Page 17 of Falling for Mr. Grump, the Big City Billionaire

I narrow my eyes. Something's fishy here, and it's not my award-winning ceviche. "Uh-huh. And I'm sure that has nothing to do with the rumors about some big corporation sniffing around our town?"

He shifts slightly.Gotcha.

"I assure you, Ms...?"

"Martinez. Skye Martinez."

"Ms. Martinez. I assure you; my interests are purely academic."

I snort. "Yeah, and I'm purely here to serve overpriced tacos to sunburned tourists." I grab a plate, slapping together one of my signature fusion tacos. "Here. On the house. Consider it a peace offering - after you nearly destroyed my livelihood."

He takes the taco, eyeing it suspiciously. "What is this?"

"It's called food, Mr. Troy. You eat it. Or do they not have that where you come from?"

He takes a cautious bite, and I watch with satisfaction as his eyes widen. Yeah, that's right, Mr. Corporate. Skye Martinez can cook.

"This is... surprisingly good," he admits grudgingly.

"Gee, thanks. I'll put that on my Yelp page. 'Surprisingly good' - Troy, Guy Who Hates Joy."

He finishes the taco in a few more bites, and I can't help but notice a smear of sauce on his chin.

It's oddly humanizing.

"So, Mr. Troy," I say, leaning on the counter again. "Why don't you tell me what you really think about small businesses in towns like ours? I'm all ears."

He hesitates, and for a moment, I see something flicker in those gray eyes. Uncertainty? Guilt? But then it's gone, replaced by that cool, corporate mask.

"I think," he says slowly, "that progress is inevitable. And sometimes, small businesses need to adapt or... make way for larger enterprises that can better serve the community."

Oh, it is sooooo on!

"Better serve the community?" I can feel my temper rising, hot as my habanero sauce. "Let me tell you something about community, Mr. Troy..."

I lean in, my eyes locked on his. "Community isn't about profit margins or economies of scale. It's about knowing your customers' names, their kids' favorite flavors, and that Mrs. Johnson is allergic to cilantro."

He opens his mouth to argue, but I'm on a roll now.

"It's about sponsoring little league teams and donating to school fundraisers. Tell me, when was the last time a CEO of a big corporation showed up at a local town meeting?"

Troy's eyes narrow. "Large companies provide jobs, stability-"

"Stability?" I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "You mean like when they close up shop the second profits dip, leaving entire towns unemployed?"

He steps closer to the counter, his voice low and intense. "That's a simplification and you know it. Big businesses bring infrastructure and investment."

"At what cost?" I shoot back, leaning in even closer. "The soul of the town? The unique character that makes Seaside Cove special?"

And just like that, we're off. Debating the merits of mom-and-pop shops versus big box stores, arguing about what really makes a town thrive. He's got facts and figures, but I've got passion and firsthand experience.

It's infuriating.

He's infuriating.

But as we go back and forth, I can't help but notice things. The way his eyes light up when he makes a point. The slight twitch of his lips when I counter with something he didn't expect.

And worst of all, the way my heart does a little flip when he leans in, all intense and focused on our debate.

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