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“I don't see why it matters.”
“It does.” Garrett reached out, and the tip of his index finger traced the delicate line of her jaw. “Everything about you matters to me. Haven't you figured that out yet?”
“Because I saved your life?”
“That's part of the reason. But not a very big part.”
“Because we made love?”
“That's another part. Maybe bigger. And you're changing the subject again. Don't think I haven't noticed. Tell me. Did you quit your job?” His tone suggested that, this time, he expected an answer.
And he got one. It just wasn't the verbal one he'd been expecting.
The hem of Garrett's shirt rustled around Murphy's thighs as she stood and walked over to the table where she kept the phone; it was a small piece of furniture, with a solitary drawer. She pulled open the drawer and, moving the telephone books stored inside it, withdrew a crumpled piece of paper that, for the life of her, she wasn't sure why she'd kept.
Returning to the sofa, she handed the paper to Garrett.
It crinkled when he took it and very slowly unfolded the much-creased sheet of parchment. Lifting his feet from the coffee table, he planted them on the floor, and started at the paper for a long time. Finally, his gaze lifted.
A mixture of equal parts pride and admiration was etched in his features when he asked, “What changed your mind?”
“You did.”
Garrett looked surprised. “Me? How?”
“I typed that"—she nodded to the resignation he held pinched between his index fingers and thumbs—"Friday, the day after I got home. When I walked into the office Monday morning, I intended to hand it to Mr. Kratzski, my boss.”
“But you didn't,” he said when she hesitated.
She picked nervously at one of the buttons on his shirt. “No, I didn't.”
“Why?”
“Like I said, because of you.” Shaking her head, Murphy wondered if she could ever make Garrett understand. “I remembered the way you kept insisting we were going to get out of that car, out of that blizzard, when there was no hope of it ever happening.” She again sat on the opposite end of the couch. He reached out, opened his hand; her cheek nuzzled perfectly into the warm, rough cradle of his palm. “I remembered your strength, your determination, your refusal to quit, even when the deck was so strongly stacked against us.
Murphy sighed, her voice growing hoarse. “I admired you so much for that, Garrett. The memory haunted me. Finally, I realized that if you couldn't say ‘quit’ even when you didn't have a snowball's chance of winning, why should I?” She shrugged awkwardly. “When it came time to give my resignation to Mr. Kratzski, I thought of you…and didn't. Instead, I folded it up and put it in my purse, then went to my office, got behind my desk, and forced myself to get back to work.”
Murphy shuddered when Garrett took her hand and brought it to lips. His mouth pressed a warm, reassuring kiss in the center of her palm. Her voice took a ragged turn. “It was difficult at first. To go back to work, I mean. I won't lie. But I kept remembering something you'd said to me, just before you left for the hospital in Bangor, and somewhere along the line I started to believe it.”
“What did I say?” His lips feathered her skin as he spoke. His breaths washed hotly over her palm and wrist, making her tremble.
“Y-you told me that Murphy's Law has to change sometime.”
His gr
in had a devastating affect on her already spiraling senses. “I'm proud of you, sweetheart,” he said, straightening. The respectful edge to his tone reinforced the words.
“You know what?”
Garrett shook his head.
“I'm proud of me, too.” Murphy smiled and felt oh, so wonderfully warm inside when he returned the gesture.
“Come here, lady. I want to hug you.”
“No, your leg,” she reminded him.
“What leg?” he countered, his blue eyes sparkling.
