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)
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.”
I loved the way he prioritized making me feel at ease. I loved chasing 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, the local 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.
“Nah. It’s just a hobby. If I tried to make it a full-time business, I’d start to resent it. Putting pressure on your creative side to be your everything is the quickest way to squash inspiration.”
I tried not to look at Murphy Paddon as the most interesting person I had ever met because it felt like the ultimate betrayal to my past, but every day I liked him more and more.
After dinner, we took our usual stroll around the lake, but this time, Murphy reached for my hand to hold it.
“Nope.” I pulled it away from him, keeping my gaze in front of us at the ducks along the edge of the lake and a turtle chilling on a floating log. “I have no self-control around you. It’s no longer afternoon, so no more delight.”
“Alice, do you know how much power you just gave me by saying that? Knowing that you can’t control yourself around me is too much. There’s no way I won’t take advantage of that. So this is me apologizing now for what’s to come.”
I nodded toward the group of four young women jogging toward us in the opposite direction. “Let’s find you a wife, one who can cook, so you won’t spend your life malnourished from eating microwaved quesadillas. What’s your type? Tall and thin? Beautifully curvy? Long hair? Short hair? Do you want kids? A wife who stays home or an equal breadwinner? How many kids do you want?”
“How many kids do you want?” he asked.
“Oh, that’s easy. I want five. Three boys first, then two girls.”
Murphy shot me a sidelong glance with a huge grin. “I’m not sure what to follow-up with first. That it’s rare to hear anyone want five kids anymore. Or your preference for three boys and two girls and in that order.”
“Do you have siblings?” I asked.
“A sister two years younger.”
“Well, I’m an only child. But my experience with big families is that they are fun. Perhaps chaotic at times, but fun. And older brothers looking out for younger sisters just melts my heart.”
He smirked. “I can speak from experience. There’s a lot of tormenting before the instinct to protect kicks in.”
“But you protect her now, right?”
“I don’t see her often. She just completed her associate degree as a vet tech and moved to Idaho to work for a livestock vet. Our parents aren’t thrilled.”
“Why?”
“Because she only moved there to get away from here.”
“Is she not on good terms with your parents?”
“My dad had bypass surgery last year. He’s fine now. But Ophelia thinks he’s going to have another heart attack and die, and she doesn’t want to be here when it happens. But it’s not like it’s going to prevent it from happening. She can run, but she can’t really hide.”
I swallowed hard. He wasn’t talking about me. Besides, I wasn’t hiding. I was just taking a break from reality.