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It had been three weeks since Aggie moved in. Two since they’d kissed and only a couple days ago since he’d first made her scream his name. Murph still rode the manic. Sure, the sex made it less intense, but he couldn’t get enough of her. He’d even shaved so he wouldn’t rough up her skin whenever he went down on her, which for the time being, happened every day. She never stayed the night. Nope, it’d be sex, maybe a little talking, and then away she’d run.
Over the course of the days, in between amazing bouts of intercourse, he almost laughed at the word, she’d mentioned a food schedule, a healthy meal list, and even volunteered to pick up the groceries, if he promised to eat.
So, he ate what she bought, prepared the recipes she suggested, and worked harder to remember to lock up, a problem she pointed out after their first time together.
Now, he stood in the kitchen making some healthy chicken and a brown rice dish with lima beans and cauliflower. Everything baked or simmered like clockwork, and he tried not to get excited. Not about the release Aggie promised she’d sign today. Not about the painting he’d just finished of Aggie, passionate and desirable as she sat on his couch, beckoning to him.
A knock at the front door broke him from his emerging hard-on and wayward thoughts. He turned the saucepan down to a low setting before leaving the kitchen, determined to make this dinner perfect.
He opened to see Trix standing in the foyer, Seth playing with a small bouncing ball behind her. “Howdy, neighbor. Where have you been hiding?”
Murph shrugged his shoulders. “Nowhere, I’ve been here and busy.”
“Well, I made a pretty awesome pot roast for dinner and thought you could use a good, hearty meal. I know when you’re painting it’s hard to do any cooking.”
Normally, guilt would flood his stomach for turning her down, but this time...no remorse at all since he’d started embodying healthy behaviors. “Sorry, Trix. I’ve got dinner already cooking and someone coming over.”
For a moment, she appeared surprised, even a bit angry. Her downturned eyebrows and pursed lips disappeared behind a smile just as fast. “All right, I’ll bring you some leftovers tomorrow. Seth wanted to know if you’d join us for the farmer’s market this weekend? They are having a parade or something.”
Before he could answer, Aggie walked in the front door, smiling, black hair shimmering against a sliver of sunset peeking in behind her. Trix followed his eye path and beat him to a greeting. “Hi, Agatha. I’m trying to convince Murph to join us for dinner, but he has plans. Can I offer you a bite? Too much pot roast.”
It was weird to hear Trix call Aggie by her full name. His original dinner companion smiled wider, if anything, the smile looked more painfully polite than genuine. “Afraid I also have plans already for the evening, but thank you for offering.”
He would’ve thought Aggie would move on upstairs, or come to greet him at least, but instead, his kind-hearted muse gave her attention to a little boy. “Hi, Seth. Are you looking forward to pot roast?”
For a six-year-old, Seth never talked much, but he looked up at Murph’s Renaissance beauty and nodded in the affirmative.
“Awesome. You have a great night, okay?”
The blond-headed boy nodded again in agreement and then bounced his ball over to Aggie. She got the idea and started a small game of catch with him.
Trix’s reaction to the exchange involved narrow eyes and the pursed look to her lips from earlier.
“Are you okay?” Murph asked while putting a hand to Trix’s shoulder.
The venomous gaze she swung on him made him end his physical contact with her, and then as if a flicking a switch, it disappeared. “Yep, right as rain. So, this weekend?”
He’d lost any time to take a trip to the farmer’s market, not if he meant to put the final touches on the three paintings sitting in his living room, almost finished, and really develop the next three. One of which he planned to start tonight.
“I’ll let you know.” The lie rolled off his tongue with ease, surprising even him.
“Okay, I’ll swing by tomorrow.” Trix’s smiled disappeared as she looked away from him and started to move toward her son and Aggie, now talking about the ball in great depth. “Let’s go, Seth. Dinner is going to get cold.”
The pair walked out the door, and Aggie hurried from her spot on the stair leading to her rooms and plugged in the code to set the alarm system. Then she turned to him standing in his doorway staring into the building’s entrance. She looked at him. “Is your oven beeping?”
Sure enough, it was, a steady, high-pitched tone pulsing out the end of his cooking time. Shit. He ran into the kitchen, turned the oven off, and checked the food. Thankfully, everything stayed perfect this time, not burned or overflowing.
