“He’s done so much for me already,” I say, sitting down and staring at the large box. “I really don’t like him spending money on me.”

“It’s not like the man can’t afford it, Murphy. You know that, don’t you?”

I roll my eyes. “I know. But I don’t want to feel indebted to anyone.”

“Indebted?” she says abhorrently. “Believe me, Caden has no ulterior motives here. He’s a nice guy. I’ve known him for over a year.”

“I know he’s nice. Maybe too nice. I’ve been his charity case for almost two months now.”

“Charity case?” Trick walks over to her bookshelves and grabs something before coming to sit beside me. She hands me an old book. “It’s a first edition by my favorite author. Caden gave it to me last spring because he knows how much I love the writer. Do you have any idea how much that must have cost?”

“No,” I say, carefully leafing through the pages of the book that must be decades old.

“Me neither,” she says laughing. “But if I had to guess, it’s worth a lot more than you or I make in a month. Did he give it to me because I’m a charity case? Because he wanted something from me?”

I shrug. “Maybe he wanted you to take it easy on him at the gym.”

She snorts through her nose. “Hell, no. Caden urges me to push him more than any of my clients. Well, except maybe Mason. But he’s not really a client. He’s my boss.” She slaps the side of the box. “He gave this to you because you’re his friend. And you read the card, it’s a housewarming gift. Accept it gracefully, Murphy.”

I nod at her words, running my hand along the side of the sealed box. I stand up so I can reach the top of it and peel the packing tape away. When I open it and see the contents, I smile.

“What is it?” Trick asks.

I pull out item after item, unwrapping them and placing each one on the coffee table. “Pretty much everything I need to cook us a gourmet meal.”

My mouth waters thinking about all the food I’ll be able to whip up. I’ve missed cooking. I didn’t get to do much of it at my old place. It was too crowded there and the kitchen was tiny. Trick has a great kitchen. I’m already thinking about how I’m going to email my mom and have her send me all my favorite recipes.

When I get to the bottom of the box, I see he’s even thought to include eight place settings of dishes and silverware and a few serving pieces.

“Caden should be your first dinner guest,” she says.

“You should be my first dinner guest, Trick,” I tell her, grateful for the opportunity to live in such a nice place with a nice person.

“Okay,” she says with a smile. “Caden can be your second.”

“You wouldn’t mind if I had people over?”

“Not at all. You’re not my houseguest, Murphy. You are paying me rent, you know. I want you to feel comfortable here. And that includes being able to invite your friends. That goes for boyfriends, too. Or girlfriends,” she says playfully and with a wink.

I laugh. “You don’t have to worry about any boyfriends. I’m taking a break from that.”

“What about Corey?” she asks. “He seems to be finding a lot of excuses to talk to you lately.”

I nod. “Yeah. He asked me out today but I turned him down.”

“What about the double date you have on Saturday?”

“Purely platonic,” I tell her. “I’m just playing wingman, or whatever, for Caden.”

“Is that what he calls it?” She laughs, shaking her head. “Hey, why not have them over here?” she asks. “Cook for them. Your first dinner party. I’ll be at a concert with some friends. The place will be all yours.”

I study her for a beat and then look at the spread of kitchenware on the table. “That’s brilliant, Trick. If I’m busy cooking, I won’t have to make awkward conversation with the guy he set me up with.”

“Awkward conversation with Brady Taylor? That man doesn’t have an awkward bone in his body. I mean, if you like bones. Which I don’t. But if I did, I’d definitely want his.”

I laugh, picking up my phone to text Caden.

Me: Thank you so much for the housewares. You didn’t have to do that.

#8: You’re welcome. I hope you can put them to good use.

Me: About that. What did you have in mind for Saturday night? I’d love to cook dinner here. That is if you didn’t have anything planned.

#8: Dinner there would be perfect. I’d love it. Why don’t I come by early and we can hit the market together?

I blow out a sigh. He thinks I can’t afford dinner for four. And maybe I can’t. Maybe he’s expecting filet mignon and lobster.

Me: I can get groceries myself, Caden. You are NOT buying those, too.

#8: Dinner for four is expensive, Murph. Do you know how much money we would have spent going out?

I can’t argue with that logic. But still. He needs to quit doing stuff like that for me.

