Page 28 of The Billionaire I Left Behind

Pete’s smirk widens. "Ah, sure, sure. Funny thing, though word around town is you and Emma are Ocean Bay’s sweethearts again. Cohabitation, sounds downright domestic."

I freeze. The heck? My jaw tightens, pulse jumping in irritation. "It’s not like that."

Pete waves a hand, grinning. "Oh, I know. Just sayin’. Town’s talkin’. You two were the stuff of small-town legend back in the day. Seems like history’s got a way of repeating itself."

I shove cash onto the counter, sharp and clipped. "Just business. Emma and I aren't back together."

Pete snorts, "Sure, son. If you say so." He starts bagging up my things, but his smirk lingers, like he knows something I don’t.

I roll my shoulders, exhaling slow. She doesn’t get to come back and tangle me up like this, make me second-guess things I locked down years ago.

Pete pushes the bag toward me, and as I grab it, he throws out one last jab. "Tell your girl I say hi."

I stiffen. Toss the bag over my shoulder. Pick up the lumber. Storm out the door.

The truck door slams shut behind me, Buddy lifting his head at the noise. My pulse is still hammering as I yank the keys into the ignition, gripping the wheel hard.

Tell your girl I say hi. Your girl.

I grit my teeth, muttering under my breath. "She’s not mine." But the words echo anyway, tightening my chest.

She’s not mine. She never was. She left. And for the first time in a long time, I can’t tell if I’m saying it because I believe it…

Or because I need to.

***

I step into the house, the scent of sawdust and salt air mixing, a bundle of lumber balanced against my shoulder. The evening light slants through the open windows, casting everything in gold. And the sound of waves hums low in the background.

The place already looks different, fresh paint covering years of neglect, things slowly coming together. I don’t expect to see her like this.

Emma, red-faced, bracing against a heavy oak dresser, muscles straining as she tries to shove it across the floor. Her brows pinch, lips pressing together in stubborn determination. Buddy watches, tail wagging, and she grits out, "Al… most… there."

It’s not happening. That dresser isn’t budging an inch. I drop the lumber near the doorway, stepping in before she hurts herself. "Move."

She exhales sharply, stepping back just as I grab the edge. Heavy, sure, but not impossible. I grip, lift, shift …easy. The thing settles against the wall with a final thud.

Emma lets out a breath, hands on her knees, then dusts them against her jeans. "Thanks, really."

The softness in her voice throws me off. It’s not forced, not guarded, just genuine. The same way she used to say it, back when every little thing I did for her mattered. When she’d look at me with that exact warmth in her eyes, like I was steady, dependable, hers.

I shouldn’t like it. But for some reason, my throat tightens, my grip on control slipping just a little. Her gratitude lights up her face, and for a second, I forget how to fight it.

Lavender drifts in the air between us, and it takes everything in me not to close my eyes, not to let the pull between us win. I clear my throat, forcing my voice to stay level. "Working together’s … not awful."

It comes out softer than I meant it to be. Her lips curve, slow and sweet, and I feel it hit deep in my chest. A warmth I don’t want, don’t need, but it spreads anyway, breaking through my walls like it has no right to.

"Better than fighting," she says, shifting on her feet. And she’s right. I don’t want to admit it, but I don’t hate this.

The quiet moments where we just exist in the same space. The way we’ve stopped clashing over every little thing. The way, somehow, it’s easy. Too easy.

She moves past me toward the broom, and her arm grazes mine. It’s nothing. Barely a touch. But it’s enough.

Enough to send a jolt through me, enough to make my breath hitch before I force myself back into control. She hums, light and casual, sweeping up dust, oblivious to the storm raging inside me.

I turn away, gripping the back of my neck, muttering, "Yeah, better."

And that’s the problem. It’s too much better. And I don’t know if I can keep this up.

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