Page 53 of The Billionaire I Left Behind

The next day I find myself working at the house again. It’s a good thing that I have such a terrific staff at the office, because I know that all the work needs are getting done and that I’d be called for anything serious.

The hammer’s steady in my grip, tapping against the last shelf as I fasten it into place. The soft creak of wood settling fills the space, blending with the faint rush of waves outside. Sunlight filters through the window, casting warm stripes across the cushions I just arranged.

I step back, surveying the reading nook. Emma’s spot. It used to be her escape, a tiny space tucked into the upstairs hall, nestled between the window and built-in bookshelves. I’d find her here as a kid, curled up with some novel too thick for her small hands, completely lost in whatever world she’d wandered into.

She always wanted it back. And now she has it. The fresh coat of paint brightens the alcove, and the new cushions are inviting.I even dusted the shelves, she’ll notice, she notices everything. A smirk tugs at my lips. She’s gonna love this. I don't even know why I'm doing this. The sane part of me can't figure out what it is that draws me to her without reservation.

Buddy’s paws tap against the floor downstairs, then a car rumbles into the driveway. I shift to the window, glancing down. Emma.

She’s alone, stepping out of my truck, arms wrapped around a bag from the supply store.

Something in my chest tightens. I hear her footsteps, light, sure, nearing. My heart pounds as I move back, resting my hands on my hips just as she rounds the corner.

She stops dead. Her breath catches. Her fingers tighten around the bag. Her eyes shift past me.

“The nook…” she exhales, stepping closer, eyes shining as they sweep over the space. “You finished it.”

She sets the bag down, barely aware of it, drawn in by the transformation. She comes up the steps and reaches out, brushing her fingertips along the wooden shelf, tracing the fresh coat of white paint.

Her awe hits me in the gut. I shrug, forcing nonchalance, even as something deep inside me wants to soak in this moment, wants her to see what this means. “Thought you’d want it back.”

She turns to me, her eyes wide, something soft and unreadable in them. For a second, I swear she sees right through me. Sees the truth I haven’t said out loud.

Then she smiles. And goodness, that smile. Something shifts between us, like the air thickens, pulling us closer before we even realize we’ve moved. She steps in, just a fraction, close enough that I catch the faintest hint of the freshness clinging to her. Her voice is quiet, almost hesitant. “Thank you, Bryan, really.”

We stay staring at each other. My heart beating fast. I don’t even think about it.

I lean in. Her breath hitches, her lips part just slightly an invitation, a hesitation, both at once. I could kiss her. Right now.

The space between us is nothing, barely a breath. My chest tightens, every muscle locked between the pull of just do it and the fear that she’ll step away again. Then she does.

A quick, sharp inhale, and she pulls back, almost too fast, turning slightly so all I get is the brush of her hair as she tucks it behind her ear. She won’t look at me. Not yet. But her cheeks are flushed, her fingers still grazing the shelf like she needs something to hold onto.

I swallow hard, forcing myself to step back, to loosen my hands that suddenly want to fist in frustration. Not into me? No. That’s not it.

The way she reacted, the way she wouldn’t meet my gaze, the way her pulse fluttered at her throat before she turned away, it’s not that she doesn’t feel it.

She does. She just doesn’t know what to do with it. So, I let it go. For now.

She finally exhales, shifting her weight, then presses a palm to the wooden surface and murmurs, “It’s perfect.”

Her voice is steady, but when she turns back, just slightly, just enough to catch my eye there’s something lingering there. Something she wants to say. Something she’s not ready to say. Yet.

I nod, rubbing a hand along my jaw, keeping my tone even. “Good.”

She lingers for another second before scooping up her bag and walking away. I don’t stop her. I don’t have to. Because now I know.

She’ll be back.

***

The engine hums low as I pull onto a gravel path, tires crunching over loose stones. The lot is empty, grass overgrown, a faded FOR LEASE sign hanging crooked on the fence. It’s not much yet. Nate recommended this place, and I can see the reason. It is in the center of the town, just the perfect place for a good clinic.

Emma shifts in the passenger seat, staring through the windshield, hands gripping the edge of her hoodie sleeves. The space is hers to dream on, hers to build. And goodness, does she deserve it. I cut the engine.

She steps out, slow at first, taking it in. “It needs a lot of work,” she murmurs, pacing a few feet ahead, eyes scanning like she’s piecing it together. Then, under her breath, “But it's really good…”

I shove my hands into my pockets, watching her. “I think so too.”

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