I looked at Murphy and then remembered to ask Mildred, “Any specials?”
“Chef’s salad with bacon instead of ham, and peanut butter and chocolate chip pancakes. Not together, of course.”
“Oh, those sound good. I’ll have the pancakes and a coffee. Milk instead of cream?”
Mildred shook her head. “Only have two percent.”
“This is New England,” Murphy said with a grin. “I figured as much.”
I was used to Murphy being sassy in private, but out in public was a whole new experience. I liked it.
Mildred looked at me. “The biggie?”
I gave her a quick nod, and she was off.
“Looks like you’re going to have breakfast for dinner, finally.” I studied Murphy, trying to figure out where she was on the continuum of being okay with all this to being freaking out.
“It certainly does. My damn sweet tooth gets me into trouble all the time. I’ll need to run an extra mile tomorrow.”
“You look great, Murph. I know you’re not fishing for compliments, but let it stand for the record. You look great.”
“Thanks,” she said, pushing her hair behind her shoulder. “Old habits die hard. Every time I eat something with actual flavor, my mom is sitting on my shoulder. I really need to shake her off. My shoulder, that is.”
“You do.”
“Hey, Mister I Wanted To Be Near My Family.”
“I know. Guilty. But I make my own rules, do my own thing, and I don’t beat myself up for it.”
“I’m doing the same. Making my own rules.”
Conversation shifted into something a little less serious while we waited for our food. I admitted I was happy for football to be over. “It was a means to an end,” I said aloud for the first time.
“You still look like you play,” Murphy said in what I assumed was a weak moment, a blush tinting her cheeks.
“I go to the gym.”
With that, our food arrived, and Murphy dug into her pancakes. Although she only ended up eating half of them, when she was done, she said seriously, “Pancakes for dinner may be the best dinner ever.”
She seemed so sophisticated in high school, and now she was like a little girl experiencing life for the first time.
“Thanks,” she whispered as we walked toward my car after I paid. “That was fun.”
“Come here.” Snagging her hip, I dragged her close.
“I don’t know what happened to the old Murphy,” I said, running my hand down her cheek. “But I liked that Murphy a lot. I was almost too wishful back then. But this Murphy is almost too perfect for me. Tell me this isn’t a dream.”
I didn’t give her a chance to answer. Pressing my mouth to hers, I gave in to my urge to kiss Murphy. I didn’t care that we were in a parking lot, or that Mildred was probably watching from the window. Anyone from the hospital could run over here to pick up a takeout order.
I. Did. Not. Care.
Her lips were soft and a small moan escaped them, giving my tongue entrance. I kept it PG-13, only lightly caressing her tongue before moving back to closed mouth.
I’d waited to do this for so long—almost forgetting over the last few years how much I’d been into Murphy back at prep school. Since then, I’d busied myself in work and other projects, trying to be a deserving man. I’d never wanted a spoiled woman, though. I couldn’t afford a high-maintenance woman’s wants or demands back then, and had no desire to do it now.
At this moment, though, my mind was in overdrive as I continued to make love to Murphy’s mouth. My heart beat at a frantic pace at the possibilities, and then the skies opened up, rain pummeling us for the second time that day.
Quickly pulling away, Murphy ran for the car, trying to cover her hair with her purse. “My hair doesn’t get a break here,” she mumbled to herself as we slipped into the car, our wet thighs sticking to the leather.
