Page 68 of Falling for Mr. Grump, the Big City Billionaire

I'm staying here. Permanently.

I can hear Drew’s voice in my head. "Well, big brother, it looks like you've finally found something worth fighting for."

Worth fighting for. Not just a business strategy. Not just another acquisition.

A home.

A future.

With her.

The city lights blur outside my window, but all I can see is a sun-drenched beach, a vibrant food truck, and a woman who sees right through my carefully constructed facade.

Seaside Cove is calling. And for the first time in my life, I'm ready to answer.

Chapter eighteen

SKYE

A few months have passed. It’s been active around here – and calm at the same time, if that’s possible. I step out of my food truck, hands on my hips, surveying the world like I own it.

Or at least, like I’m seriously considering taking it over. And today? Seaside Cove almost feels like it’s mine.

The air is warmer, the salty breeze a bit sweeter, and there’s this strange peace settled over everything.

It’s like the whole town is breathing a little easier—and maybe, just maybe, that has something to do with Troy’s new plan taking root.

I glance around, watching as Mrs. Delmar sweeps the sidewalk in front of her little café, humming a tune from the 60s like she’s twenty again. She spots me and waves with the hand not holding the broom.

“Morning, Skye! Don’t you love the new flower boxes?” She gestures proudly at the planters, now filled with bright blooms—pinks, purples, a splash of red—all lining the storefront. She saysit like I didn’t spend two hours helping her pick them out, but hey, she deserves the spotlight.

I smile back. “Looks good enough to steal,” I call out, giving her a wink.

She chuckles, looking pleased. “Well, maybe just one or two flowers.”

That’s what I love about this place.

In Seaside Cove, flowers mean something. Faces mean something. I mean, where else could people run around barefoot half the year and call it "business casual?"

Now, even the town square feels… polished. But not in that “big money, big trouble” kind of way. It’s polished like it finally has the attention it deserves.

I walk down the street, nodding at folks passing by, taking in all the little changes.

The fountain near the square is actually working again. And Mr. Jenkins finally got a new sign painted for his old-school ice cream shop—a hand-painted one that reads “Sweet Treats.”

There’s something about seeing the old place dressed up with fresh paint that makes me feel all mushy inside. I bet it was Troy’s doing, a quiet little act of care that he knew I’d notice.

Funny thing about Seaside Cove: it doesn’t take much to make a difference. One small fix here, a little improvement there, and suddenly, the whole town looks ready to be in some coastal tourism ad.

It’s beautiful, really.

I take a deep breath, and the air’s filled with sea salt, fried fish, and just a hint of blooming wildflowers from the new patches planted near the boardwalk.

A little shiver of pride runs through me, sandwiched between contentment and joy.

And that’s because of him.

I shake my head. The thought of Troy has been creeping in way too often lately, like he owns some permanent space in my brain.Okay, he does.

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