Hillary walked in, her eyes sweeping the space. She’d been here before, but tonight it felt different, like she was seeing it through a softer lens. She was still impressed. Everything about him impressed her, even the little things.
“I’ve got a pizza in the oven,” Murphy called over his shoulder as he moved into the kitchen. “It’ll be out in a second.”
She glanced down at the bag still slung over her shoulder. His gaze flicked to it, and that easy, boyish smile tugged at his mouth.
Hillary just smiled, shaking her head like she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of an answer. Murphy chuckled and ducked into the kitchen.
Her phone buzzed in her hand. She pulled it out and saw Sydney’s name light up her screen.
Sydney-Lunch tomorrow? No game = no excuses.
Hillary exhaled a quiet laugh through her nose, thumbs hesitating over the keyboard before she typed back a quickWouldn’t miss it.Then she slipped the phone into her purse, her attention pulling back toward the warmth spilling from the kitchen and the man who felt too good to be true.
Murphy came out balancing a steaming pizza on a wooden board. Hillary blinked, doing a double-take.
“That’s . . . homemade?” she asked, a little incredulous. She’d assumed it would be something pulled from a freezer, not something that smelled like an actual pizzeria.
Murphy smirked as he set it down on the coffee table. “Boss, if I’m gonna prove I can take care of you, I’m not feeding you frozen cardboard.”
Her chest squeezed at that, even as she rolled her eyes and sat down next to him. Finn flopped happily at their feet, nose twitching toward the crust.
As they both reached for slices, she tilted her head, studying him. “You had a good game tonight.”
He shrugged, casual. “Felt good, yeah. But honestly, everyone was clicking. Easy night when the whole team’s rolling.”
She gave himthe look. The one she usually reserved for rookies trying to dodge a direct question at press conferences. “Murphy.”
He glanced up, caught by her tone, and saw the small smile tugging at her lips.
“Take the compliment,” she said firmly.
His ears pinked, and he gave in with a sheepish grin. “Okay. Yeah. I played pretty damn good.”
“That’s better,” she teased, leaning back against the couch.
They lingered over the last bites of pizza, both of them avoiding the question circling in the air. Hillary traced the rim of her wine glass with one finger before finally forcing the words out.
“Murphy, do you want to tell people?”
He didn’t hesitate. “I’ve wanted to since the beginning.” His eyes softened as he leaned forward. “But it’s always been up to you.”
Her chest tightened with guilt. “I want to,” she admitted quietly. “I do. But can we start slow? I know it’s selfish, but this is hard for me. Growing up the way I did, keeping things private was the only way to keep them safe. But even still, I think I’m just a private person.”
She blew out a forceful breath as her fists balled. “No matter how I say it, it sounds selfish.”
He shook his head firmly. “It’s not selfish. It’s us.” Then his mouth curved into that smile that always disarmed her. “We’ll start small. Tell Sydney. What do you think?”
A shaky laugh escaped her. “Yeah, then we’ll take it from there.”
Later, with the pizza cleared away, it was just the two of them and their wine. The apartment glowed softly, Finn snoring in his dog bed. Hillary curled her legs under herself, watching Murphy stretch out beside her, his arm heavy and warm across the back of the couch.
For the first time in weeks, she wasn’t drowning in guilt or fear. She let herself breathe, let herself enjoy it. Just him. Just them.
Her phone buzzed again on the cushion beside her. Another message from Sydney clarifying the time and place for lunch tomorrow. Hillary bit her lip, then glanced at Murphy.
“It’s Sydney. She wants to go out tomorrow. Ummm . . . Do you want to go out to lunch with us tomorrow?”
Murphy’s brows lifted, his mouth quirking into the start of a smile. "Yes," he said instantly. “Does this mean we tell her?”
