Page 25 of Rescued By My Small Town Billionaire

“Okay,” I mutter to myself, taking a deep breath. “You’re being ridiculous. You know Mike isn’t like that. He’s not pulling away because he’s losing interest.”

At least, I hope he isn’t.

The soft chime of the shop’s bell fills the air as I arrange a fresh bouquet of daisies and peonies in a glass vase. The scent of roses, eucalyptus, and lavender drifts around me, a comforting reminder that the shop is alive again. The town has rallied behind me in ways I never expected, and their unwavering support fuels my resolve to make my florist business thrive once more.

Since the opening, orders have been pouring in—bouquets for anniversaries, table arrangements for the Cake Walk Café, corsages for a high school dance.

Even Maggie Ann and Ellie have stopped by to place orders for their shops, wanting fresh flowers for their displays. It feels like my world, once tipped off balance, is finding its rhythm again.

But there’s still one thing unsettled.

Mike.

I have been trying to find the right moment to talk to him about everything—the feelings that have been building between us and the way my heart seems to know he’s the one.

I’ve been carrying these thoughts like a bouquet of fragile blooms, afraid that if I move too fast, they’ll fall apart.

Today, I’m done waiting.

It’s Friday night, and I’ve had enough. I march straight to the ranch, fully prepared to demand some kind of explanation. But when I get there, the place is practically deserted.

Pete greets me at the barn, wiping his hands on a rag. “Hey, Becky. Looking for Mike?”

“Yeah,” I say, planting my hands on my hips. “Where is he?”

Pete grins like he knows something I don’t. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

“Pete,” I warn.

He just chuckles. “Be patient.”

I narrow my eyes but don’t press further. Something is definitely going on, and I don’t like being left in the dark.

I find Mike leaning against the porch railing of the ranch house, B. curled up on his lap. The sight of him there, relaxed and at ease, tugs at something deep inside me.

He looks up as I step onto the porch, and for a moment, his gaze lingers, like he’s trying to figure out what’s on my mind.

“Hey,” he says, giving B. a slow scratch behind her ears.

“Hey,” I reply, taking the seat beside him. The cool evening air carries the scent of honeysuckle from the garden, wrapping us in quiet intimacy.

For a long moment, we sit there in comfortable silence, the only sound being the distant whinny of a horse from the stables.

Then, finally, I speak.

“This thing between us,” I start, forcing myself to be brave. “It is becoming something more than I expected, Mike. And I think we both know it.”

His jaw tightens, and for a second, I worry I’ve said too much. But then he exhales, long and deep, like he’s been holding something in.

“You’re right,” he admits. “It has felt more involved for a long time.”

The weight of his words settles between us, shifting the ground we’ve been standing on.

“I don’t want to ignore it anymore,” I whisper.

Mike reaches over, his fingers brushing against mine, slow and deliberate. “Me either,” he says, his voice rough with emotion.

He turns to me fully, his hand warm as he takes mine. “Becky, I don’t just care about you—I love you. And not in some easy, casual way. You make me feel things I never expected, never planned for. And I don’t want to go another day without making that clear.”

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