Later, when Sven asked if he was going out with the guys, Murphy shook his head. “Nah. Not tonight.”
He went through the motions—shower, suit, bag slung over his shoulder—before driving across town. His GPS could’ve guided him blind; he already knew the way.
He parked in front of a familiar little bungalow, heart thudding.
Bag in hand, he walked up the path and knocked on Hillary’s door.
He wasn’t sure if this was the right choice. She had been off at the office, but last night was so good. It was real. He felt it in his bones.
But when Hillary opened the door, the wind went out of him.
She wasn’t in her work clothes or anything polished. Just a hoodie and sweatpants, her hair pulled back, face bare. And God, she looked so soft, so human.
“Hey, Boss,” he said, grinning despite himself. “You look cute when you’re cozy.”
For the quickest second, something flitted across her face. Not embarrassment. Something heavier. And it hit him low in the gut.
“I’m not feeling great,” she said finally, voice low. “I think I just need to get some sleep.”
His heart dropped. “Oh. Uh . . . . yeah, of course.” He searched her eyes, desperate. Had he imagined it last night? No. No, he knew he hadn’t. “Are you okay? What can I do?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. Just sleep. I’ll see you soon.”
He nodded, even as his chest squeezed tight. “Okay. Rest up.”
She gave him a small, polite smile and closed the door.
Murphy stood there for a beat, staring at the wood grain. Then turned, trudging back to his car.
Something had shifted.
Something had changed.
But what?
32
MURPHY
It'd been over a week since that magical night with Hillary. That night had changed everything for him. He had been so certain it was something real, but she had pulled back. He wasn't sure what to do. Even here on his holiday break, he was lost.
Murphy lay sprawled in his childhood bed, staring at the ceiling. The room hadn’t changed much since he was a teenager. Posters of old hockey heroes still taped to the walls, his high school trophies lined up on a shelf as if they belonged to someone else.
It was Christmas morning. He should’ve been downstairs, laughing with his family, ripping open presents with his little brother, sneaking cinnamon rolls while they were still too hot to eat. Instead, he was glued to his phone.
He scrolled through his texts with Hillary, the thread quiet for days. He’d thought—no, he’dknown—after that last night together, things were different. Real. But since then? Nothing but polite deflections and silence.
He hated it.
With a sigh, he typed the words anyway.
Murphy - Merry Christmas, Boss.
He hit send before he could second-guess it, then turned the phone face down on his chest. He told himself he wasn’t waiting, that it didn’t matter if she answered. But every nerve in his body buzzed, listening for the faint ping that never came.
The door banged open. His brother barreled in, still in flannel pajamas, eyes shining. “Murph, come on! Mom says you’re holding up Christmas!”
Murphy shoved his phone under the pillow and forced a grin. “Alright, alright. I’m coming.”