“Disaster averted,” he announced.
“Good. Because it smells delicious and I’m starving.” Aggie’s response came with her arms wrapping around his waist—so domestic and ideal.
“Did you want to go upstairs and change before we eat?”
She squeezed him gently. “Nope, I’m ready to enjoy my evening, not waste minutes changing clothes I plan to take off in a little while anyway.”
A little tug with a twist and he’d turned his body in her arms to face her. Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “How do you know they are going to come off?”
“Call it a hunch.”
They kissed again, soft and slow. God, he loved these moments when she acted as a fixture in his life, a piece of the puzzle. And truly, she fit into everything like the missing link in the chain. Things worked with her around.
“Good hunch. I’ll serve up the plates.”
“I’ll help you.”
They worked like this for the next few minutes together. A functioning team on the way to sustenance. Murph enjoyed having someone to share his cares of the day with, to review daily activities, and someone interested in what he did.
“Did you get three meals in?”
He scooped out a serving of rice next to the chicken breast on both plates. “Yes. It’s not too hard. With the alarms we set on my phone, I don’t forget.”
“I find it hilarious you barely knew half the phone functions.” Aggie added the lima beans and cauliflower mixture to each plate.
“I’m not a techie; we talked about this. It’s better to keep me as far away from technology as possible.”
She nodded in agreement and moved to grab silverware. “Which I understand. Thankfully, your kitchen is already organized, so we don’t have to worry about that, too.”
He carried the plates. She grabbed the napkins and utensils, and they settled on his couch in the living room. “Want to watch a movie tonight?”
They’d fallen into a similar routine, too: dinner, a movie, and sex potentially before, during, or after said movie. Most of the time she’d initiate it...he still held back, not wanting to push her or ask anything of her—ever.
“No, let’s talk—about the painting, the schedule, or maybe your creepy tenant.”
“What? Creepy tenant?” He focused on his chicken for a minute, cutting the breast into inch-size portions. “You mean Trix?”
“Yes, and what’s up with the name?”
“It’s a nickname because of her ever-changing hair color. Surprisingly, it’s been blue and pink for a pretty long time, but won’t be long before it mutates to something else.”
“She doesn’t like me.”
He chuckled. “I can say I don’t think she likes anyone.”
“With the exception of you. She really likes you.”
A feeling of unease rose in him. This wasn’t the first time someone implied his tenant harbored a serious crush on him. Not the first time he’d wanted to shove it aside. “You’re right, and I’ll admit I never talked to anyone about it before.”
“Do you want to talk to me?”
Without hesitation, he responded, “Yes.”
#
Aggie sat as requested, back straight and looking to her left. A profile painting was what Murph called it, and truth be told, she enjoyed posing for him. Coming to his place after work every day and merely eating with him, being with him, kept her mind from thinking about Jordan or how she tended to screw things up in relationships in general. He made the interacting part easy. So, she enjoyed helping Murphy as a way to repay him for helping her not overthink things.
“You stopped talking.”
Murph looked back at her from his canvas. “Sorry, I’m trying to nail down the curls of your hair. I never noticed the natural curl in the back.”
“Probably because I’ve been keeping your focus on my front.”
He smiled at her comment but went back to sketching.
“Will I ever get to see the final paintings?” She’d posed for at least three so far and he’d shown her nothing, not even a peek at the sketches.
“You’ll see them at the show.”
A show over a month and a half away, and she planned to be done imposing on Murph’s hospitality by then. In fact, she’d avoided thinking so far into the future. No, she’d focused on the now, living in the moment. Her savings account was the only thing affected since moving in. If things kept going this way, she’d have the money for a place and more long before the two months were up. Maybe she could start paying rent here and stay. Strong women pay their own way, unless a man is willing to do it for them.
She wouldn’t be her mother if she could help it, and if she didn’t pay her way, she’d be like her in multiple ways. But how did she broach the topic without offending Murph or throwing his generosity in his face?
Better to discuss something else, for now. “How long have you known Trix?”
“Since grade school. We rode the same bus but roamed in different circles. She hung out with a bad crowd.”
“Like the cool kids smoking?”
“More like the kids on meth. She was drugged out from middle school on. Then I ran into her after she had Seth. She looked awful and strung out. So, I helped her, gave her a place to stay, a chance to get into rehab and get clean, and she did.”
