Page 64 of The Billionaire Love Match

“Hey, I remember someone saying how hungry they were. Eat up, buttercup.”

She laughed. “Fine. But we have to keep talking, mouths full or no. Time’s ticking away.”

“Right. Okay, tell me why you came on the show.”

“Mm...this is amazing,” she said. “But hot. Ooh. Okay, the show. Well, to be honest, I thought this was something else. They billed it as a matchmaking show, not a competing for one person’s love kind of thing.”

“Really? That’s crazy. I guess they had me do the same tests too. I remember the matchmaking questionnaire specifically.”

“I probably wouldn’t have agreed to try out if I knew the real situation. Having to fight a bunch of other women isn’t my idea of a picnic.”

“But you did it,” he said. “You could have said no to me when I came back for you.”

Casey put her fork down. “Colt, I said yes just for you. And I have to say—it was worth it.”

****

“CITY OR COUNTRY?”

“Neither. Small town,” Casey said.

“Interesting, since you went from one of the biggest cities in the US to another one. Beach or mountains?”

“Beach.”

Colt could feel the time running out like he was watching the sand moving through an hourglass. His whole chest felt tight, though he wanted to enjoy every last second with Casey before they came to take her away. They’d gone from dinner and conversation to dessert and rapid-fire questions.

She leaned against him, half in his lap in a booth near the back, her feet bare and tucked up under her. Espresso and cannoli had been served long ago. Marco and Sarah had sung a beautiful song in Italian, Marco’s baritone so rich it rattled in Colt’s chest, lifted by Sarah’s clear soprano. When he’d looked at Casey, she’d had tears in her eyes.

“My turn,” she said. “Coffee or tea?”

“Coffee.”

“Me too. Except sometimes sweet tea. Hm...night owl or morning person?”

“Morning person.”

“Oh,” she said. “We’ll have to work on that one. Though I guess I could always get some writing done while you’re sleeping...”

Colt felt a warm happiness spread through his chest. Such a simple statement, but it held a promise of a life together. He didn’t know if she’d even realized what she said, which made it even better. He wanted to take up permanent residency in her thoughts, conscious and unconscious.

“Reading or watching a movie?”

“Depends,” he said, leaning down to whisper in her ear. “Am I watching the movie alone, Boots?”

She giggled. “For the sake of this question, yes.”

“Okay. Then movie.”

“Are you one of those annoying people who can’t talk during movies?”

“You mean those amazing people? You know I make films, right? I like to enjoy them not talk through them.”

“And I write books, so maybe reading should be a priority.”

He had trouble choking down his anger when Casey shared that she was a writer and that the internet trolls had found out her pen name because of the show.

“My reviews are trashed,” she said. “I’ll probably have to create a new pen name. I mean, it’s not that hard to start over. I’m sure all the show stuff will die down in a few months anyway, right? People will forget Basket Casey and move onto the next crazy celebrity gossip.”

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