I wound my way along the narrow road lined with country homes and tall trees, wondering what Murphy’s home looked like when she was growing up.
Glancing at me, she said, “You’re pretty cool, you know that?”
“I don’t know about cool . . .”
“Back then, you never even told me about how you learned to ski, but I do remember you going on a few ski trips.”
“Well, I told everyone my dad taught me, because I’m from Vermont where everyone skis, right? But not everyone can afford it because it’s expensive. I didn’t even have ski pants. That first time I went, I wore jeans with long underwear underneath, and an old winter coat.”
“So, do you ski now?” Murphy asked.
“When I have time. I do like it because it’s an odd juxtaposition. You’re flying down the hill, seconds away from possible death, and yet it’s peaceful. Gives me time to think.”
I took a quick peek at Murphy’s profile to see she was quiet and listening. “You know, you always did that,” I blurted before thinking.
“What are you talking about?” She turned to look at me. I could sense the movement in my veins.
“Jeez,” I said, taking one hand off the wheel and running it through my hair. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud. What I meant was you were always a good listener. You always seemed to give me your full attention when we were hanging out in your room at Pressman, and now too.”
Leaning her head back, she let out a belly laugh.
It was my turn to say, “What?”
“It’s all part of the training from my mom on mingling in high society, and being a politician’s daughter. Be a good listener, Murphy. Always act like you’re interested, Murphy.”
Not going to lie, my heart clenched, and I had to resist rubbing it. My fingers tightening around the steering wheel, I said, “So, it’s just an act.”
“Mostly, but never with you. Truth is, I was always able to be myself with you. I mean, the other night, the intimacy,” she said, her cheeks turning pink. “I haven’t had that with anyone. Yes, I’ve been physically intimate before, but never emotionally comfortable while doing it. Oh. Wow. I didn’t mean to take the conversation there.”
“It’s good. I was worried I rushed, took things too fast or far. But,” I said, turning into the dusty parking lot, “hold that thought for later. First, all things Vermont.”
“Sounds perfect right now.”
After parking, I hopped out of the Jeep and rounded the front, but Murphy was already jumping out. “It may be perfect, but let’s not forget your idea for Zara or our good time against your front door.” I took her hand in mine and walked toward the entry gate.
“Let’s do this. Let me tell Zara and then we’ll discuss it. I don’t want to jinx myself.”
I nodded. “Deal. And us,” I said, lifting our clasped hands in front of us. “You know what? Don’t answer, I’ll show you later.”
This got me a half smile, enough to create cute crinkles at the sides of her eyes. I’d take it.
“Oh, look. Honey. Let me take a quick look,” Murphy said when we started walking the aisles.
“Sure.”
She wandered over toward a table, taking my hand and me along with her.
I’d lived in Vermont almost all my life, and I’d never been happier. Problem was, if this thing with Murphy was going to last, I’d have to eventually be honest with her, and I hadn’t been totally honest with anyone. Maybe Brenna, but that’s about it. I didn’t want anyone to think I wasn’t “good, decent people” anymore.
“Hi,” the woman said with a big smile as we walked up to her table.
“Hi.” Murphy smiled back before picking up a small mason jar of honey.
“That’s local raw honey,” the woman said with pride. “We have a small apiary by Norwich, and we try to come up here once a month.”
“Oh, it looks beautiful,” Murphy said, then picked up a little brochure on the honey.
“Want a taste?”
Murphy nodded. Taking the spoon, she licked the honey from it with a grin. After telling the lady how good it was, she then bought some.
After all the thank-yous and pleasantries, we walked away.
Keeping my voice low, I leaned in to ask, “Sleeping with the enemy?”
Murphy waggled her brows. “Just a little foreplay. Sampling what’s out there, you know.”
I couldn’t stop the huge laugh barreling from me. “Come on. Let’s go check out Vermont’s best syrup, Toptree. Although, you know this isn’t the season for syrup, right? We sell it all year, but March is the best time to get it.”
I tried to calm my nerves as Murphy turned to look at me. My mom was probably working our table, ready to pounce on my sidekick for a quick interrogation at a moment’s notice.
“I didn’t know that until I started doing this gig for Hunnie,” Murphy said, her turn to wink at me. “I’ve been studying up on all things Vermont.”
Making our way through the aisles, we reached my family’s setup where a long dark green tablecloth covered the shabby table beneath. Live potted plants lined the center display of our syrups, including the blackberry-flavored one front and center. Waning sunlight reflected off the glass bottles. Pictures of the cheese we offered were arranged in front of the plants. After working many times at farmers’ markets on summer breaks and weekends when I was home, I knew there was plenty
