Page 22 of Christmas With A Billionaire

“You know what Rose would say about all this?” LaMont asked, reaching for another slice.

“That I’m being stupid?”

“That life’s too short for maybes.” He pointed the pizza at me. “Your grandmother didn’t raise no coward, T.”

“No, she didn’t.” I stood, gathering empty boxes. “I should head out. Sunday dinner starts at six, and she’ll kill me if I’m late.”

“Autumn going?”

“She always does.”

LaMont smiled. “Then maybe it’s time to give my grandmother-in-law something new to cook for.”

I threw a wadded-up napkin at his head. “You’re not helpful.”

“I’m very helpful. I just helped you move all my crap up three flights of stairs.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I grabbed my keys. “You good here?”

“I’m good.” He caught my arm as I passed. “But T? Don’t wait too long. Marcus Richardson might have only had one date with her, but I guarantee he’s planning the second. And the third. And every date after that until she forgets she ever wanted you.”

The thought of Autumn with Marcus - or anyone else - made my chest tight. “I hear you.”

“Do you? Because I’m tired of watching my best friend torture himself over something that could make him happier than all his billions combined.”

I left LaMont’s new place with his words ringing in my ears, my mind already on Sunday dinner at Rose’s. On Autumn’s laugh, mixing with the jazz music Rose always played while cooking, she’d probably wear that green sweater that brought out the gold in her eyes.

Maybe LaMont was right. Perhaps it was time to stop playing it safe.

But first, I had to figure out how to tell my best friend I’d been in love with her for twenty years without destroying everything we’d built.

Chapter 9

Tyson

Pearl’s wrapped itself in Christmas magic. Garlands draped the windows, twinkling white lights lined the ceiling and the scent of Rose’s famous sweet potato pie mixed with pine from the decorated tree in the corner. Jazz music flowed through hidden speakers - Nat King Cole singing about chestnuts roasting while my attention was on the fire pit on the back wall.

Warmth rushed over me as I strolled past the entrance. The restaurant stayed closed on Sundays except for family dinner, but tonight, extra chairs crowded the tables. Rose had invited the whole crew—cousins, aunts, uncles, and, of course, Autumn.

She stood at the dessert counter arranging Christmas cookies with my grandmother, her hair pulled back in a loose bun, wearing that green sweater I’d predicted—the one that made her brown skin radiate and brought gold flecks to her brown eyes. My steps faltered. I’d seen Autumn consistently over two decades, and still, the sight of her knocked me sideways.

“There’s my boy.” Rose wiped her hands on her apron and came around the counter. I bent down to hug her, and she squeezed me tight. “You’re late.”

“By two minutes.”

“Late is late,” she smiled, patting my cheek. “Go help Autumn with those cookies. Lord knows that girl can’t bake to save her life.”

“I heard that,” Autumn called over her shoulder. “And I’ll have you know these store-bought cookies look amazing on this platter.”

I crossed to her, sliding an arm around her waist and dropping a kiss on her temple. A greeting we’d shared a thousand times, but tonight it felt different. Everything felt different since that morning I’d woken up holding her.

“Need help?” I asked though I kept my arm where it was.

“I need you to tell your grandmother that arranging cookies is a legitimate skill.”

“A vital one,” I agreed solemnly. “Critical to the success of any dinner party.”

She elbowed me in the ribs. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

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