Page 33 of Rescued By My Small Town Billionaire

The Junction Falls Town Square is the heart of the town, a charming and picturesque gathering place that has stood for generations. Surrounded by historic brick buildings, locally owned shops, and tree-lined sidewalks, it’s where the community comes together for celebrations, markets, and quiet afternoon strolls.

At its center stands the gazebo, an elegant wooden structure with a classic Victorian design. It’s a beautiful white-painted wooden pavilion with its arched entryways adorned with delicate scrollwork. The roof is topped with a small copper finial, now aged to a soft patina, adding a timeless charm to the structure.

Surrounding the gazebo, the town square is a bustling yet cozy space, designed with cobblestone walkways and lush garden beds brimming with colorful seasonal flowers. Oak and maple trees, planted decades ago, provide shade during the warm months and turn into a brilliant display of red and gold in autumn.

Climbing roses and twining ivy weave around the supporting beams, their fragrant blossoms spilling over the edges, framing the open-air space in natural beauty.

I weave through the crowd, smiling as people greet me with warm hugs and kind words about the shop reopening. Maggie Ann hands me a fresh-baked croissant from her café, Ellie squeezes my hand and winks knowingly, and Burt, Mike’s firefighter friend, tips his hat before disappearing into the crowd.

“Look at you,” Lulu teases as she appears at my side, linking her arm through mine. “All sunshine and nerves.”

I huff out a laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

She grins. “To me? Always.”

I chew my lip, glancing around. “Lulu… what’s happening today?”

She gives me a mischievous look. “You’ll see.”

Before I can press her for answers, the town’s mayor steps onto the gazebo stage, tapping the microphone with a loud, echoing thump.

A low wooden railing with hand-carved floral details encircles the gazebo, offering a place for people to lean against as they listen to speeches, watch performances, or simply take in the atmosphere. At the center, a small platform elevates speakers just enough to be visible to the entire crowd, making it the natural focal point for town events.

The atmosphere is alive with warmth and connection, a place where everyone knows each other’s names, where small moments become lifelong memories. Tonight, the square is full of people, their anticipation palpable in the air, waiting for a declaration of love they will talk about for years to come.

And at its center, beneath the glow of twinkling lights and the soft hum of the town’s heart, Mike stands in the gazebo, waiting to say something.

“Alright, everyone! Settle down now,” he calls, his booming voice easily cutting through the chatter. “We’ve got a special part of today’s celebration, and I want you all to turn your attention to a man who needs no introduction—our very own, Mike Thorn.”

A wave of applause erupts as Mike steps onto the stage, his broad shoulders squared, his usual gruff expression softened into something more open, more vulnerable. He looks steady, strong, but there’s something nervous in the way he runs a hand over his jaw before he speaks.

My heart thuds painfully against my ribs.

“Hey, everyone,” Mike starts, his voice deeper than usual, a touch uncertain. He clears his throat, glancing at the crowd, then at me. “Most of you know I’m not one for speeches. I’d ratherbe out fixing fences, running the ranch, or putting out fires than standing up here talking about feelings.”

A ripple of laughter spreads through the crowd, but Mike doesn’t waver. He keeps his eyes locked on me, his expression serious and intent.

“But some things,” he continues, voice rough with emotion, “are worth saying out loud. And Becky, this one’s for you.”

The world tilts slightly as every pair of eyes turns in my direction. My throat tightens.

Mike exhales and pulls a small, folded piece of paper from his pocket.

“When Becky’s shop was being rebuilt, we found something in the walls. Something left behind—something meant for her to find.” His gaze holds mine, unwavering, steady. “A box, filled with letters from her grandmother. And in one of them, her grandmother wrote something that stuck with me.”

He unfolds the paper, his voice soft but carrying across the square.

"Love does not wait for the perfect moment, Becky. It blooms when it's ready—whether you're prepared or not. Trust your heart."

A lump rises in my throat.

Mike looks up from the paper, and for a second, it’s like there’s no one else here.

“I love you, Becky,” he says, his voice raw and real. “I didn’t expect it. I didn’t plan for it. But it happened, and now, I can’t picture a single day without you.”

I suck in a sharp breath, tears pricking my eyes.

“This town has always been my home,” he continues, stepping down from the stage, moving closer, “but you? You’ve made it feel whole.”

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