Page 137 of Forking the Billionaire

Had he told her? Maybe he had, but probably not. Definitely not if he was really set on not having kids.

And now I was starting to talk myself out of this whole thing.

It was too late for that.

I was committed. This was happening.

I stopped at the front door, shook out my arms, took a breath, and knocked.

I listened for footsteps or the locks turning or anything.

But no one came.

There wasn’t a car in the driveway either, so it was possible she wasn’t home. Yeah, I probably should have planned this better.

I leaned sideways, careful not to step into the flowerbed, and squinted to see into the window. I didn’t see any movement, and no one was staring back at me.

I knocked one more time for good measure, then waited a bit longer, before eventually accepting the fact that I was not going to find Jasper this way.

But now that I was already here….

I stared across the field to the house I grew up in. No way could I come back to Epiphany andnotvisit Oma.

We’d talked in the months since I’d left. But I never did tell her why I ran away.

And now I was here.

I let out a breath and started across the field. One foot in front of the other—that’s all I had to do. She was Oma, the sweetest person in the entire world. What was I worried about?

North Carolina felt like an entirely different world than Calypso Caribella. The air felt different. The smells were different. Instead of endless summer, it was solidly spring here with a cold bite on the breeze and brown grass beneath my feet.

Every sense sparked memories, good and bad.

As I crossed the field I used to play in, I spotted what was once the patch of sticker bushes Jasper had nicknamed me after. The brambles had grown over the years from a patch into a mighty, impenetrable fortress of thorns. I decided to compare myself to its growth and strength, and not to the fact that it looked like the kind of place movie monsters would lurk.

The brambles had thrived. I was thriving.

Too soon, I reached the old farmhouse. I lingered in front of the door, my hand trembling slightly.

Every memory I had of Oma was wrapped in warmth and wisdom, in chocolate chip cookies and hugs. This wasn’t just going to be okay; it was going to be exactly what I needed.

With a deep breath, I pushed open the door and stepped inside.

Oma was seated in her favorite chair by the fireplace. A gentle smile lit up her face as she spotted me.

“Oh, dear Esme.” Her voice was a soothing melody of welcome.

My heart pounded as I approached.

Oma rose from her seat and hugged me hard. Tears sprung out of nowhere, and I laughed and wiped them on the back of my hand.

“I missed you,” I said.

“I missed you, too,” she said. “So much.”

She pulled away and sat back down in her seat. She patted the chair beside hers. “Come sit. Tell me everything.”

So much had happened in my life since I was here last, I didn’t know where to start.

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