Page 40 of The Homemaker (The Chain of Lakes #1)

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Alice

If Hell exists, there’s a waiting list.

Karma is Vera. Tonight they are one and the same. She invites my mom and me to join everyone for dinner—the dinner I make, of course. And “everyone” includes Murphy’s mom.

I’m a dirty homemaking home- wrecking whore hidden behind a blue floral house dress and an apron that’s been in the Morrison family for years.

“This is weird. I knew it would happen, but it’s still weird,” I say, whisking the Dijon dressing. I’m not sure I made it with the right ingredients. I’m meeting Murphy’s mom tonight and my thoughts have gone to shit.

“What’s weird?” Mom asks with a laugh while cutting the sourdough bread.

“We’re having dinner with the people who hired me to serve them dinner. It’s weird.”

“It’s a meal. They seem to adore you. Just think of it as your house, and you’ve invited them to dinner. Then making and serving the meal won’t seem so weird.”

I nod. She’s right. That’s a better way to look at it. Of course, it won’t help my nerves when I see Blair, Murphy, and his mom seated at the table. It’s like Blair or his mom will see it on my face and instantly know that he had my nipples in his mouth earlier today.

“Jesus, it’s hot in here.” I wave a hand over my face.

“It’s not that hot. Are you getting sick?” Mom asks.

If only.

“No. It’s probably just standing over the stove too long. Here. Let’s serve our guests.” I hand her two small salad plates.

“We should have gone out to eat. I suddenly feel guilty for inviting you to dinner and asking you to cook it,” Vera says as we serve the salads.

“You have a lovely kitchen. It’s a real treat getting to cook in it,” Mom says, placing salads in front of Vera and Hunter.

Dang it! I was going to serve them, but she beat me to it, so I’m stuck serving Blair and the nipple biter. Murphy doesn’t even try to avert his gaze. Just the opposite. I feel it like it’s glued to me. The midday sun in a desert.

“Sit down, Mom. I’ve got the rest.” I nod toward the two free chairs opposite Blair and Murphy.

“You sure?”

I nod. “Uh-huh.”

“Krista, Alice, this is my mom, Janelle. Alice works for the Morrisons and her mom is visiting for a few days,” Murphy says .

“Lovely to meet you both.” Janelle smiles, playing with her hoop earring under her long, dark hair streaked with gray.

“You too,” Mom says, sitting across from Janelle, who’s sandwiched between Murphy and Blair.

As soon as I scurry back to the kitchen, I tug open the freezer and take a deep breath, welcoming the cold air on my exposed skin.

“Get a grip,” I whisper.

When the rest of the meal is on the table, I sit next to my mom, which puts me directly in front of Murphy.

“Your daughter is a phenomenal cook,” Hunter says.

“Thank you.” Mom blots her mouth. “I wish I could take credit for it, but Alice has always loved cooking. She’s curious. And whatever she sets out to do, she does it exceedingly well.”

I glance at Murphy, and he smirks while chewing. He’s thinking about cornhole and bowling. This conversation should have my back straight and chin up. Who doesn’t love a little praise? But I can’t look at Blair, and when I think she’s looking at me, I swear she knows.

Did he leave with a guilty conscience and immediately confess? No way. Surely not.

“Blair is talented too. Not as much in the kitchen, but she’s found herself a good man who loves her for all the right reasons,” Vera says, giving her husband a little smirk that has everything to do with me.

“I can’t wait to have another daughter,” Janelle says, wrapping her arm around Blair to give her a side hug.

Blair tips her head to press it to Janelle’s. They’re so cute I want to vomit.

“How are the wedding plans coming along?” Mom asks .

Vera and Blair perk up, and then it begins, nonstop wedding talk. My mom and Janelle join the conversation with stories of their weddings and Blair’s upcoming bridal shower. Hunter finishes his meal and zones out, focusing on his phone.

Finally, I excuse myself. “I’ll get dessert. Mr. Morrison’s favorite—lemon sorbet.”

“Alice, I like tiramisu and you know it,” he says without lifting his gaze from his phone.

“That’s right. Lemon sorbet is your wife’s favorite. Oops.”

When he finally looks at me, I wink and retreat to the kitchen.

“Ugh …” I sigh, dropping my face in my hands when I’m tucked out of sight. Is it September yet?

After seven glass cups are filled with lemon sorbet, I carry them on a tray to the dining room. My mom’s laughter has hit the second glass of wine volume. It might be time to cut her off, but Janelle is laughing just as much. Of course my mom would get along with his mom.

“Traitor,” Hunter mumbles when I set the sorbet in front of him, but he can’t keep a straight face because he’s too much of a flirt.

