Page 4 of Rescued By My Small Town Billionaire

I grab a shower, and the hot water washes away some of the tension in my muscles. When I step out, Burt’s already lounging on the couch, flipping through channels on the TV. He glances up when I walk in, his grizzled face breaking into a grin.

“Rough one?” he asks, nodding toward the soot-streaked jacket I’m shrugging off.

“Yeah,” I reply, dropping onto the couch next to him. “Small shop fire. No injuries, but the owner’s place is out of commission for a while.”

Burt lets out a low whistle. “Tough break. That florist, okay?”

“Yep. Becky,” I say, her name slipping out before I can stop it. I clear my throat, trying to sound casual.

“Ah,” Burt says with a knowing smirk. “You looked like you were paying a little extra attention out there.”

“Drop it,” I mutter, grabbing the remote from him and changing the channel. Burt chuckles but doesn’t push it.

We sit in companionable silence for a while, watching a rerun of some hockey game. It’s mindless—exactly what I need after the chaos of the night. Burt starts rambling about his old college football days, and I half-listen, letting his voice wash over me as my mind drifts back to Becky.

It’s well into the morning, when the firehouse door creaks open, and Mrs. Hargrove steps inside. She’s an elderly woman who lives a few streets over, always doting on the crew with homemade cookies and gossip about the town. But today, she’s carrying a small crate in her hands, her face lined with concern.

“Mike, Burt,” she says, her voice soft. “I found this little one in my yard. Thought it might belong to someone.”

She sets the crate on the counter, and I peer inside to find a tiny gray kitten, its big green eyes blinking up at me. It’s trembling, huddled in the corner like it’s trying to make itself invisible.

“She was scared half to death,” Mrs. Hargrove continues. “I figured you boys might know what to do.”

The kitten lets out a tiny mewl, and something in my chest tightens. Without thinking, I reach in and scoop her up. She’s light as a feather, all bones and fluff, and she immediately curls into the crook of my arm, her tiny claws gripping my shirt.

“Well, looks like she’s claimed you,” Burt says with a laugh.

I glance down at the kitten, her little body warm against mine, and feel an unexpected wave of protectiveness. “Guess I’ve got a roommate,” I say, the corner of my mouth twitching into a smile.

***

By the time I get home, the sky is streaked with pink and gold, the promise of a new day chasing away the last tracesof darkness. The house is quiet, everyone still asleep. I enter quietly, the kitten cradled in my arms, and head straight to my room.

Exhaustion pulls at me as I drop onto the bed, the events of the night catching up all at once. The kitten climbs onto my chest, her tiny paws kneading against my shirt before curling into a ball. I reach up to scratch behind her ears, her soft purr lulling me toward sleep.

As my eyes drift closed, one thought lingers in my mind: Becky. Her voice, her face, the way she looked at me when I told her everything would be okay. Something about her is pulling me in, and I’m not sure I want to fight it.

The kitten stirs as I shift under the covers, her tiny body stretching out before settling back against my chest. Her soft purring hums in the quiet room, a sound so soothing it starts to unwind the tension in my shoulders. For a moment, I just lie there, staring up at the dark ceiling, letting the stillness settle over me.

Becky deserves better. And maybe, just maybe, I’m starting to wonder if I could be part of “better.”

Chapter three

Becky

Waking up to the sound of birds chirping outside the window, I inhale a soft breeze carrying the scent of freshly cut grass. It’s so peaceful, so normal, that for a second, I forget everything that’s happened. But then it all comes rushing back—the fire, losing B., and the overwhelming uncertainty of what comes next.

I push the covers aside and stretch, feeling the stiffness in my back from a night spent tossing and turning. The unfamiliar room, cozy as it is, feels foreign. Still, Lulu’s generosity gives me a thread of comfort I can cling to.

After a quick shower, I grab the mismatched clothes my friends pulled together for me. Ellie’s top is too tight across the chest, and Maggie Ann’s pants are a little too long, making me feel like a kid playing dress-up. I roll the cuffs and tug at the fabric until it looks halfway presentable, but the whole ensemble is a disaster.

I glance in the mirror and laugh under my breath. “Well, quirky is better than nothing,” I mutter, running a brush through my damp hair.

The smell of fresh-ground coffee greets me as I step into the kitchen, instantly lifting my spirits. Lulu is already at the table, sipping from a hand-thrown mug and scrolling through her phone. She looks up when she hears me and grins.

“Good morning, Sunshine,” she teases, taking in my mismatched outfit.

“Don’t start,” I warn, grabbing a mug and pouring myself some coffee. “This is what happens when you rely on friends with completely different wardrobes.”

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