Page 41 of Faking It with my Small Town Billionaire

“Your choice.” He shrugs. “Then I’ll just yell our business all over the street.”

He wouldn’t dare, would he?

And then he starts bellowing at the top of his lungs. “I’m here because you ran out—”

“All right. All right,” I say, quickly turning the locks.

Once I yank the door open, he steps inside. “Thank you.”

“Well, you’re not welcome,” I bite back. “You have no right to be here. I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to hear your excuses, either. What you said last night was a disgrace. You were cruel and heartless, and your words were just wicked.”

“I know,” he says.

“And another thing—” But then I stop and gawk at him. “What?”

“I said, I know,” he repeats.

“Oh.” Now, I’m completely stumped.

“I want to apologize, Lily. It’s the only reason I’m here.”

I feel like an idiot for raging like a crazy person; having no prepared reply for his obvious remorse, I can only stand there and look at him.

“I’m truly sorry. I was completely in the wrong last night. As usual, Pops got under my skin, and instead of getting rid of my anger before I got home, I lashed out. After everything you’ve done for me, you didn’t deserve that.”

A simple sorry would have sufficed, but this is Orson. He doesn’t do things by halves.

“You’re forgiven,” I reply. “It could have happened to either one of us.”

Orson shakes his head. “You know that isn’t true. You don’t have a nasty bone in your body.”

“Really? What about all that stuff I said to you a minute ago?”

“You spoke the truth. I was heartless, and cruel, and wicked.”

Heat rushes to my face and I cover my cheeks with my hands. “Lord, did I really say that?”

Orson smirks. “I always knew you were feisty.”

I laugh then. “Well, I suppose we’re just like newlyweds, after all. Last night was our first fight.”

“And our last, hopefully,” Orson adds. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to do that again. Driving around Willow Creek looking for you was not my idea of fun.”

“You drove around…” I taper off in astonishment.

“I did. I was worried.”

“Didn’t you know I would come here?” I gesture to the bakery.

“It’s the first place I looked. But after calling your phone a hundred times, gazing up at your window like I was playing the part of Romeo, and then not getting an answer, I couldn’t be sure.”

“Ah,” I reply, feeling a little guilty now. I had turned my phone off after he wouldn’t stop calling. “Now it’s me who should be saying sorry.”

There’s an awkward silence. Then, thrusting out my hand, I look him in the eye. “Truce?”

Orson chuckles. “I didn’t realize we were at war”—he takes my hand—“but sure. Truce.”

Nearly a week has passed, and tonight, I’m nervous.

---