Page 40 of The Homemaker
I laughed. “Put your pants on.”
He looked down. “Earlier you thought it was sexy.”
“Yes. There was something kinda sexy about you inunderwear and those socks, but the shirt just ruins it, and I’m not only referring to the pitiful team mascot on the front.”
“Have you seen the movieRisky Businesswith Tom Cruise? It’s an older movie. And there’s a scene where he lip-syncs to “Old Time Rock and Roll” while dancing in his white socks, underwear, and a shirt.”
“I have not seen that.” I laughed.
“Oh, let me show you. I have that vinyl.” He sauntered into the living room, and a few seconds later, “Old Time Rock and Roll” played. He grabbed the TV remote to use as a microphone. When the song started, he ran and slid in his socks along the wood floor.
I giggled.
He danced and lip-synced, jumping on the sofa, then playing air guitar on the coffee table.
When I bent over in laughter, he tossed the remote aside and bear-hugged me. “See, it’s totally sexy.”
“Oh my gosh,” I said, catching my breath and wrapping my arms around his neck. “I love you.”
Those three words came out so innocently and automatically that I didn’t catch it at first, but then Murphy’s smile faltered just a fraction.
I shook my head a half dozen times. “No. I didn’t mean that like it sounded. I love that you just did that. You have no idea how much I’ve needed that kind of laughter.”
Murphy studied me, rubbing his lips together and nodding. “Yeah. Of course. That’s what I thought you meant.” He released me and took a step backward while clearing his throat. “I’ll put my pants on.”
My cheeks ached from forcing a smile and holding it for so long. When he disappeared into the bedroom, I covered my face and blew out a long breath.
Stupid.
“Everything good?” He returned too quickly, forcing me to make a fast recovery.
“Uh-huh.” I pinned a fake smile on my face.
“Don’t sweat it,” he said, padding into the kitchen where he turned on the oven light for a peek at the chicken. “There are a lot of things I love about you, too, like this amazing dinner you’ve prepared.”
Ilovedthe way he prioritized making me feel at ease. Ilovedchasing every improbable moment, holding on to it like trying to catch water in my hands. Everything slipped away. An unavoidable law of nature.
“Hypothetically,” he cleared his throat, “if I didn’t believe you have royalty in your bloodline, and therefore had a real job, what would that real job be?” he asked, leaning his backside against the counter while I pulled the tossed salad from the fridge along with a bottle of dressing.
Murphy wanted into my life, my real life. And while I didn’t blame him for it, I also couldn’t allow it.
“Hmm, hypothetically, I’d act in local theater productions.”
“That’s a cool hypothetical job.”
“It is. The pay is shit, but passion is priceless.”
He hummed. “Yes, it is.”
When he gave me a look that I wasn’t emotionally ready to handle, I changed the subject. “Where do you get your wood?”
“Good question. I’m glad you asked. Your fabulous tits give me pretty good wood, but sometimes I get it just from seeing your flirty smile.”
“Shut up.” I laughed.
He uncorked a bottle of wine. “I get wood from trails, thelocal dump, clean-up from storms, orchards, back roads, demolition sites.”
“I know the other day you said you display some of your work at local galleries, but it’s so good, you could open your own. Have you ever thought about that?” I pulled the chicken from the oven.
