Murphy's Law

Murphy's Law holds true, she thought as, realizing it was too late to change her clothes now, she sighed in resignation and left the bedroom. She pulled the door to behind her; the bedroom was located in the short hallway that shot off the kitchen, and she didn't want Garrett to think she was a slob.

Her heels clicked smartly on the hardwood floor as she moved through the living room to the front door, flicking the stereo off on the way. Her fingers didn't tremble when she gripped the cold metal doorknob; Murphy knew, because she had to concentrate very hard to make it so.

Mentally, she counted to three, then twisted the knob and opened the door.

STANDING IN THE sun-lit hallway—there was an uncurtained window to his immediate left—and waiting for Murphy to answer the door, it dawned on Garrett that the churning in his gut was due entirely to nerves. Stupid, he knew, but he couldn't help it. Christ, he felt like a freshman on his first date!

The solitude of the drive to Providence had given him plenty of time to think. And plan. After much debate, he knew precisely what he would say when Murphy opened the door. He'd practiced his opening line on his own reflection in the rearview mirror until it almost sounded natural.

Under his right arm, he'd tucked a large, plain brown paper bag. In a cliche he would have laughed at a month before, his left hand was fisted around the impressively long stems of a dozen pristine white roses. They, in proper cliche fashion, were hidden behind his back.

The curve of one of the petals whisked the nape of his neck; it felt soft, almost as soft as Murphy McKenna's skin. The flowery scent enveloped him. As nice as it was, Garrett found he preferred the pure, sweet, subtle aroma of Ivory Soap.

One thought hadn't been very far from his mind these last few weeks. “Ninety-nine point forty-four percent pure", the ad for the soap touted. It was that other point fifty-six percent of Murphy that he'd sensed in her kisses, in the uninhibited way she'd allowed him to touch her…it was that point fifty-six percent that had Garrett so damn intrigued.

He grinned and pressed the doorbell again. The paper bag crinkled. What was keeping her? Maybe she wasn't home? No, she had to be. The music blaring—so loudly he could feel the beat of it rumble through the floor and the soles of his sneakers—said that someone was home. Unless, the analytical side of him argued, she'd gone out and forgotten to turn off the stereo.

Hell, it would be just his luck…

Garrett swallowed a groan. Hadn't Elise and Bree warned him Murphy might not be there when he arrived? That he should call first? They had. And, as always, he hadn't listened to a word his sisters had said. He regretted that now.

The music inside came to a stop in mid-chord.

Murphy was home.

Garrett's mouth went dry.

If he wasn't so nervous, he would have been relieved. From inside, he heard a crisp click, click of heels on wood; the sound grew louder, moving closer to the other side of the door. His fist convulsed around the rose stems, almost crushing them. A thorn bit into the center of his cool, moist palm; he barely felt it.

The time between when he heard the doorknob turn, and when the door actually swung open, seemed to take a lifetime. When the action was finally complete, Garrett found that his chest had compressed all the air in his lungs. Breathing

was something he didn't contemplate. Couldn't.

Murphy.

It had been so long since he'd seen her that, to have her standing in front of him now, he found himself devouring her with his eyes. Her hair shimmered from a recent washing, the wildness of it tamed with combs on either side, behind her ears. The soft brown spirals framed and accentuated the delicate lines of her face. The color in her cheeks was high, but Garrett was pleased to see the color hadn't been put there by makeup; her face was appealingly bare of it. Her sea-green eyes shimmered, her gaze seeming to be equally as greedy to drink in the sight of him.

Ah, but that made Garrett feel better than he had in weeks!

The smile he'd practiced in his car came naturally. He'd no more opened his mouth, intent on delivering “The Perfect Line” he'd prepared with the diligent intent of setting them both at ease, when Moonshine decided to pay Garrett a greeting of his own.

The cat scooted around Murphy, his fluffy tail rustling her full black skirt, then pounced.

Apparently, it was the feline's way of giving Garrett a welcoming hug. Pity Garrett wasn't prepared for it.

The paper bag plummeted to the floor. The flowers fell from his hands, scattering over the carpeted hall as his arms came out from behind his back. Instinct made him cross his arms protectively in front of his face.

The cat, hadn't aimed quite so high; Moonshine's big, furry body collided solidly with Garrett's stomach.

The impact made Garrett stumble back a step. The breath he'd anxiously been holding while waiting for Murphy to answer the door poured from his lungs in a strangled whoooosh.

Moonshine toppled to the floor, twisting and turning and managing to land on his feet in a way that was intrinsically feline. The cat glared at Garrett, meowed his disdain at such an unfriendly greeting, then turned and, chin and tail high, marched back into the apartment.

It was Murphy's laughter that finally caught Garrett's attention. High and melodic, thoroughly delightful, it played over him like warm drops of rain. If he'd been angry at such a poorly executed entrance, it was an emotion he couldn't sustain.

Garrett grinned and, again, opened his mouth, determined to deliver “The Perfect Line". What came out instead was two very loud, very violent sneezes.

“Are you okay?” Murphy asked, her tone bordering on serious, her green eyes still glistened with laughter.