Page 38 of Falling for Mr. Grump, the Big City Billionaire

"I... I don’t," she whispers, taking a step back. Her hand flies to her lips, and even in the dim light of the inn's hallway, I can see the flush in her cheeks. "This is..."

“Skye...” Before I can reach for her, before I can say any of the words caught in my throat, she turns and flees into her room.

The soft click of her door closing echoes in the empty hallway like a gunshot.

I stand there, my hands still warm from holding her, the taste of cinnamon on my lips, and the crushing weight of my secrets bearing down on me once again.

Because soon, I must tell her the truth. And when I do, this moment – this perfect, stolen moment – will shatter like glass.

Chapter ten

SKYE

Okay, so maybe I have a tiny problem.

I can't stop thinking about that kiss.

The one that definitely shouldn't have happened but absolutely, one hundred percent did. The one with Troy, of all people.

I groan, slamming my hand on the food truck counter. A nearby seagull gives me the stink eye.

"Oh, don't you judge me," I mutter.

It's been two days, and I swear I can still feel his lips on mine. It's driving me nuts. I'm trying to focus on prepping for the lunch rush, but my brain keeps replaying The Kiss™ on an endless loop.

The way he looked at me, like I was the only person in the world. How his hands cupped my face so gently, like I might break. The little sigh he let out when our lips finally met.

"Snap out of it, Martinez!" I scold myself, aggressively chopping cilantro.

A concerning thought pops into my head: what if I've been ruined for all other kisses?Like, how am I supposed to go back to normal smooches after... that?

I'm so lost in my Troy-induced haze that I nearly jump out of my skin when my phone buzzes.

Speak of the devil...

Meet me at the pier in 10? Need to talk.

My stomach does a weird flip-flop thing.

This is the first time he has texted me since he asked for my number.

On the one hand, yay! More Troy time! On the other... 'need to talk' is never good, right?

I text back a quick "sure" before I can overthink it, then spend the next eight minutes having a silent freak-out while I close the truck.

By the time I reach the pier, I've cycled through about fifty worst-case scenarios. My personal favorite? Troy's actually an undercover merman sent to steal our town's secret chowder recipe. Hey, a girl can dream.

I spot him at the end of the pier, staring out at the ocean. Even from behind, he looks tense. Something's definitely up.

"Hey, stranger," I call out, trying for casual and missing by about a mile.

Troy turns, and... He looks like he hasn't slept in days. Join the club, buddy.

"Skye," he says, and just hearing him say my name makes my heart do gymnastics. This is getting ridiculous. "Thanks for coming."

I lean against the railing, going for nonchalant. "No prob. So, what's with the cloak and dagger routine? You're not about to confess to a secret life of crime, are you? Because I gotta tell you, I don't think orange is your color."

He doesn't laugh. Uh-oh.

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