Page 7 of The Homemaker (The Chain of Lakes #1)

Chapter Seven

Murphy

High expectations are a gift.

Someone believes in you.

Eight Years Earlier …

My work-from-home office consisted of a desk and computer facing a window overlooking the backyard.

Alice Yates, my cat-loving renter, sat on the deck, sipping coffee while petting Arnold Palmer.

She seemed to stare off into the distance at nothing at all, slowly bringing her mug to her lips for a sip.

It took her nearly an hour to drink her coffee.

I studied her like a gallery painting, mesmerized and consumed with curiosity.

Maybe it was her form of meditation, but she looked sad and lost. Even when the breeze blew her blond, bobbed hair into her face, she didn’t push it away. Occasionally, she’d squint as if confused or focused on a problem.

I typed for ten or so minutes and took a break to see if she had moved. For someone doing nothing at all, she was incredibly distracting. As a rental owner, I tried to make myself as invisible as possible, but I felt an unusual urge to check on her again, just to see if she was okay.

I had no errands to run, but I grabbed my keys as though I did. She swung her gaze to me as I descended the back stairs and gave me a beauty queen wave with a smile that looked equal parts shy and mischievous.

“Good morning. Is everything meeting your expectations? Can I make any restaurant suggestions? Places to explore or shop?”

She corkscrewed her lips for a beat. “Seems a little risky.”

“Oh?” I stepped onto the deck, fiddling with my keys. She made me nervous with one look. It was the first time any woman had rattled me with nothing more than a smile.

Her blue eyes gleamed with curiosity. Her subtle moves oozed confidence.

“I have you on such a high pedestal. One wrong suggestion could ruin everything. Pizza with an inaccurate cheese to crust ratio. Tacos with pre-made guacamole. A clothing store that’s a chain.”

I scratched the back of my head. “Can I uh … ask what I did to be put on a high pedestal?”

She emptied the last drips of coffee into her mouth and rubbed her lips together. “Your vinyl record collection is flawless. Your fig tree is thriving. And the jar of local honey is chef’s kiss. ”

“Well—”

“Don’t.” She held out a flat palm and cut me off. “Don’t say anything like your girlfriend picked everything out. Or the vinyl records are throwaways that used to belong to your grandfather. I really like what’s in my head right now. I need it. So just”—her nose wrinkled—“don’t ruin it for me.”

“You like,” I pointed to the door, “my oldies collection?”

She nodded slowly. “My dad inherited his parents’ collection, along with a wood console record player that was a turntable on one end and storage for vinyl records on the other end.

My mom hated it because it was so big and ugly.

The music was unlike anything I had ever heard before.

The first time I listened to Brian Hyland’s ‘Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini’ I was hooked.

Like, who sings songs like that anymore? ” She grinned. “No one.”

I got down on one knee. “Will you marry me?”

Alice giggled. It was the perfect giggle. Innocent and sincere.

I stood, suddenly feeling like an imbecile. “It was, in fact, part of my grandfather’s massive collection, but nothing in it is a throwaway. If you so much as scratch one album, you will lose your deposit.”

“That’s harsh.”

I shrugged, sliding one hand into my back jeans pocket. “In all seriousness, if there is anything you need, please let me know.”

She nodded toward the cornhole game in the yard. “What if I need someone to play cornhole with me?”

“Well,” I glanced at my watch, “I have a quick errand to run. But when I get back, I’ll play with you.” I cleared my throat and shook my head. “That came out all wrong. I’ll play cornhole with you. Damn,” I pinched the bridge of my nose, “that might sound bad too. ”

“I don’t expect you to do that. I’m sure you have things to do.”

“Nothing pressing.” That was a lie. I had a project due the next morning.

And I had no errands to run. Yet, I told her I did because I didn’t want to seem too anxious.

So I would run my fake errands, then play cornhole with her while I fell further behind on meeting the deadline that I acted like I didn’t have.

Good job, Murph. You’re an idiot.

“Well, you know where I’ll be.” She jabbed a thumb toward the door. “Inside, listening to your grandpa’s records and drinking wine.”

“Wine after coffee?” Again, I looked at my watch for a dramatic effect. “It’s not even ten.”

“And this isn’t my real life.” She stood and sauntered to the door. “So the rules don’t apply to me.”

Alice was mysterious and … trouble. But I was past due for a little trouble, so I drove around for forty-five minutes, stopping for a coffee before returning.

“Where is she, Palmer?” I asked, closing the garage door behind me.

He meowed.

I retrieved the bean bags from the sack and tossed a few, only hitting the hole once.

“Are you cheating?”

I turned toward Alice’s voice.

“Practicing to get a leg up?” she asked, descending the stairs from the deck to the yard while slipping on big black sunglasses. Her toned legs in her sleek shorts were almost as distracting as her fitted white T-shirt that said “Bite Me” with a fishhook.