Vera gives me a look that says I should ignore him.

“Were you renting out your guesthouse before Alice started working for you?” my mom asks.

“No. We have no desire to deal with that kind of rental property,” Vera replies.

“Murphy could probably give you some tips,” Janelle says.

“Oh, yes. He owned a house not too far from here,” Mom adds .

“How does Krista know about your rental property?” Blair asks with a smile through gritted teeth.

My mom wrinkles her nose.

Murphy clears his throat, pressing his napkin to his lips for a beat. “I’m not sure how it came up, but it did.”

Shit.

“Mom, isn’t it time for you to take your walk around the lake?” I stand, eyeing my mom with a tight grin. “You know how important a ten-minute walk after each meal is to keep your glucose in check.”

“Oh, are you diabetic?” Vera asks.

“No.” Mom plasters on a fake grin and stands because she knows I’m not happy with her. “And that’s probably because I take a ten-minute walk after every meal.”

“Good for you. I wouldn’t be able to drink that much wine and walk around the lake without falling in. Alice, perhaps you should walk with your mom,” Vera suggests.

“She’s good.” I hold on to her arm. “I’ll see her out then clear the table and clean up the kitchen.”

“It was nice meeting you, Janelle,” Mom says.

“You too.” Janelle smiles like she just made a new best friend.

Blair stands too, jaw fixed while she tosses her napkin aside. “You know what? I think I need a drive. Dad, let’s take one of your convertibles for a drive.”

“Oh, that sounds like fun,” Vera says. “But no smoking, dear.”

“Then it won’t be that much fun,” Hunter deadpans.

“I guess we’re going for a ride.” Murphy finishes his last bite of sorbet.

“No, babe. I think you should walk your mom out then hang out in the bedroom and do your work or whatever else you do, like own rental property and turn wood, and tell everyone like it’s no big deal, except me.” Blair narrows her eyes.

They have a stare off, but he waves the white flag first. “I’ll stay here.”

I pull my mom toward the back door. “Good job, Mom.”

“What? I didn’t say you stayed at his place.”

“Shh.” I open the back door. “Go to bed.”

“I thought I was going for a walk.”

“You are. Walk straight to the guesthouse and go to bed. I have work to do, and Vera is right. You’ve had too much to drink to walk around the lake. Nighty night. Love you and your big mouth.”

She sticks her tongue out at me. Yep, she’s tipsy.

I smirk and close the door. When I return to the kitchen, Murphy’s scraping the leftover food from the dinner plates into the garbage.

“You’re grounded. Go. I’ve got this.”

“Everyone left. I’m back in the doghouse. Might as well make myself useful.”

Everyone left.

We’re alone.

“I’m sorry my mom said that. In her defense, she had too much to drink, and it’s a fair assumption that your fiancée would know you owned rental property less than a mile from here.”

He keeps his head down while cleaning the last plate. “It’s not her fault. I take full responsibility. And Blair knows I owned a rental, but she just recently found out. That’s on me. I shouldn’t have waited so long to tell her. But I’m an adult and fully capable of weighing risks.”

Me. I’m a risk. What we did earlier was a risk .

I don the pink gloves from under the sink and run dish water. “Well, you should not have taken the risk that you took earlier with me.”

“You’re right.” He sets the plate on the neat pile next to the sink.

I didn’t expect him to agree so wholeheartedly. It steals my breath for a few seconds, a little gut punch.

At a loss for words, I focus on scrubbing the dishes and setting them in the strainer as fast as Murphy can dry them.

I’m obviously hurt by his admission, yet he makes no effort to say it differently or apologize, which only makes me angrier.

And I don’t even know why I’m so mad. He’s not my fiancé.

I willingly unbuttoned my dress. I wanted it to happen.

A good man would feel regret. Right? No.

A good man wouldn’t do it in the first place.

But that feels equally awful because Murphy is a good man.

That’s why we fell in love in less than two weeks.

That’s why eight years later, these feelings are still alive, sprouting, taking root, and searching for sunlight to grow again.

As the silence stretches, my stupid emotions build. But I refuse to cry. He’s not mine. Blair should cry. Not me.

Would it kill him to say something? Hey, it was fun, but wrong. No hard feelings?

Or …

I’m an asshole for cheating on my fiancée. I’m going to break up with her immediately.

He won’t say that because he loves her. This isn’t contrived.

It’s real and messy. I’m sure anyone on the sidelines would think of a dozen better moves to make, but it’s like me yelling at Chris to wake up and swim to the surface, to fight, and live.

It’s always easier to live a perfect life when it’s not yours .

“I don’t trust you,” Murphy says.

I freeze while tugging off my gloves.