Murphy shook her head. “I feel bad we never really went there with our friendship. We were close in private, and not until prom did we really step out into public. There were a few times, I guess, but always under the guise of you tutoring me.”
I took her hand and ran my thumb over hers. “It’s okay. I wasn’t easy to be close to with that big chip on my shoulder.”
She dropped her gaze, focusing on our joined hands. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“That’s fine, but it’s not good to keep everything inside, Murph. You’ll explode. Trust me.”
She didn’t know how I walked around pretending to be an average doctor, living a quiet life in Vermont, when my bank account said otherwise. I was the one on the verge of exploding. Honestly, all the money I’d earned didn’t mean much because I had no one to share it with.
“You seem to be the master of keeping stuff hidden.” She looked up at me, and it felt like she was trying to see into my soul.
“Well, I learned how to keep my feelings to myself at Pressman. I was the odd man out, and it’s not easy to get over that. So, you know what? When you feel up to it . . . let them out. Maybe you can chat with Zara. I know her a little. Her daughter, Nicole, broke her arm, swinging on the trees behind the Bean, and the Shipleys are good friends of my family. Anyway, Audrey called me to take a look at it. With Dave’s hockey experience, he’s brought some business my way.”
“She’s my boss, so I’ll see. In fact, it’s better I don’t. Plus, I don’t know Dave well. When he comes in, Zara dotes on him, and then he leaves. I wish I could see myself like that one day with someone, but . . .”
“But what? You’ll have that if you want it,” I said without thinking, then caught myself. Who in the ever-loving fuck was I to give dating advice? “Either way, Zara doesn’t care if she’s your boss. She’s a good person and will shoot straight with whatever you tell her. Used to be a bartender, so she knows how to listen and give it to you straight.”
The timer on her old microwave beeped, pulling us out of the serious moment, and in some sort of Pavlovian response, Murphy popped up to get the pie.
“What’s all this serving me about?” I said, jumping up too. “I can get it.”
“No, no, let me,” she said, shooing me away so she could pull the pie from the oven. “The need to entertain well dies hard. Except my mom would be barking orders at the staff to get the pie.”
She waved her hand in a bossy way as she said in a haughty voice, “Maurice, get this. Eleanor, bring me a hot tea.” Smirking at me, Murphy stood on tiptoe to grab supplies from the cabinet. “Oh well, time to make those delicious K-cups.”
“Here, let me.” I shot up behind her, using my height to easily pull down the box of decaf K-cups, savoring the heat of her back to my front.
We bantered back and forth as we enjoyed the pie and coffee, and it felt good. Really good.
I wasn’t sure if this version of Murphy was here for good, but I knew I wanted to enjoy her as much as possible. I’d been infatuated with her at Pressman, then fantasized about her for years, and now here she was.
On that thought, my phone rang. I pulled it from my pocket to see it was my real estate agent calling, probably about the property I was interested in.
Not wanting to share this side of me, I answered the call and said, “One sec,” into the phone, and to Murphy, I whispered, “I have to take this. Be right back.”
Murphy probably thought the call was patient related. I couldn’t deny my being a doctor, but I would keep how deep my pockets were to myself. I didn’t want my wealth to be a deciding factor when it came to whether Murphy gave me a chance or not.
When I came back inside, she was curled up on the couch, reading on a Kindle.
“You look comfy,” I said, taking in her smooth legs and her long red hair falling over her shoulder.
She looked up with a smile. “Sorry. I didn’t know how long you would be, and I only have a few chapters left in this book.”
“No worries.” I slid in next to her, noticing the pie plates and coffee cups were gone. Despite it not being much, it was clear Murphy took a lot of pride in her place.
Running my palm over Murphy’s bare thigh, I asked what she was reading.
“Oh, this is a great book, but not for you,” she said with a devilish smile.
“Why is that? Is it a sappy romance?”
“Not sappy. Super fun,” she said, and I glanced at her Kindle to see she was reading something titled Brooklynaire by Sarina Bowen. “It’s steamy in the best way, and I love the attraction between the hero and the heroine. It does make me kind of sad with all the New York parts, because I can’t go back there. Ever.”
My heart sank when she said this. The city she’d been raised in was no longer hers, for a variety of reasons that twisted my gut.
“I’m sure you can. Whatever happened, happened. It’s in the past,” I said, not wanting to push, but feeling the need to give comfort. “Don’t get me wrong, I want to know, but on your terms. We all have our reasons for keeping stuff to ourselves,” I said before stopping abruptly. Selfishly, I was enjoying this close time with her, and I didn’t want to ruin it with serious talk.
Murphy shrugged, not meeting my eyes. “Anyway, Bowen is a great writer, and I almost finished the book in one
