Teller
Murphy: You won’t believe who’s back.
Back where?
I haven’t even finished typing out a response when the loud buzz of Murphy’s bike echoes down my driveway.
“The fuck?” I grumble, tossing off the covers and sliding to the edge of the bed.
Behind me, Charlotte groans and burrows under her pillow. I glance at the clock on my nightstand, then reach over and nudge her leg. “It’s almost noon, Sunshine.”
She answers by yanking the covers up higher. It’s been almost three months and she still seems to be in a funk I can’t shake her from.
“I’m going to see what Murphy wants and start breakfast.”
“Okay,” she murmurs from somewhere underneath the comforter.
I hurry to jump into a pair of jeans and snag a T-shirt, throwing it over my shoulder on my way downstairs. Murphy’s heavy footsteps thump over the porch outside. I twist the deadbolt and open the front door before he has a chance to knock.
“What’s up?” I ask, stepping aside to allow him in while yanking the T-shirt over my head.
“Christ, I would’ve waited five seconds for you to cover yourself.” He shields his eyes with his hand. “No one needs to see that mess this early in the afternoon.”
I’m not in the mood to be baited. “You’re free to leave.” I turn and head toward the kitchen, confident he’ll follow.
The door clicks closed and he’s quiet for a few seconds while he stops to leave his boots by the door. Out of respect for Charlotte, not me.
Even though my back is facing the entrance while I start the coffee, I sense his energy behind me. Eager. Brimming with excitement to be the first one to share some news.
Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of my interest—yet—I don’t say anything while I add water to the coffee maker.
“Did you get my text?” He steps next to me and flings open one of the cabinet doors and grabs a coffee mug, plunking it on the counter.
“Who said you could have my coffee?”
“Pfft.” He opens the refrigerator and rummages through it for a carton of creamer. “You’re low on half-and-half.”
“You could bring some with you one of these days, you know. Since you help yourself to it often enough.”
“That would be nice of me, wouldn’t it.” He sets the container on the counter.
I peek out the kitchen window. The chickens are running loose again. I’ll have to get them in a minute. “Where’s Heidi?”
“At Rock’s.” He waves his hand in the direction of the clubhouse. “Guess who’s back?”
“Back where?”
“Here. In New York.”
“The Jets.”
“What? No.” He shakes his head, his frustration with me obvious. “They’re a terrible team anyway. Jersey can have ’em.”
My mouth quirks. Time to throw him a bone. “All right. Who?”
Now it’s his turn to fuck with me. He lifts his chin. “Why’s your coffee maker so fucking slow?”
I take an exaggerated look around the room. “Does this look like a Starbucks to you?”