Me: The menu will be chicken piccata with risotto and asparagus. If that’s not good enough for you, I guess I’ll be eating for four.

#8: Chicken piccata sounds great, Murphy Brown. What time should we be there?

After we finish our conversation, I get up to put my new stuff away when I glance at the TV programs that Trick is channel-surfing through. Something flashing across the screen catches my eye. “Wait, can you go back a channel, please?”

She clicks back one. “You like this show?” Then she rolls her eyes at her question. “Of course you do. Duh. Were you named after it? Was Murphy Brown your mom’s favorite show or something?”

I laugh. “No. I never even heard of the show until Caden started calling me by that name. Mind if I watch it for a minute?”

She pats the couch next to her. “Take a load off. I’ll watch it with you. I love old sitcoms.”

A half hour later, I sit staring at the TV, stunned. Because, as fate would have it—or maybe just coincidence—Murphy Brown was sometimes called ‘Slugger.’

Chapter Twenty-three

Caden

Ethan pushes an envelope across the table. “Here you go,” he says. “Start from the top.”

I open it, removing the contents. On top of the pile, there are a few pictures of my dad. Recent ones that I assume Ethan had someone on his team take. He looks just like he did last Friday when I ran into him outside Murphy’s building.

Next, I see a picture of him in a copy of a newspaper article that looks very old. I check the date. It’s almost as old as I am. The article is about him being arrested. He had stolen a car. And according to the article, it wasn’t the first time. They got him for multiple counts of grand larceny.

I knew it.

Another old picture is his prison photo. He’s wearing an orange jumpsuit and holding a number in front of him.

That’s my father. Prisoner #004583757 in the Georgia State Penitentiary. There’s a picture for the family album.

I shake my head. “Shit, Ethan.”

I stare at the picture. Georgia. No wonder I didn’t find anything on him. All my on-line searches were centered around Baltimore, where Lexi and I grew up.

“Keep looking,” he says.

Next, I find a diploma issued from a community college associated with the prison. He earned an associate’s degree in social work while he was doing time.

Beneath that is an article from an Atlanta newspaper dated fifteen years ago. It shows a picture of my father surrounded by what looks to be an unruly bunch. When I read the article, it talks about how Shane Kessler, social worker and former inmate, now spends his time helping other recently-released inmates stay off drugs and find meaningful employment.

The next paper I come across is a bachelor’s degree he earned from Georgia Southern University and the next, a doctorate in social work from the University of Georgia.

What the hell? I look up at Ethan. “My dad’s a fucking doctor?”

“Of social work. Yes,” he says with a smile. “I don’t think he’s after your money, Caden. Not that social workers make a lot of money, but he runs his own outreach program in Atlanta. Gets government funding and everything. Good program. I’ve donated to similar ones in the past. He spends his days rehabilitating criminals. I’m pretty sure that means he’s not trying to scam you.”

“Wait,” I say, leafing through the papers. “You’re telling me my deadbeat dad, the drug-addict scumbag who took off and left Lex and me, this guy is now some sort of scholar who runs his own business?”

I must look damn surprised because Ethan laughs at me. “And wins awards for it,” he says, pointing to another article showing pictures of my dad accepting accolades from the mayor of Atlanta.

“Why the hell did he wait so long to look for us?”

He shrugs. “Don’t know. Maybe he’s sick. Maybe he’s moving here. Maybe he just wants to know his kids again.”

“It’s too late. I don’t want to know him. Too much water under the bridge.”

“Don’t say that, Caden. Charlie thought the same thing about her dad when we first got together. Turned out it was a huge misunderstanding. They have a great relationship now.”

“You think my dad walking out on his wife and leaving his six-month-old son and three-year-old daughter was a misunderstanding?” I bite at him.

“Everyone has shit in their past. He was clearly an addict. Addiction does terrible things to good people. He’s obviously turned his life around. Maybe you should hear him out.”

I stuff the contents back into the folder. “Thanks, Ethan. I’ll think about it.”

“Glad to help.” He looks at his watch. “I’m heading out for the day. Want to grab a beer?”

“Can’t. I’m heading over to a friend’s house for a double date.”

“Look me up next week then,” he says, walking me out.