Done. Whatever bait she dangled in front of me, I was already chasing.

“Be my guest. Practice as much as you want,” I said, collecting the bags and handing her the red ones.

“Nah. I’m good. Let’s just start.” Alice tossed one bag in the hole. Followed by another, and another. The fourth bag stopped just shy of the hole. She frowned. “Maybe I should have taken a few warm-up shots.”

I was screwed and should have stayed at my desk, pondering all the possible reasons she looked lost and lonely.

“I think I’m being hustled.” I narrowed my eyes at her.

Her red lips curled, revealing her white teeth. “Oh, I’m taking pity on you by missing one on purpose.”

“Christ,” I mumbled, tossing the first bag, missing the board all together because she had me so rattled. The second bag made it onto the board, two feet from the hole. The third bag slid into the hole, and the fourth slid off the end.

“Getting it into the hole twenty-five percent of the time isn’t bad.” She pulled her glasses down her nose for a second while giving me a look, an ornery gleam in her eyes.

Was that a shot at my manhood?

“So tell me, Murphy,” she collected her bags, “does Arnold Palmer’s owner know you stole him?”

“I did no such thing.” I tried not to roll my eyes when she hit the hole again.

“My neighbor, Rosie, found the cat, and she asked if I wanted him. I said, ‘Nope.’ So she feeds him, and I think she even took him to the vet, but she won’t let him in her house.

She’s nearly eighty and widowed but refuses to be ‘an old cat lady.’ He hangs out here, unless it’s time to eat.

And during the winter, I let him stay in my garage. He keeps the mice population in check.”

“So he’s basically your cat.” Again, she only missed tossing one bag into the hole .

“He’s absolutely not my cat. There’s a robin’s nest in that tree. The tree is mine, but the birds are not. Palmer is a neighborhood cat. Everyone knows him and likes him, but no one wants to invite him into their home.”

“Huh. That’s sad. Maybe he should sleep with me while I’m here.”

“No pets in the rental.” I shot her a stern look before tossing my bags.

“Oh, gotcha. Winky wink. No pets in the rental.”

“What? No. What’s with your ‘winky wink?’ No winky wink . No pets in the rental. Period. No exceptions.”

“Cats are clean and curious. Excellent companions,” she said.

Only two of my bags made it onto the board. “Are you kidding me?” The last bag I tossed pushed her fourth bag into the hole, but my bag stopped short of dropping.

“No. I’m serious. Cats are?—”

“I’m talking about my stupid bag, not your incorrect facts about cats.”

“What’s incorrect?”

We gathered our bags.

“They are not excellent companions. Dogs are.”

“That’s your opinion. But it’s a fact that they are clean and curious.”

I used three of my bags, tossing them into the air to juggle. “Oh yeah? Well, I’m clean and curious. Does that mean you want me in your bed?”

Shit .

That sounded different in my head. There went my perfect host rating. Who would want to stay at my place after Alice’s one-star rating with a review that stated how I asked if she wanted me in her bed ?

“Sorry, Murphy. Once again, I can’t risk letting you fall off that high pedestal.”

She took a weed whacker to my manhood in the most subtle ways, and she did so with a smile. Of course, I wanted to know if she was really suggesting I might not be good in bed. But I couldn’t ask her. After all, the customer was always right.

“You won,” I said.

She beat me in less than five minutes.

Alice rested a hand on her hip and nodded slowly, inspecting the boards like a crime scene. “Sorry about that. I’ll let you win next time.”

I lifted my eyebrows. “Are you serious? You’ll let me win? That makes me feel great.” I laughed.

Corkscrewing her lips, she repeated her slow nod. “Again, I’m sorry.”

“Alice Yates.” I held out my hand. “It’s been a pleasure. But you are so far out of my league, I will most certainly fall off that pedestal. Again, if you need anything, let me know. Otherwise, enjoy your stay, and please leave a review if you have time—on the rental, not my cornhole skills.”

She lifted her sunglasses onto her head and eyed me from head to toe, grinning like a fool while shaking my hand.

“I didn’t take you for a quitter. Granted, that’s just me judging you based on your handsome smile, thick dark hair, and height.

I didn’t think it was possible to be over six feet tall and be a quitter. ”

“And the hits just keep coming.” I pressed a hand to my chest and stumbled backward.

“Let me make you dinner to make up for the loss.”

“I shouldn’t. But thank you.”

“Girlfriend? ”

I shook my head.

“Wife?”

“No. I just can’t risk anything going wrong and you leaving me a bad review.”

Her grin swelled. “I’m an excellent cook.”

I chuckled, heading toward the stairs. “Alice, I have no doubt that you’re excellent at literally everything. Enjoy your stay.”