Page 57 of A Baby For Her Billionaire BFF

“Remember how we thought we’d be unstoppable after graduation?” I say, tossing another shovelful of dirt to the side. My hands are starting to blister, but there’s something cathartic about this physical labor, breaking through layers of soil and years.

“Unstoppable and invincible,” he corrects, flashing that grin that always seemed too confident for his own good, even now. It’s the same smile that once made me believe anything was possible when we were together.

We dig in silence for a while longer, the only sounds our grunts of effort and the clink of metal on stone. Finally, the shovel hits something solid. My heart leaps — part excitement, part dread. We drop to our knees and brush away the remaining dirt, revealing the time capsule, edges rusted from years of being embraced by the earth.

Oliver pries it open with a satisfying creak, and our past spills out before us in a clutter of objects and papers. There, amidst college memorabilia, are the letters we wrote to our future selves. Mine is sealed with a sticker, a whimsical touch from a girl who had yet to face the harsher realities of life.

I break the seal, unfold the paper, and read the looping handwriting of a younger me. Words of ambition and dreams fill the page, but woven through them, like a golden thread, is the importance of love. Tears blur my vision as I realize that despite all the professional accolades and long hours at the firm, it’s love that’s been the undercurrent of my life, the driving force behind every success and failure. The revelation tightens my throat, and I blink back the moisture threatening to spill.

“Here goes nothing,” Oliver announces, drawing my attention.

He holds his letter, a little more weather-beaten than mine, and begins to read aloud. His voice is steady, but there’s an undercurrent of emotion that I’ve never heard before.

“Dear Future Oliver,” he starts, and I’m transported back to those heady days of youth. “By now, you’re probably killing it in the real estate world. High-rises bearing your name, deals closing left and right…”

He trails off for a moment, shaking his head with a wry smile before continuing. “But remember, Ollie, success isn’t just about the numbers in your bank account or the square footage you own. It’s about the people you share it with.”

His eyes meet mine, and there’s an intensity there that makes my breath catch. “One day, you’ll be able to stop and breathe. You’ll have made it. Maybe then you can move on to other things. Find a girl and settle down. Actually, not just any girl… I’m hoping that you find one in particular. Or, rather, find your way back to her. That is if she’s even still interested in you after you backed away from kissing her at that party.”

There’s a vulnerability in his confession, a raw honesty that resonates deep within me. Oliver, the man who seemed to have everything figured out, who climbed to the top only to find it empty without someone to share the view. And not just someone…

He’s talking about me.

“Everything I wanted…” he murmurs, his gaze still locked with mine, “it means nothing without love. A small part of me knew it back then but figured I would find my way to it eventually. I guess I let that part of me dwindle and die. I’m sorry, Nora.”

And in that moment, with the past unearthed between us, I see not the CEO, not the entrepreneur, but the boy I fell in love with, standing bare and unguarded, holding out his heart in the form of a tattered old letter.

The chill of the night air doesn’t touch me, not with the warmth of Oliver’s confession seeping into my bones. He stands there, shovel in hand, looking every bit the man who’s realized what it means to love and lose.

“Look, Nora,” he starts, his voice firm but threaded with a plea that tugs at something deep within me. “I know I’ve made mistakes — more than I can count.” His chuckle is self-deprecating, and it’s so achingly familiar. “But through it all, it’s been you. It’s always been you.”

He steps closer, closing the distance that years and fears have stretched between us. “I’m all in, Nora. If you’ll have me, I want to be there — for you, for our child. Everything.” His eyes search mine, seeking answers in the depths of my soul. “I was a fool to freak out. To run from this… from us.”

His hands, those strong, capable hands, now shake slightly as he reaches out to me. “I want the best for you, for both of us. And I believe— no, I know… that’s each other.”

For a moment, silence stretches between us, filled only by the nocturnal chorus of the campus grounds. His words settle around us like a mantle, heavy with the gravity of what comes next.

“Oliver,” I whisper. “You scared me before. You ran when things got real.” My fingers twitch at my sides, itching to reach out, to bridge the gap between past hurts and future hopes. “But hearing you now, seeing you stand here with dirt on your hands and humility in your eyes — I believe you.”

My steps are small but certain as I close the last of the space between us. “You’re not the only one who’s been all in. I just… I needed to know we were on the same page.”

And then, as his arms encircle me, the years of doubt and the walls we built crumble into nothingness. Our lips meet, and it’s not just a kiss; it’s a promise, a silent vow that speaks of new beginnings and shared dreams.

We break apart, breathless and smiling. The library looms behind us, a silent witness to our history and now, our future. Oliver’s smile is a sunrise, chasing away the shadows of our past missteps.

“Let’s do this together.” His voice brims with conviction that anchors me to this moment, to the undeniable truth that love, our love, is worth every risk.

“Let’s.” The word is more than simple agreement. It’s an oath, a pledge to the journey ahead, one we’ll walk as partners, as a family.

And in his embrace, under the starlit sky, I let happiness wash over us, knowing that the best is yet to come.

EPILOGUE

SEVEN MONTHS LATER: OLIVER

Grill smoke curls into the summer sky as I flip another burger, my eyes catching Nora’s from across our new backyard. She’s laughing at something her dad just said, her head thrown back in that carefree way that tightens my chest with a weird cocktail of love and longing.

“Need a hand with those, champ?” her father calls out, his grin genuine beneath his salt-and-pepper mustache.

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