Page 78 of Coffee Break with the Billionaire

If I wasn’t watching him I wouldn’t have noticed the flash of resignation across his face. “You know Jeremy Allen White, don’t you?”

“I’ve met him a few times,” I admit, feeling funny about the confession. My life is all about who you know, but here? Not so much.

“Is there anyone you don’t know?”

I glance around. “I don’t know the owner of this store, or I would tell him he’s got expired food here.”

Silas laughs and wheels his cart around. “Let’s find you some real food.”

Chapter thirty

Silas

“What’s your favourite food?”I ask as we push our carts around the produce area.

“Ravioli with ricotta and lemon and truffles,” Fenella says without a moment’s hesitation.

Uh-huh. She even says ricotta like a person who’s been to Italy more than a few times. “Sounds great. But I think that’s a little out of my wheelhouse. I was thinking more like spaghetti and meat sauce.”

“Meat sauce?”

“We can call it Bolognese if you like.”

“You really want to cook me dinner? You already fed me lunch.”

“Would you have eaten if I hadn’t?”

“Probably not,” she admits.

I had plans for dinner. I was looking forward to cooking and relaxing in front of the television with Wyatt but now, things have shifted and I have offered to cook for Fenella. There will be no relaxing.

But there will be Fenella.

I don’t really understand myself. All I know is that there is a rope attached to me and it’s pulling me toward Fenella, whether I want it to or not.

“Well, then,” I say. “But Wyatt has to come over as well. It’s my night with him.” I shouldn’t want a teenage chaperone, but having Wyatt there might stop me from obsessing over what it would be like to kiss Fenella. And going around and around—Should I kiss her? Should I not?

“And you were going to make him kale soup?” Fenella seems horrified and thankfully unaware of where my thoughts are. “He’s sixteen—that’s harsh.”

“He’ll eat anything.”

“I won’t. But dinner sounds wonderful.” And she smiles at me, like the first time I saw her—only better. Because I know her smiles now, and I want them all.

I know I’m making a mistake, but I can’t help myself. I keep thinking that if I don’t kiss her, it’ll all be fine.

I’m not sure about that now.

She stops her cart and fishes her phone out of the huge bag that takes up most of the top of the cart. “What’s Wyatt’s number? I’m going to invite him over while you grab what we need for Bolognese.”

“Sounds good.”

“Don’t forget the garlic bread,” she calls after me.

I know then that having my nephew as a chaperone isn’t going to do anything about how I feel about Fenella.

I may have just given her the chisel to begin cracking open my heart.

Whatever I thought Fenella knew about cleaning, I quickly find out that she knows even less about cooking.

---