Page 42 of “Not” Engaged to the Grumpy Billionaire

The familiar smell of fresh bread and polished floors greets us, along with the soft murmur of conversations. Nate follows a step behind, his presence steady but magnetic, as if the room notices him before he says a word.

We’ve barely reached the produce section when I hear a voice behind us, clear and unmistakable.

“Well, don’t you three make a picture-perfect family.”

I stop in my tracks, and so does Nate. Turning slowly, I come face-to-face with Mrs. Dolores Whitaker, Ocean Bay’s reigning queen of gossip. Her sharp eyes scan us with open curiosity, but her smile is wide and warm.

“Mrs. Whitaker,” I say, forcing a polite smile. “Good morning.”

“Oh, it’s a lovely morning now,” she says, clasping her hands together. Her gaze lingers on me, and her expression softens. “Lizzie Lawson. My goodness, I can’t believe how grown-up you are. The last time I saw you, you were barely taller than my hydrangeas.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Whitaker,” I reply, my cheeks heating.

“And look at you now. Such a beautiful young woman. And with Nate Kingston, of all people. I have to say, you’ve done well for yourself.”

Nate clears his throat, stepping closer. His hand brushes my lower back—a simple gesture, but it sends a jolt through me. “I'll rather say, I've done well for myself for having her by my side,” he says smoothly.

Mrs. Whitaker’s eyes twinkle. “Oh, this is sweet. I heard all about the park but didn't believe it. You two are beautiful together. I can imagine how your children will be, adorable of course.”

I nearly choke, but Nate recovers seamlessly.

“That’s right I'm sure they will be,” he says.

Mrs. Whitaker looks at my hand, and my stomach flips. “Where’s the ring, dear? I don’t see it.”

Without missing a beat, I hold up my hand and smile. “Oh, it’s being resized. Nate picked something so lovely, but I wanted it a little simpler. You know, something more... me.”

Mrs. Whitaker nods approvingly. “That sounds just like you. Always so practical.” She leans in slightly, her tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You’ve got yourself a good man here, Lizzie. Don’t let him slip away.”

Before I can respond, Max pipes up, tugging on my arm. “Can we go now? I’m hungry.”

Mrs. Whitaker laughs. “Ah, Max. Such a sweet boy. Just like his father.”

Max gives her a shy smile, then looks at me expectantly. “Can we get snacks, Liz?”

“Yes, Max,” I say, grateful for the distraction. I glance at Nate, who nods slightly, his lips twitching like he’s fighting a smile.

“Enjoy your shopping,” Mrs. Whitaker says, giving us one last look before walking off.

We finally move on, though I can still feel Nate’s hand on my back, his touch lingering like a phantom. Max skips beside me, already pointing out every bright package that catches his eye.

“Liz, look! They have watermelon!” he says, pulling me toward a display of neatly stacked fruit.

“Do you like watermelon?” I ask, crouching slightly to meet his eye.

He nods vigorously. “It’s my favorite!”

“Well, we definitely need to get one, then,” I say, selecting a ripe one and placing it in the cart.

“What about you, Nate?” I ask, glancing up at him. “What’s your favorite fruit?”

“Apples,” he says after a moment.

“Apples?” I wrinkle my nose. “That’s so boring.”

He raises an eyebrow. “And what’s your favorite, then?”

“Pineapple,” I say, grinning.

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