Page 12 of Rescued By My Small Town Billionaire

“Let’s go,” Becky beams. “I hope they have Jasmine tea.” I can’t help but smile at her excitement.

Beyond the gardens is a glass-walled conservatory, a blend of rustic elegance and timeless charm. Sunlight streams through the arched windows, illuminating rows of potted orchids, ferns, and tropical palms that line the perimeter. Inside, the air is warm, tinged with the scent of jasmine and citrus.

When we arrive at the designated space , my mom is in her element, leading Becky through the rows of carefully cultivated plants and explaining how each one is grown. Becky listens intently, her eyes wide with wonder as she takes it all in.

A small indoor tea room sits at the center of the conservatory, a cozy yet refined space where guests can enjoy fresh tea while gazing out at the lush greenery.

They’ve invited me to join them but really, I’d feel like quite out of place without Becky here Becky glances over at me, giving me a soft, knowing smile. Something in my heart shifts.

The round wooden tables are covered with delicate lace runners, each set with antique porcelain teacups, silver spoons, and tiny vases filled with fresh-cut blooms from the garden.

“This is incredible,” she says, running her fingers gently over the petals of a vibrant orchid. “I’ve worked with flowers for years, but seeing them like this… it’s magical.”

My mom stirs her tea slowly, her gaze thoughtful. “This garden has been part of our family tradition for years. It’s where I used to bring Lulu and Mike when they were kids. And now, I get to share it with you.”

My mom beams, clearly thrilled to have someone who shares her passion. “You’re welcome here anytime, Becky. I’m happy you offered to volunteer at the butterfly garden.”

“I’m happy to fill my time doing something useful,” Becky says, her smile genuine. I am so happy that they have a lot in common.

A few hours later, I stop by to see my mom and pick up Becky. She’s helping to plant the butterfly garden. I stop by to drop off some tools for my mom, but when I step into the indoor butterfly enclosure, the sight in front of me stops me in my tracks.

Becky is crouched near a patch of blooming milkweed, her hands gently cradling a tiny caterpillar. Her hair glows in the sunlight streaming through the glass ceiling, and her laughter rings out softly as a butterfly flutters past her.

For a moment, I can’t move. She looks so at peace, so full of light, that it takes my breath away.

“Mike?” she says, looking up and catching me staring.

I clear my throat, stepping closer. “Just looking for my mom.”

“She’s over by the greenhouse,” Becky says, standing and brushing her hands on her jeans.

We’re close now, close enough that I can see the faint smudge of dirt on her cheek and the way her eyes sparkle in the sunlight. The air between us feels charged, and before I realize what’s happening, I lean in slightly.

So does she.

The space between us disappears, and for a heartbeat, I think we’re going to kiss. But then the sound of someone clearing their throat breaks the moment, and we both step back, flustered.

The sound of someone clearing their throat comes again, louder this time. Becky and I turn in unison to see my mom standing a few feet away, her arms crossed and an amused smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“Mike,” she says, her tone as light as the teasing glint in her eyes. “I didn’t expect to find you here. Becky, you’re doing a wonderful job with the butterfly garden.”

Becky quickly steps back, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as her cheeks flush. “Thank you, Mrs. Thorn,” she says, her voice a little higher than usual.

“Mom,” I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck, trying to recover from the moment.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” my mom says, though her smirk says otherwise. “But I could use some help in the greenhouse when you’re done here, Mike.”

“Sure,” I say quickly, eager for an escape.

My mom nods and walks off, leaving me and Becky standing in awkward silence. She glances at me, her eyes wide with lingering tension, and for a moment, I consider saying something to break it.

But what would I say? That I almost kissed her? That for a second, I forgot this whole thing was fake?

Before I can sort through the jumble of thoughts in my head, Becky smiles nervously and bends down to pick up her tools. “I should probably get back to work,” she says, avoiding my gaze.

“Yeah,” I say, taking a step back. “Let me know when you’re done here.”

As I walk away, my heart still racing, one thought keeps echoing in my mind: That wasn’t part of the plan.

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