Page 46 of Billionaire's Bookworm

Right on cue, Sandy grabbed the microphone, her voice ringing clear over the murmuring crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, please gather ‘round! Our very own reformed billionaire playboy has something to say!”

“Reformed?” I muttered under my breath.

“Own it, brother dear.” Amy smirked. “Can’t erase your history, only rewrite your future.”

I shot her a sideways glance. “Since when did you become so wise?”

She shrugged, a playful glint in her eye. “I’ve always been the smarter sibling.”

Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward to scattered applause and a few amused whistles. Emma looked up from her conversation with Silvy, surprise flickering across her features. Even now, just the sight of her took my breath away.

“So,” I began, my heart pounding in my chest, “some of you might remember when I first came to Seashell Cove. I was... Let’s say, a slightly different person.”

“You were a pain in the ass!” Mrs. Peabody called out helpfully from her porch.

Laughter rippled through the crowd. I chuckled, nodding in her direction. “Thank you, Mrs. P, for that accurate historical account.”

“But what none of you knew was that my life changed the night a certain retriever decided my carefully planned garden needed an emergency renovation.”

Emma’s eyes sparkled with recognition, a soft smile playing on her lips. We’d laughed about that night more times than I could count—her in those infuriatingly distracting pajama shorts, me in what she has since dubbed my “garden daddy” attire.

“I made some... incorrect assumptions that night. Fortunately for me, Emma Michaels isn’t the type to let accusations of gold-digging go unchallenged.”

Scattered cheers and claps echoed, Silvy giving Emma an affectionate nudge.

“She challenged me to stop hiding in my beach house and actually become part of this incredible community. To show up—to story times, bake sales, and yes, even a chili cook-off where I learned the hard way that ‘artisanal’ doesn’t always mean ‘better.’”

More laughter, a few knowing looks tossed my way.

“She showed me that sometimes the best things in life come with dog hair, sand between your toes, and absolutely zero pretense.”

I glanced over at Porky, giving him a subtle signal. He bounded forward with surprising agility, making a beeline for Emma. Well, almost. Unfortunately, he got distracted halfway by a stray hot dog wrapper.

“Porky, no!” Silvy hissed. “We practiced this!”

The crowd’s laughter grew as the dog performed an impressive mid-run pivot, abandoning the wrapper to complete his mission. He sat at Emma’s feet, tail wagging furiously, ring box miraculously intact.

“Porky, what––” She caught the box as he flopped over for a belly rub, professional dignity forgotten.

I approached, nerves jangling like wind chimes in a hurricane. Dropping to one knee, I took a steadying breath. “Emma, you changed everything that night. Not just my garden—though I still maintain those hydrangeas never quite recovered.”

She laughed softly, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes.

“You showed me that the life I was running from was actually the one I’d been searching for all along. You turned my escape into a home, my solitary garden into a place filled with laughter and life. You convinced me that reading ‘The Very Hungry Caterpillar’ in multiple voices was infinitely better than any board meeting I’ve ever attended.”

Her eyes glistened as she opened the box, the ring catching the glow of the twinkling lights. “Wade James,” she whispered, a teasing lilt to her voice, “are you telling me I should thank Porky’s terrible timing and your even worse judgment for all of this?”

“Absolutely.” I grinned up at her. “And if you say yes, I promise to keep letting you challenge every dumb assumption I make for the rest of our lives.”

She shook her head, a radiant smile spreading across her face. “Well, when you put it that way...” She tugged me to my feet, the ring warming between our joined hands. “Yes. Though I reserve the right to remind you about that midnight accusation whenever necessary.”

The crowd erupted into cheers and applause as I slipped the ring onto her finger. Porky barked enthusiastically, jumping up and circling us as I pulled her into a kiss, the world fading away until there was only us.

“That’s my brother!” Amy called out, not even bothering to hide the tears streaming down her face.

“About time!” Silvy added, dabbing at her own eyes. “Though I still can’t believe Mr. ‘Billionaire-Playboy-Recluse’ is the same guy who asked to start a chess night at my café.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of gold and pink, the celebration spilled onto the beach. Sandy miraculously produced champagne, and Amy was already discussing wedding plans that, much to my chagrin, involved a mash-up of our two worlds—albeit with less input from our mother.

---