Page 20 of The Homemaker
“I think wives wear wedding bands on their left ring fingers.”
I looked at my hand and the emerald-cut diamond eternity band. “Oh, I found it.” I sliced the ribeye against the grain in half-inch strips. “Hope you like your steak medium-well.”
“That diamond band is quite the find.”
“I don’t have steak sauce, but you won’t need it. This baby can stand on its own.” I grinned, cutting the perfect bite and holding it toward his mouth.
Murphy retracted his head a few inches, eyeing my offering. “I don’t want to eat your dinner.”
“This isn’t my dinner.” I moved the bite until it touched his lips.
He opened his mouth and took it.
“Perfect, huh?” I grinned as he slowly chewed.
“It kind of is,” he mumbled, reaching past me to tear a paper towel from the roll to blot his lips.
“Wine?” I offered him thebottle.
“What’s going on? It’s a Wednesday. Thisisn’tyour dinner. You’re offering me wine from the bottle you’ve been drinking from. And you have a ‘found’ diamond wedding band on your finger.”
I stared at him while picking up a strip of steak, bringing it close to my lips. “Are you a germaphobe? It’s cool if you are.”
“Are you married? It’s cool if you are,” he said, sliding his hands into his back jeans pockets.
I grinned before taking a swig of wine. Then I moved the band from my left hand to my right. “Better? And who says a diamond band has to be a wedding band?”
Murphy’s gaze remained on the ring, so I removed it and opened the cabinet, taking a wine glass out and setting the ring in the empty spot. After wiping my germs from the bottle, I filled his glass halfway. He stared at it, then shifted his focus to the cabinet where I left the ring.
“It’s sweet that you care,” I said, handing him the glass.
He accepted it and brought it to his lips. “What do you mean?”
I took another bite of steak and shrugged a shoulder while chewing. “You’re not the guy who has sex with another man’s wife.”
He choked, setting the glass on the counter while holding a fist to his mouth as he coughed. “W-Who said,” he coughed again, “anything about sex?”
“I know … I know.” I rubbed my forehead. “It’s risky with you so high on that pedestal. But despite your pitiful performance at cornhole, I think youhaveto be good in bed.”
His cheeks filled with a blush. “How much wine have you had?”
I made a pitiful attempt at hiding my grin, which shouldhave been the answer to his question. “Tonight? Today? Or like ever?”
Murphy blinked with no discernible change in his expression, so I handed him the plate of steak and spun in the opposite direction, padding my way toward his collection of records.
“Are your hands clean?” he asked.
I smirked, wiping them on the front of my frayed denim shorts. “They are now.” I swapped out Ella for The Mamas and Papas, “Dream A Little Dream Of Me.”
Murphy plucked a strip of steak from the plate before setting it on the dining room table and descending the two steps into the living room.
“Do you happen to have an open slot on your dance card tonight?” I asked.
He shook his head, licking his buttery fingers. “Gentlemen don’t have dance cards. Women wear them around their wrists or attached to their formal gowns. So it is I who should ask you if your dance card is full.”
I flipped my wrist, looking at my imaginary dance card. “Nope. It’s empty because I step on toes. No one wants to dance with me.”
Murphy tried to suppress his grin while studying me. I didn’t want to be figured out, I just wanted him to dance with me.
