Page 10 of Billionaire Unexplained: Kaleb

I put the plate with the biscuits and our bowls of stew on the table and then stepped next to her to open the cupboard. “Help yourself. I don’t use it for anything other than strong coffee, but I think I’m stocked to make almost anything.”

She let out an audible gasp as she looked at all the syrups and coffee accessories. “Oh, my God, you do have everything.”

I had no idea what she needed to make that salted caramel coffee thing, but the longing note in her voice when she’d talked about it made me hope the supplies were there to make it.

She opened the fridge, and when she saw the milk, she sounded almost giddy as she added, “I can make almost any latte we want. I could hug you right now. I’ll make us one after dinner.”

Okay, so she was a woman who really loved her coffee. I could respect that.

“I’m pretty much a strong, black coffee drinker only. Mom is the one who likes the fancy coffee drinks. A caretaker did the stocking.”

I really wanted to tell her that I’d take that damn hug anyway, but I didn’t. Getting that close to Anna would be a very bad idea.

She frowned as she sat down at the table. “Seriously? Who doesn’t love a good latte? I’m kind of an addict.”

“You drink coffee this late?” I asked as I sat and dug into the stew.

It was getting close to midnight.

“Always,” she said between bites. “I tend to work late sometimes. When I go to bed, I’m exhausted. Caffeine doesn’t bother me. Does it bother you?”

I shook my head. I slammed coffee late, just like her, to stay awake when I was working late, which was most of the time. “Are you asking that because I’m over forty now?” I joked.

She rolled her eyes as she continued to wolf down her food. She wasn’t a dainty, slow eater, which I found interesting. I got the impression that she had to grab food whenever she could because I ate the same way.

“You aren’t old,” she admonished. “Caffeine bothers a lot of people. It’s never been an issue for me. My life is a little…crazy.”

“Crazy how?” I asked carefully.

I wasn’t sure if she’d answer. I was asking for details that we’d agreed not to talk about.

“It’s unconventional,” she explained readily. “I work weird hours sometimes. I don’t really want to talk about my job, but let’s just say that I don’t have a nine-to-five occupation.”

Since I could relate to that, I answered, “I don’t want to talk about my job, but I don’t have normal hours, either.”

“I thought maybe you were a furniture maker,” she mused after she had polished off the last biscuit.

“I’m not,” I confessed. “Woodworking is a hobby, and it’s not one that I’ve been able to indulge in for a long time.”

Truthfully, I didn’t have hobbies anymore. I’d given those up for KTD a long time ago.

She held up her hand. “I’m not going to ask what you do since neither of us wants to talk about work. Are you totally against personal questions of any kind?”

I eyed her cautiously. “How personal?”

She hopped up and grabbed two more biscuits from the tray because the plate was empty. She dropped one on a napkin next to my bowl as she sat back down and started to eat the other one. “My hands are clean. I hope you’re not a germaphobe. If you are, I’m really sorry.”

Her expression was genuinely contrite, which was pretty adorable. So I picked up the biscuit and started to devour it.

Now that she was recovered, I could tell that she was a little high-strung, but not in a bad way.

In fact, she was fascinating, and I felt like I was getting caught up in her infectious spirit.

And I definitely was not an upbeat guy most of the time.

She went back to her original topic. “Personal questions like—are you married, and do you have any kids? Maybe they’re dumb questions. If you were married, you’d probably be here with your family, right?”

“I’m not married. Never have been, and I don’t have kids,” I told her. I was fine with those kinds of personal questions because I wanted to ask her the same thing. “You?”

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