Page 65 of The Homemaker
I lift my head and we have a stare-off.
“Your secret’s safe with me.” He winks.
Without acknowledging him, I return my attention to the chicken and keep tossing the meat into the stockpot.
“Is your nephew good at soccer?” he asks.
I can’t hide my grin. “Yes.” I toss the bones into the trash and wash my hands. “Were you good at soccer?”
“I was decent.”
“Do you have other siblings or just a brother?”
“Just a brother. How did you meet Blair?”
“I met her at an art expo in San Francisco. What’s your brother’s name?”
“Why? Are you making a family tree for me?”
“I can if you want me to.”
I shake my head.
“What’s his name?” Murphy is unrelenting today.
“Arnold,” I say.
“Like Arnold Palmer?”
“Like Arnold Yates.”
“Alice and Arnold Yates. Interesting. You know, I used to have a cat named Arnold Palmer. He went by Palmer.”
“Surprising. You don’t seem like a cat guy.”
“Why is that? What constitutes a cat guy?”
“Empathetic. Sensitive. Nonconformist.”
He laughs. “You don’t think I’m sensitive and empathetic?”
“Are you?” I lift my gaze briefly while cutting carrots.
“Blair would say no, but she hasn’t been in her right mind lately. Wedding derangement syndrome or something like that.”
“Probably the most important time to be sensitive and empathetic is when your bride-to-be is stressed over the wedding.”
“Thanks for your advice. I’ll take it with a grain of salt.”
Again, I lift my gaze to his.
“Sorry, was that too insensitive?” he asks.
“Don’t you have work to do?”
Murphy sips his coffee. “Yes, I have work to do, so will you stop distracting me?” His grin is not only clownish; it’s irresistible. I don’t need irresistible.
“Get out of here. I’ll bring you a bowl of soup when it’s done.”
