Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“No?” He cocks his head to the side. “You seem like the type of person who is good at a lot of things.”
“Why do you say that?” I squint against the sun, using my hand on my forehead as a visor.
“You cook, clean, sew, garden, arrange flowers. And make the perfect steak. Need I say more? Is there anything you can’t do?”
“Plenty.”
He stares at me as if I’ll change my answer. When I don’t, he pushes his glasses back up his nose. “Are you originally from Minnesota?”
“Wisconsin.”
“What brought you to Minneapolis?”
My facade is precarious at best. He brought me to Minneapolis.
“Urban amenities.”
He shifts his attention to the water and the lone orange pool float in the middle. “Are you married?”
“Why? Do you need advice before you say your vows?”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Do you have advice before I take my vows?”
“My mom would say, don’t think you can change her. Blair will change, because people do. But she’ll become who she needs to be, not who you want her to be.”
“I shouldn’t expect her to be a homemaker if that’s not who she is now?”
I smile and pick up a few dead flower petals before they blow into the pool. “Exactly,” I say with a tiny laugh while walking away.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he calls.
I stop without turning.
“Are you married?”
I continue walking.
Chapter Nine
Alice
Humans are not that complex.
We’re all in search of pleasure.
Eight Years Earlier …
Nothing was off the table in the imaginary world I’d created.
Wine for breakfast.
Chocolate for lunch.
Three o’clock naps.
Sex with strangers.
It wasn’t like the world would end—because it already had.
I pan seared a ribeye at nine in the evening with tongs in my right hand, an open bottle of wine in my left, and Ella Fitzgerald singing “I’ve Got A Crush On You.” While I twirled in a circle, something moved outside. Through the French doors, my gaze locked with Murphy’s as he picked up Palmer on his way from the garage to his stairs under the soft glow of the string lights.
I set my wine on the counter and opened the door. “Hungry?”
He stroked the cat’s back several times before setting him on the ground. “It’s late.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Is the music too loud?”
“No. I’m implying I’ve already had dinner.”
I snapped the tongs at him. “I’m not asking if you’ve had dinner. I’m asking if you’re hungry.”
“I’m good.”
“Of course you’re good, but I make a mean steak that’s better than good.”
Murphy offered a shy grin as he tucked his chin and rubbed the back of his neck. Did I make him nervous?
“I need to—” he began.
“Wash your hair?”
He glanced up with a goofy grin.
“Just come inside while you think up a better excuse than that.” I waved toward the door. “I need to flip and baste my perfect steak.” As I turned the sizzling steak, Murphy stepped inside, closing the door behind him, but he didn’t go any farther.
“Remove your shoes. House rules,” I said. “Unless you’re not staying because you need to wash your hair. And I would totally understand because you have great hair. It’s thick and the perfect amount of messy.” I sipped my wine from the bottle. “I’ve been a blonde for two years. It was fun for a while, but the upkeep is exhausting.”
“What’s your natural color?” he asked, toeing off his sneakers.
“Murphy, you never ask a lady about her natural hair color.” I narrowed my eyes at him before setting the bottle on the counter beside the stove.
“It smells amazing in here,” he said, taking a few steps toward me then leaning his shoulder against the fridge.
I basted the steak with a spoon. “Butter, fresh garlic, and rosemary.”
He nodded, narrowing his eyes. “Are you married?”
I shut off the stove and transferred the steak to a cutting board. “Are you asking me this because I can cook? You think only wives can cook?”
“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 the bottle.
“What’s going on? It’s a Wednesday. This isn’t your 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.”