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)
Chapter Nineteen
Alice
You’re never too old to play.
Stay young at heart.
“You ever been married, Alice?” Hunter asks as he pours me a glass of water before his afternoon story-slash-nap time.
I’ve come to enjoy our midday ritual. It’s hard to explain, but our time together feels intimate in a way that’s not physical or any sort of cheating. Maybe it’s like therapy, like we have an unspoken agreement that what’s said during our time in his study will never leave this room.
“I have not,” I say.
“Can I give you some sage advice?” He sets the water on the end table.
“Sure.” I use my finger as a bookmark and rest the book on my lap.
“Skip the big wedding. Go to the courthouse if you want to make it legal or have a minister or priest marry you midweek with a witness if necessary, but skip the theatrics. Save your money. If your parents are paying, ask them to give you the money instead and invest it.”
“Spoken like a true romantic, Mr. Morrison.”
He settles on the sofa. “Just trust me. It’s not worth it.”
“Well, I don’t think I would have taken this job had I planned on getting married.”
“Because I’m your sugar daddy?”
Laughter bubbles up my chest. Despite his “fetishes” or rich-guy eccentricities, Hunter Morrison is a kind soul.
He peeks open one eye and glances at me with a smirk. “Don’t deny it. You’re grossly overcompensated, yet somehow worth every penny. Go figure.”
“Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should.” He chuckles. “By the way, the hand soap you made for my bathroom is amazing. It’s robust and masculine. What’s the scent?”
“Vanilla.”
He barks a laugh.
“Cedar and citrus,” I say with an unavoidable grin because I bought the handmade soap from a local store where they cut and sell it by the ounce. He doesn’t need to know all of my secrets. “Is it weird that my favorite character in this story is the dog?” I ask, returning my attention to the book.
“Montmorency is a hoot,” he says. “But you gotta love the camaraderie between the men.”
“For sure,” I say, opening the book and reading to him. By the end of a chapter, Hunter appears to be asleep.
However, before I utter the first word of the next chapter, he says, “You’re a beautiful young woman with a calming disposition. Why don’t you have dreams of getting married?”
I pause, waiting for him to open his eyes or move another part of his body, but he doesn’t.
“Um,” I clear my throat. “Why would you ask me that after giving me sage advice not to get married?”
“My advice was to forgo a big wedding. But now I’m curious why you don’t want to get married.” His chuckle triggers a little cough, so he fists his hand at his mouth.
“Water?” I ask.
Keeping his eyes closed, he shakes his head and relaxes his folded hands back onto his chest. “I know it’s none of my business. What can I say? My nosey wife has rubbed off on me.”
“I’m just unlucky in love. That’s all.”
“So is my daughter, but it hasn’t stopped her from trying. I’m not sure poor Murphy will get an official ‘I do’ out of her. But perhaps the third time’s a charm.”
“Why did she break off her other engagements, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“She’s commitment phobic. Indecisive. Her mother calls her a ‘free bird.’ And that’s great. I support that, but then just admit that you won’t make a good lifelong partner. You know?”
I nod slowly. “Do you think Murphy’s the one? Or will she back out?”
“He’s a great guy. But, just between us, he’s not the one either. I don’t think ‘the one’ for her exists.”
“Maybe he’s the exception.”
“I doubt it. He can’t love her like she needs to be loved.”
I rest the open book face down on my lap. “What do you mean?”
“My daughter is like me, even though she’ll never admit it. And I’m needy as fuck.”
I roll my lips between my teeth to suppress my laughter. Hunter’s self-examination is not only shocking but refreshing.
“Of course, I tell everyone else she’s like Vera, but it’s a lie. That girl is neurotic as hell. Free bird my ass. And Murphy doesn’t give a shit if she’s pissed at him for something stupid. He’s not a groveler or a people pleaser.”
“Opposites attract. Maybe he’s exactly what she needs.”
“Oh,” Hunter peeks at me, “she absolutely needs a man like him. But give it time, and what she wants will trump what she needs.”
“What does she want?”
“Someone who worships her. Spoon-feeds her ego.”
“Is that my job? To worship you and spoon-feed your ego?”
His chest bounces with laughter. “Vera would kill me if I asked you to get on your knees for any sort of worship, so just read to me and tell me I’m handsome.”
In the most unromantic way, I love Hunter Morrison.