Page 44 of Billionaire's Bookworm

“Is it?” He leaned against the counter, close enough that I could smell his cologne. “Or maybe it’s proof that we were always heading somewhere like this. Different paths that led to the same place.”

“That’s a very philosophical take for someone who claims to have given up academia,” I said, trying for lightness and failing.

“Well, I had an excellent teacher, even if she doesn’t remember it.” His smile faded. “Emma, talk to me. What are you really afraid of?”

I stared down at the counter, tracing a scratch in the wood with my fingernail. “I built this life piece by piece. Every decision, every choice was mine. No family expectations, no predetermined path. Just... me.” I forced myself to meet his eyes. “And you’re connected to that world I left behind. Even if you broke away too, you still know those people, those places. You’re still a part of it.”

“I’m not going to drag you back into high society, Emma. Not if you don’t want it.” He looked almost hurt that I would think it. “I’m not really part of that world anymore either, remember? I built my own fortune, and did my own thing, just like you did. I won’t say I don’t still get dragged into it on occasion––by my mostly well-meaning family––but I would never make you participate in it too, unless you chose to.”

“It’s not just that.” I pressed my hands flat against the counter to stop them from shaking. “Last night... the way you look at me... it makes me want things I told myself I’d never want again. To let someone in. To trust. To—“ I cut myself off.

“To fall?” he finished softly. When I didn’t answer, he continued, “You know the crazy thing? That night in college––it wasn’t even the deep philosophical stuff that stuck with me. It was how you made everything feel... real. Like you could see right through all my bullshit and get to what was actually scaring me.” He reached across the counter, his hand covering mine. “And here you are, still doing it. Even when you’re the one running.”

“I’m not running,” I protested weakly.

“No?” His thumb traced circles on my wrist. “Then why did I wake up alone?”

“Because...” I swallowed hard. “Because when I woke up this morning, it felt right. Like I could belong there. With you. And that terrified me.”

“Good.” The intensity in his voice made me look up. “It terrifies me too. But Emma?” He waited until I met his gaze. “I’d rather be terrified with you than safe with anyone else.”

I let out a rough laugh. “Talk about irony. After years of telling our parents to shove it, here we are––doing exactly what they wanted. The runaway kids, hooking up after all.”

“Jesus.” Wade messed up his hair, scowling. “I can hear my mom now. ‘Finally, someone appropriate.’” His fake posh accent was spot-on, and bitter as hell. “She won’t even care that you run a bookstore instead of being some hotshot lawyer. Just that you’re a Michaels.”

“They’ll think we’ve finally grown up,” I said, feeling sick. “Like everything we created for ourselves was just us acting out before settling down like good little kids.”

“Like we’re finally falling in line.” Wade’s jaw clenched. “Makes me want to blow town just to piss them off.”

“Is that what this is?” I asked softly. “Are we both just running? Or are we giving up?”

“Hell no.” Wade didn’t miss a beat. “Look at me, Emma.” His gaze captured mine, burning with intensity. “What we built––my company, your store, the lives we chose––that’s real and meaningful. We busted our asses for all of it. And this?” He squeezed my hand. “This is real too. We’re not their perfect society match. We’re two people who told them to take their plans and shove it, carved out our own lives, and found each other anyway.”

“On our terms,” I murmured, trying the words out.

“Exactly.” His thumb traced over my knuckles. “Let them think whatever they want. We know what’s real. And honestly?” The familiar spark of trouble lit up his eyes. “There’s something kind of awesome about finding happiness in a way that looks like their master plan but is totally our own.”

“Kind of awesome?” I couldn’t help grinning. “That’s what we’re calling this?”

“Think about it.” He was full-on smirking now. “On paper, they get what they wanted––their perfect little high society match. But really?” His eyes danced. “They get the bookstore rebel who hosts story time for kids and the recluse tech billionaire who prefers jeans and surfboards over suits and boardrooms. We’re everything they wanted, except completely not.”

“And totally ourselves,” I added quietly.

“Exactly.” He brushed my cheek. “Emma, I didn’t fall for you because you’re a Michaels. I fell for you before I knew you were a Michaels. I fell for you because you make a mean pot of chili, destroy everyone at trivia night with way too much glee, and have a dog as a sidekick who looks at me like I’mpersonallybetraying him every time I run out of scones.”

“He does give you the sad eyes with exceptional skill,” I admitted, thinking about how Porky stared Wade down at trivia night.

“About this morning...” Wade got serious. “Next time you freak and bolt, take me with you. Or at least wake me up. I make killer crisis coffee.”

The way he said ‘next time’––not if, but when––like he just accepted my mess without trying to fix it, made my throat tight. “I’ll try,” I whispered. “I kind of suck at letting people in.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” His expression turned earnest. “But you’re letting me in now and that’s big. Even if it’s just baby steps.”

I flipped my hand over in his, tangling our fingers together. “Stay for coffee?”

“That a real invite or are you just trying to make up for ditching me this morning?”

“Can’t it be both?”

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