Page 36 of Recipes for Life

He shrugged. “I felt you. You comin’ in?”

My jaw about hit the floor. “You felt me?”

“Yup.” He tilted his head toward his place.

Clearly, he wasn’t willing to elaborate on that.

I couldn’t help how my eyes raked over him. He wore jeans that seemed to be covered in a small layer of…wood? Or was that sawdust? A fitted plain black T-shirt spread over his chest, and a backwards cap covered his hair; a pencil sat behind his ear with Timberlands to boot.Good Lord.

I shook my head to snap me out of it. Idefinitelydidn’t need to be checking out Murphy right now, and even though there was no way he didn’t miss me practically drooling all over myself, he didn’t say a word. Instead, he swung the gate open, giving me the option to either stay here or come in.

Slipping past him quickly, I was once again enamored with the garden and the backyard, wondering if maybe we could just stay here forever instead.

“Sure, if that’s what you want.”

Shit, I must have said that out loud.

“I can’t believe you did all this.”

“It wasn’t that hard.”

“Wait,youactually did all this?” I looked over at him and caught him mid-shrug.

“I had a lot of time on my hands... You always talked about how you wanted to visit the botanical gardens, so…”

“So, you just built one instead?” I couldn’t keep the shock from my voice or face.

Murphy's eyes met mine, and there was such a deep look of pain and loss that it almost brought me to my knees. But before I could make a move toward him, he looked away from me and whispered, “So, yeah, I built one.”

Before I could get my body in motion, he was already heading toward the house, leaving me no option but to follow him inside, even though I was only partially kidding about staying out here.

He left the sliding door opened, so I walked right into the kitchen, where he was cooking something that smelled a lot like garlic and heaven.

“I hope you still like chicken Alfredo,” he said, still not turning around to face me.

“It’s still my favorite.”

“That’s good.” He continued to stir the sauce that I’m already sure was done, and I was a little unsure of how to navigate this. The Murphy I remember would have been all over me, love bombing and bombarding me with the why’s and how’s. Even before Douche-Murphy made an appearance in my life, he’d never been a quiet guy—always the first to start a conversation, could sell water during a rainstorm,that kind of guy.

This was a new, less is more Murphy, and I was floundering.

“You feel like looking at me tonight, or am I going to have a conversation with your back?”

I heard a small chuckle before he turned around. “Sure, Odette, I’m all yours.”

I couldn’t help the flutter in my heart at those words.

“I... Well… Uh.”

“How was your day?” he asked

“My day?”

“Yes, your day.”

Now it was my turn to laugh. “I knew this was going to be a little awkward, but small talk, Murph?” I shot a grin at him, only to see him giving me an intense look back.

“I want to know about your day, Odette, because I haven’t gotten to know about any of your days in a long time. It’s the small things and the small talk I miss most…” He trailed off, as if talking to himself and no longer me. I definitely didn’t miss the hitch of his voice at the end, and it was almost my undoing, and it wassuch a small and stupid thing.

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