Page 11 of The Billionaire and the Runaway

“Ugh. I don’t even know how to cook. What do I get?” I ask as I contemplate this. I’ve never once cooked for myself. I mean, I’ve gotten snacks, but they are all pre-made.

“Good luck with that. You’ll be living on apples and water,” Katia says.

“You are not any help. OK, I’m heading out. I need to figure this all out, like right now,” I state.

“Fine, but call me tomorrow night. I want to hear all about your first day,” she demands. I grin. She’s a pain in my ass but she’s a good friend.

“I will. ’Night,” I say.

“Sleep tight, you runaway,” she teases.

I roll my eyes as I disconnect.

I head out to the car and punch in the address Eric gave me. Fifteen minutes later, I’m pulling up to a small store. Keller Grocery. Not a name brand, but how bad could it be? I park and walk inside. It’s small, not like the grocery stores I’ve seen on television. I try to remember this one cooking show I like that has chefs competing in a grocery store. I think the food is like in groups. I take a cart and grin. This could be fun.

I find some crackers and cheeses. There are some olives in a jar that look alright. I grab various fruits and some bottles of water. They have iced tea in a carton and lemonade, so I grab those. I’m turning to put them in the cart when I bump into someone.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I mumble.

“No worries, my dear,” an older woman looks at me and smiles. “Are you new to town? It’s far too early in the season for tourists.”

Grinning, I nod. “Just moved here,” I answer.

She holds out her hand. “I’m Greta. I own the cleaning service in town.”

“Nice to meet you, Greta. I’m Ariana. I just started working at Windsor Family Farm.”

“Oh, Eric’s farm? How lovely! He’s just such a good person. I’m sure you’ll love it there,” she rattles on as she looks at my cart.

I blush. “I…is there like a coffee shop or someplace like that here?” I ask.

She nods. “Elisha owns the Storyview Fall’s Café. She makes the best pastries. You should stop in there. Max’s Restaurant is also very good if you don’t feel like cooking.” She leans in conspiratorially. “I mean, I seldom feel like cooking,” she adds with a wink.

I giggle. “Me either,” I agree as we both laugh together.

“It was really nice meeting you,” I say to her.

“Do you like reading?” she asks.

I nod enthusiastically. Reading and movies have been my escape for as long as I can remember.

“Well, what’s your phone number? You should come to book club. We’re trying to recruit some younger members,” she says.

We exchange numbers and she bids me a good day as I continue throwing random items in my cart. I find a few toiletries and some cleaning materials, which thankfully happens as I run into Greta again because she recommends all the best ones. I head in search of the café afterward.

I snap a few photos with my phone because this place is unreal. The buildings look to be from the eighteen hundreds. The street is tree-lined. People stop and chat with each other as if everyone here is best friends. It looks like a scene from a film rather than real life. It’s not that I’ve never been to a small town before, but honestly, my time in small towns has been rare. I went to college in a nearby city. Even my boarding schools were in or near cities. I vacationed in places like Paris and London and occasionally an island. But none of that is anything like this.

“Oh, hey, how did that job interview go?” I hear from behind me. I turn and find Sylvie from the pharmacy walking out from what looks like a consignment store.

“Hey,” I reply cheerfully. “I got the job!”

“That’s awesome! Welcome to Storyview Falls!” she says as she adjusts a purse strap on her shoulder. “I was just going to grab coffee at the café. Have you been yet?”

I shake my head. “No. I was told it’s good though and was actually heading that way myself.”

“Great. So, where are you from?” Sylvie asks as we begin walking toward a sign that has a coffee mug on it.

“I grew up downtown, but Eric just offered up his guesthouse here. So I guess I’m officially becoming a Storyview Falls resident,” I explain, glazing over my life story because I don’t want to lie to Sylvie. She seems nice.

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