Page 39 of The Billionaire and the Runaway

I take the syringe and Eric’s hand covers mine, showing me how to slowly press the stopper to release more milk. Together, we feed the kitten for the next minute or two, until all the milk is gone.

The kitten falls fast asleep, and we both watch it, not moving.

“Where should we keep him?” I ask. “Should he go back to his mom?”

“We can try tomorrow when we can keep an eye on him. Stay here with him. I’ll get a heating pad and an old alarm clock that I used with Barkley. I can make a little bed,” Eric says as he leaves me sitting there, holding the kitten.

“Is it a he or a she?” I call out.

“Don’t know. Haven’t looked yet,” he yells from somewhere down the hall.

I peel back the blanket and look. “It’s a he.

“What shall we name you?” I ask the kitten. It’s still fast asleep. I contemplate names until Eric comes back into the room. He’s holding a box with a bunch of blankets. He plugs in the heating pad and tucks it inside.

“We have a boy,” I announce.

“You think of a name yet?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Not yet.”

He chuckles. “Shall we have another naming contest?”

I shrug. “I thinkweshould name him.”

He takes the kitten from me and sets him in the box on the nightstand. We both lean over and look at him.

“How about Stormy?” I suggest.

“Isn’t that, like, a girl’s name?” Eric replies as he scoots onto the bed.

I scoff. “Nooo,” I reply. Eric laughs.

“What about Thunder?” Eric says.

I roll my eyes as I look over at the sleeping kitten. “More like crickets. He’s passed out.” I purse my lips and consider names.

“Titan,” I blurt out and then literally slap my hand over my mouth. Why don’t I just scream my real name from the rooftop? I’m an idiot.

But before Eric can reply, the perfect name comes to me, and I grin.

“Out with it. What’s the name?” Eric urges with a grin of his own.

“Thor,” I decide.

I watch Eric’s grin morph into a giant smile and he nods. “Love it.”

I blush under his praise. “Want to see some of what I have planned leading up to the farmstand re-opening event?”

“Let’s see,” he says hesitantly, and I wonder if he’s nervous that I’ll screw it all up. I mean, I can’t blame him. I have sort of fallen and run into things and backed over things, and well, he must think I’m a hot mess, hence his nickname for me. It’s funny because I’ve always been a little klutzy, but I’ve normally hidden it. Dad doesn’t like it. He wanted me to be an athlete and a sophisticated young woman. I roll my eyes.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing. Just thinking about something. Anyhow,” I start, changing the subject because I’m not about to spill the beans that I’m the great and powerful James Titan’s daughter, “here. I thought we should draw from the general appeal of Storyview Falls. There should be some posts for people who want to visit the town and your farm and other posts for the locals. I also started a group on this app where Kingsley is going to be sharing recipes weekly and I got Max and his restaurant’s chef to agree to do weekly cooking classes out in the side yard from June through August. And they’ll even be here for opening weekend. Elisha is going to send her van over with some coffee and baked goods as well. And a few local artists agreed to come too. So essentially, it will be more than just a farmstand on Saturday mornings. It’ll be a little farmer’s market. I’ve gotten agreements set up for you to look at with the local artists to sell some crafts all the time at the farmstand. And of course, it’ll all look brand new and have that great social media backdrop out front. Oh, and I thought we could highlight different animals each week. If you don’t want a full petting zoo, we can just bring one out for photo ops and a meet and greet, and then folks can walk around and see the animals in their enclosures if they want more photos. Kevin, the new bartender at Max’s restaurant, suggested we set up a lavender field. He says his hometown has one and it’s, like, a big draw for people. They even host weddings there, which is something you could expand on.” I pause and pull up a website to show him. It would require a pavilion to be built next to the barn and that we clear another area of the barn to create a formal kitchen and bathrooms. But it would bring in revenue.

He looks at it and back at me. “I thought you were just a social media marketing manager,” he says, his voice low and gravelly and his words seem to have more than one meaning.

I blush. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep. I just…I guess I got carried away.”

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