This man, who gave and gave, owned a heart of gold. Her own personal fears about being taken advantage of, or simple hesitance, stopped her from being similarly helpful to others. Funny, his own troubles didn’t stop him.
“Super nice of you, like more-than-normal nice. And you weren’t worried?”
“About what?”
“Your issues getting in the way.”
He chuckled. “If anything, my issues, as you politely call them, make things easy for them. I’m the forgetful, idiot landlord with a very forgiving nature. I don’t ask for rent sometimes, and don’t make my tenants sign lease agreements. If they wanted to, they could take over the other building by possession being nine-tenths of the law or some nonsense. But because I’ve been a help to them, they take care of me.”
“How so?”
“Trix makes me food and my grandmother’s friend on the bottom floor takes care of the yards, pest control, and any maintenance if I’m too busy to get to it. It works.”
“You’re lucky to have nice people around you, even if one of them is a little obsessive.”
He focused back on the canvas, sketching away before saying, “Do you really think so?”
“The day I moved in, she made sure to tell me you had dinner plans with each other.” It would’ve been easy to be oblivious if she were Murph. Simple to get wrapped up in a painting project and never see people closing in, stifling, or staking a claim—something that made her angry on his behalf. At least, that was what she’d call the emotion beating her chest.
“She’s never acted this way before. At least, I’ve never had any women over, no one I showed an interested in, anyway.”
But they’d kept their bedroom activities private. “How would she know?”
“The painting. She’s seen it before, asked about you. I never told anyone you existed in the real world.”
A thread of heartfelt emotion worked its way through her, sparking the hairs on the back of her neck. The first time she ever heard a man’s voice in such a humble whisper. Almost as if he feared her reaction. “You make me sound like something special.”
The pencil in his hand dropped and Murph moved to a standing position, causing his chair leg to scrape against the carpet. He walked over to her, slow, deliberate steps paired with his words. “You are special. You’re inspiring.”
Wrapping his hands around her arms, Murph pulled her to a standing position.
“You make the room brighter when you walk in. I breathe easier, and dealing with my shit is so much simpler. Even in group, the conversations went better with you there.”
She shook her head. “That can’t be true for everyone, maybe for you, but most people don’t think the same.”
“Do you need everyone to think the way I do?”
His question made her blush. She wasn’t selfish or vain and craved anything besides attention. “No. I just—your observations surprise me. I don’t see myself the way you do.”
“I said it before and I meant it.”
She leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips. A soft, gentle touch and she couldn’t stop with one. Those lips of his always needed to meet hers for a second and third time, until tongues came out to mingle and get reacquainted. This time, though, she stopped things or else they’d never get anything accomplished beyond a romp on the couch or possibly the bed.
“Where’s the image release?”
“Hmm?” Murph leaned back in, his pursed lips touching hers once more.
She responded on instinct and then pulled away. “The paper you need me to sign for the approval to use any paintings with my likeness.”
“It’s on the coffee table. We can mess with it later.”
Extracting herself from his arms, she clicked her tongue. “Unlike your tenants, who don’t mind taking advantage when they can, I refuse to let you distract yourself from getting business taken care of.”
Searching on the coffee table, through a few small stacks of papers, she found it near the top of the last pile with a nice cup ring stain on it.
“This it?” She waved it in the air.
He nodded. “You don’t need to. It’s a formality.”
“You’ve done so much for me, for everyone living here. Let me do this for you, my way of keeping everything above board, taking care of you. Besides, this is for a painting on display.”
“And the ones I’m working on.”
That sentence came as she gave the last curlicue on the s of Kakos. “You’ll be displaying those?” The thought made her anxious. She hadn’t even seen them.
“Yes, all the paintings I’m working on will need to go on display to complete the show.”
“People will only look at them, not buy them?” A little challenging for her, outside of her comfort zone by far, even more than letting Murph put her visage to canvas. People would see her, her body...they would judge her.
“The paintings will be on sale.” This fact he imparted as he folded the release paper and tucked it into his back pocket.
“For sale? Why in the hell would you do that?”
“Artist’s work at a showing is always for visibility and for sale. It’s never been any different.”
Dread filled her, bone-chilling and with a gnawing sensation in her stomach. “Give me the paper back.”