Page 49 of The Homemaker
“Thanks, and sorry. I needed to vent. I’ll save it for my therapist next time.”
“No. It’s fine. I’m a good listener. It’s just getting late.”
“Of course.” She stands, tossing her hair over her shoulders. “I’ll tell Hunter I’m in the mood for a drive, so he won’t know you’re making a pie that’s not for him. Then we will have dinner reservations later, so you can call it for the day after you deliver the pie.”
“Sounds good.” I head to the kitchen while she turns toward his study at the bottom of the stairs.
After I make the pie, smooth my ponytail, reapply red lipstick, and unbutton the top three buttons of my dress to show a little cleavage, I exit through the door to the terrace, nearly running into Murphy coming into the house.
“Whoa!” He jumps aside to avoid a pie collision. “Sorry. I was looking at my phone.”
I ease my death grip on the pie. “It’s fine.”
“Where are you going with that pie? It smells amazing.”
“Sorry. It’s for Rupert Rawlings.”
“You’re kidding.”
“It’s his birthday.” I offer an exaggerated smile.
“Hunter can’t stand that guy.”
“I’m aware.”
Murphy narrows his eyes. “So, what are you doing?”
“I’m being neighborly as a good homemaker would be.”
“Did Vera put you up to this?”
I blink without responding.
“This is beneath you. Don’t let them put you in the middle of their fucked-up issues.”
“I’m a big girl. I knew what I was getting into when I accepted the job.”
His gaze drops several inches. “You missed a few buttons.”
I keep my chin up. “I didn’t.”
“You look like you’re offering more than pie for his birthday.”
“I’m glad you approve.”
“I don’t fucking approve,” he snaps, and quickly recovers with a long sigh and a headshake. “That was out of line,” he stutters. “I’m sorry.”
“Bad day?”
Murphy rubs his temples. “I have a headache.”
“Anything I can do?”
He drops his hands and stares at me. “You can give me a piece of that pie.”
“I can’t deliver a birthday pie with a piece missing.”
He crosses his arms. “You just said ‘anything.’ Did you not mean it?”
