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)
“Murphy …” Emotion punches me in the chest.
“The day they accepted the offer was the day I met our son.”
Our son.
“His parents are really great. He’s a well-spoken young man with good manners. And he was kicking a soccer ball around the yard that day, so I kicked it around with him. I asked if he played, and he said yes, but his coach was moving, so they needed a new one.” Murphy shrugs. “I had the time.”
I laugh, wiping my eyes.
“So what are we going to do, beautiful?” He slides his arms around my waist. “Be our son’s neighbors? Coach him? Hire him to mow our lawn? Bake him cookies? Go to his plays?”
I scrape my teeth over my lip and sniffle. “Is that weird?”
He wipes my cheeks and shakes his head. “Yes. And I’m so on board. We’re stalkers, but the good kind. Secret guardians.”
“Just to be clear, you’re asking me to live with you, correct?”
His lips twitch. “Well, since I’ve told everyone I have a wife, I think you living with me is a good idea.”
“When were you going to find me and tell me you bought this house?”
“Never. I knew you’d show up.” He grabs the back of my legs and lifts me to him.
I wrap them around his waist. “So my new role is pretending to be your wife? Your homemaker?”
“Who said anything about pretending?” He kisses my neck. “Wanna see the rest of our house?”
I tease my fingers through his hair and kiss the shell of his ear. “Yes.”
“Let’s start in the bedroom,” he says, dragging his mouth up my neck while walking us down the hallway.
I giggle when he eases me to my feet then kicks the door shut while shrugging off his shirt.
“Choose me,” I say as he pushes his shorts down his legs.
Murphy glances up, eyeing me for a moment like my words haven’t registered.
“I wanted you to choose me.”
He grins. “I know. I’d already chosen you. I just wanted you to say it, to feel worthy of this kind of love and happiness.” He unbuttons my shorts and pulls them down my legs along with my underwear while I remove my shirt. “But you’re broken, baby.” He kisses a trail up my leg. “And that’s okay, I’m good at fixing things.”
“I’m not broken.” I roll my eyes.
“You are.”
I jump when his tongue teases between my legs. Then he continues up my body, removing my bra and kissing my breasts.
“It’s nothing a few weeks of nonstop screwing can’t fix.”
I giggle harder.
He kisses along my jaw, his erection sliding between my legs. “Hi,” he whispers, a breath before his lips claim mine.
Epilogue
Murphy
Since it takes a village,
don’t forget to form your village.
Eight Years Later …
“If you touch that, I will cut off your hand,” Alice says, holding a knife when I reach my finger for the bowl of chocolate frosting.
“Don’t cut off Daddy’s hand,” three-year-old Mia says while she and her five-year-old sister Sophie make friendship bracelets at the kitchen table.
“Then he needs to stay out of the frosting. It’s for Cam’s birthday cake.”
“You’re so sassy,” I whisper in Alice’s ear before sucking her earlobe between my teeth.
Her shoulder jumps. “Stop!” She laughs, cutting pineapple for the fruit kabobs Cam loves.
While we’ve made this our home and had two beautiful girls, Alice and I have always held our breath, praying that the Becketts don’t move. Not only have we become close to Rose and Jonathan, we’ve formed lifelong bonds with Cameron and their girls. Our families have vacationed together. I play golf with Jonathan. And Rose and Alice are on a pickleball team at the rec center.
Jonathan sells life insurance, and Rose is a landscape architect who doesn’t enjoy cooking anything that can’t be thrown on the grill or tossed into a Crock-Pot. So Cameron thinks Alice is the best neighbor ever because she bakes and cooks all the time. Rose jokes that she’s going to divorce Jonathan and marry Alice.
“I’ll be in the garage,” I say.
“Save some wood for me,” Alice smirks.
Someday, our girls are going to realize their mom’s idea of wood and my woodturning hobby are two totally different things.
“I always do,” I say, filling a glass with sun tea before heading to the garage.
Since my art sells easily and quickly at several local galleries and shops, and I still do freelance technical writing, I make enough money to pay for a full-time homemaker who wears house dresses. However, I prefer her barefoot, traipsing through the grass yard to and from her garden.
No ponytail.
Wavy auburn hair flowing behind her.
It’s the best damn life.
As I cut new pieces of wood for my next project, Cameron opens the side door and closes it behind him.
“Hey, buddy. What’s up? You ready to turn sixteen tomorrow?”
His grin beams.
Neither Rose nor Jonathan have ever mentioned Cameron being adopted, so I’m not sure they’ll ever tell him. But it doesn’t matter. He’s a spitting image of me when I was sixteen, and my mom has noticed it too. Alice and I have agreed to never mention it unless Cameron has a medical emergency and would need something like a kidney donated or a bone marrow transplant.