Page 47 of Falling for Mr. Grump, the Big City Billionaire

The thing is, I'm scared to hear the whole story. Scared that if I let Troy explain, I might believe him again.

Trust him. And look how well that worked out the first time.

My phone pings again. Another message in the group chat, this time from Katie:Chairs set up. Ready whenever you are, boss lady.

Boss lady.

Right. Because somehow I've become the one everyone's looking to for answers. Me, the food truck girl who can't even figure out her own heart.

I start packing up early, carefully storing away my ingredients. The sunset paints the ocean in shades of pink and gold, and for a moment, I remember watching it with Troy that night on the pier. Before everything fell apart. Before I knew who he really was.

"Get it together, Martinez," I mutter, giving my truck's counters one final wipe. "Town first, feelings later."

But as I lock up and head toward the café, my heart's doing this stupid little dance in my chest. Because a tiny part of me – the part I'm trying hard to ignore – is hoping he'll show up tonight.

And an even tinier part is terrified that he will.

Later, that evening, the Lighthouse Café is packed tighter than my food truck during lunch rush. Katie's pushed all the tables together in one long conference-style setup, though it still looks more like a cozy dinner party than an emergency meeting.

The smell of coffee and fresh-baked cookies fills the air – leave it to Katie to stress-bake at a time like this.

I slide into a seat at the head of the table, trying to look more confident than I feel. Everyone's watching me like I've got all the answers, when really, I'm just as scared as they are.

"Okay, people." I clear my throat, pulling out my tablet. "Let's talk about …"

The bell above the door chimes.

My heart does this weird stuttering thing, but it's just old Mr. J shuffling in. Not Troy.

Obviously not Troy.

Why would it be Troy? I need to stop doing this to myself.

"Sorry I'm late," he wheezes, settling into a chair. "Had to run a quick errand."

I force myself to focus. "Right. So, we all saw the message about the buyout threat.”

"Is it true?" Mrs. Chen from the flower shop cuts in. "Someone's really trying to buy the whole waterfront?"

"That's what we're hearing," Katie says, passing around more coffee. "My supplier mentioned something about luxury hotels."

My stomach clenches.Luxury hotels.Just like Bellamy Corp specializes in.

"The point is," I continue, gripping my coffee mug too tightly, "we need a push forward with our plans. This isn't just a threat anymore. It’s becoming real."

Zoey, perched on the counter behind me (because obviously chairs are too mainstream for her), pipes up. "What about that preservation initiative we talked about last month?"

"Too slow," George from the hardware store grumbles. "These corporate types, they move fast. Like sharks."

The room erupts into worried chatter. I catch fragments of conversations – "My lease is up next month," "Can't afford to relocate," "Been here thirty years..."

The bell chimes again.

This time, I don't let myself look up. I'm done hoping. Done wondering. Done—

"I might be able to help with that."

Every muscle in my body freezes. I know that voice. That deep, slightly rough voice that's been haunting my dreams for days.

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