lift my gaze to his.

“Sorry, was that too insensitive?” he asks.

“Don’t you have work to do?”

Murphy sips his coffee. “Yes, I have work to do, so will you stop distracting me?” His grin is not only clownish; it’s irresistible. I don’t need irresistible.

“Get out of here. I’ll bring you a bowl of soup when it’s done.”

He stands. “Soup? Heck no. It’s too hot for soup. I’m not sick. I’ll run out and grab my favorite Banh Mi.”

I stay in character, the homemaker who didn’t fall in love with this man eight years earlier. “Enjoy.”

“If you don’t want hot soup, I’ll let you ride along with me to get a sandwich.”

I clear my throat. “Do you think your fiancée would approve of that?”

“It’s a sandwich, Alice. Get your mind out of the gutter. I’m a taken man.” He smiles like the devil, not like a taken man.

After I finish the soup, serve Mr. Morrison a bowl in bed, and read him a few chapters of a new book (a steamy romance), I poke my head into Murphy’s room. “Is the Banh Mi offer still good?”

He turns with a smile and stretches his arms over his head. I let my gaze slide to the T-shirt riding up just far enough to show an inch of his abs. Heat fills my cheeks when I make eye contact with him, and I know he saw me.

“Does Mr. Morrison know you’re leaving?” He stands.

“Yes. I told him we were going to lunch together.”

Murphy freezes.

I spin on my heel, grinning when he can’t see me. “What? It’s just a sandwich. Get your head out of the gutter. I’m a taken woman.”

“Did Coach Callen put a ring on your finger?”

I continue toward the back door. “I’m going to change my clothes.

I told Mr. Morrison that I had a few errands to run.

Want me to drive? I’m parked on the street where there are no cameras.

” I glance back. “Not that it matters, because Blair would never be jealous of you taking her dad’s homemaker to lunch. Right?”

“This is sounding less like lunch and more like a full-on affair. Should I be worried that you’re trying to steal your boss’s daughter’s fiancé?”

“Stop. You’re setting me up for a good joke that you won’t find funny.”

He follows me out the door after I change my shoes. “I fear you underestimate my sense of humor.”

I laugh without stopping or waiting for him. I don’t know why he’s following me to the guesthouse instead of waiting for me to change my clothes.

“Say it,” he says.

“It’s cruel.” I open the sliding door.

“But funny? ”

I glance back at him. “It won’t be funny to you. Just cruel.”

“Well, try it.” He tucks his hands into his back cargo shorts pockets.

“Why would I need to steal my boss’s daughter’s fiancé when he’ll most likely be put on the sale rack in a few months?”

Murphy slowly lifts his eyebrows. “Are you implying she’ll call off the wedding and I’ll be a bargain? Marked down like something that no one wants?”

I bite my lips together.

“Damn, Alice. That’s harsh.”

“I’m—”

He cuts me off with a hearty laugh as he fists a hand at his mouth. “But funny.”

I squint, restraining my grin while I assess him for a few seconds. Is it really okay to laugh? “I’m sure you’re the one,” I say.

His laughter simmers. “Nothing’s a guarantee. But you’re not really living if you don’t take chances. Right?”

After a few seconds, I nod and whisper, “Yeah.”

“Change your clothes. I’ll wait out here.”

I slide the door shut and kick off my shoes before heading into the bedroom to change into denim shorts and a fitted T-shirt. Then I untie my hair and comb it with my fingers. And for whatever reason, I check my makeup and dab a bit of perfume onto my wrists and neck before meeting him outside.

He gives me a quick once-over, but I don’t stare at him, silently calling him out like he did to me. Instead, I relish the way my skin tingles from nothing more than one look from him. The most tragic thing about us (and there are a lot) is this awful timing.

As we pull away from the curb onto the street, he rolls down his window. “Do you like biking?”

“Um, sure. Why?”

“I might take a ride later. You could join me.”

“I don’t have a bike.”

“You can ride Vera’s. She won’t mind.”

I laugh. “It’s probably a five-thousand-dollar bike. What if I crash it?”

“It’s probably closer to a ten-thousand-dollar bike. If you crash it, she’ll fire you and hire a new homemaker. Oh, wait. No, she won’t, because you are literally the only person who would take this job.”

I smirk, shooting him a quick sidelong glance.

“Someday, all this money, the kind that buys ten-thousand-dollar bikes, will belong to you and Blair. Has that sunk in?” I ask.

“It won’t feel like mine. I’m signing a prenup.”

“Oh, does that bother you?”

“The prenup? No.” He shrugs. “I’m a minimalist. And when I met Blair, I had no idea her family had this kind of money.

She was living in a dinky apartment in San Francisco.

She didn’t have a car, took public transportation, and shopped at secondhand stores for most of her clothes.

When her art began to sell, she bought a nice car and splurged on some shoes and handbags, but it was all purchased with her own money. I respected that.”

“She’s staying grounded. That’s hard to do when you have access to a private jet.”

He hums. “Yeah.”

I start to say more, but stop before the words make it to the air. Murphy seems content with the breeze hitting his face, staring out the open window, and that makes me content as well. When we arrive at the Vietnamese restaurant, Murphy eyes me before unfastening his seat belt.

“What?”

He slowly shakes his head. “Nothing.”

We head inside, order our sandwiches at the counter, and find a table near the window to enjoy our lunch.

“Best sandwiches in Minneapolis,” he says after swallowing a big bite.

“For sure.” I nod while blotting my mouth with a napkin. “Have you brought Blair here?”

“Of course.” He eyes me, and it’s like he has a secret.

The heaviness of his gaze on me, even when I’m not looking, makes it hard to concentrate.

“You said you met Blair in San Francisco. What made you leave Minneapolis? And how bizarre is it that she’s from here too?”

“It was a coincidence. Kismet in her mind.” He grins. “And my company’s headquarters is in San Francisco. I can work remotely, but I decided a change would be good. It was nice to have more in-person meetings.”

“New York will put you even farther away. Are you looking forward to living there?”

“Good question.” He glances out the window with a faraway look in his eyes. “Leaving Minnesota is never easy. But sometimes the first part of moving on is … moving.”

When his attention shifts to me, I return a sad smile. “That’s good advice.”

“No.” He grunts. “It’s not advice.”

He’s on the verge of marriage and all the bliss that’s supposed to come with it. Yet, all I see is a tortured soul. Did I do this to him?

I want to reach across the table, squeeze his hand, and apologize for everything I did, but mostly for the only thing I didn’t do.

“Do you think Callen is your future husband?” His question jumbles my thoughts.

“Uh …” I press the pad of my finger to a crumb on the table, giving it all of my attention while I formulate the response to a question I’ve never considered. “No,” I say with every intention of further explanation, but there is none. At least, none that I can give Murphy.

“Keeping it casual, huh?”

“Keeping my whole life casual.”

A tiny muscle twitches in the center of his forehead, like he’s trying to disguise his reaction. Everything is a disguise between us.

Murphy clears his throat. “How long do you think you’ll be Hunter’s homemaker?”

“Oh,” I say dramatically. “Now that’s the one relationship in my life that could go the distance.”

The grin on his face looks like it’s there against his will.

“I don’t know what I’ll be doing tomorrow.” I shrug. “Today I am here.”

“But?”

I shake my head. “No but. No comma. No asterisk. Today I am here. Period.”