Page 51 of The Billionaire I Left Behind

My head whips toward him. “What?”

Bryan shrugs like it’s not a big deal. “You mentioned needing stuff, so I called in a favor or two. Figured it’d help.”

The words hit somewhere deep, unexpected. My throat tightens. He thought about it. About me. He didn’t have to. But he did.

“Bryan…” I don’t know what to say.

He glances over, reading me too easily. “Don’t make it a thing, Em.” He pauses. “I just want to see you win.”

And just like that, my guard wobbles. I’ve spent so much time keeping a safe distance, reminding myself why I shouldn’t fall into this again. But the way he’s looking at me now, like he means it, like my dream matters to him makes it harder to hold the line.

I swallow past the sudden lump in my throat. “Thanks.”

He nods, like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t mean everything. The tension eases as he pulls into the lot, parking near the entrance.

We finish getting all the groceries on the list. “Mall next?” he asks as he kills the engine, glancing toward Buddy, whose tail is already wagging at the sight of movement. “Figured we’d let him run wild in his kingdom.”

I huff out a laugh, shaking my head. “Let’s survive this first.”

Bryan grins, stepping out of the truck. “No promises.”

And as I follow him into the mall, I realize my own resolve is starting to waver because staying away from him is getting harder by the second.

The hum of Ocean Bay Mall wraps around me, a mix of chatter, clinking shopping carts, and the faint scent of cinnamon from the bakery down the hall. The pet store’s bright overhead lights shine down on shelves stacked high with treats, leashes, and enough chew toys to keep Buddy entertained for a lifetime.

Not that he needs help in that department. I tighten my grip on his leash as he tugs forward, sniffing at a row of gourmet dog biscuits like he’s some kind of connoisseur. Bryan, of course, encourages the mischief.

“Buddy, my man, you’ve got great taste,” he says, tossing a massive bone into the cart with an exaggerated flourish. “We’re going all out. Feast of kings.”

I snort, shaking my head as I grab a bag of kibble, mentally tallying the cost against the clinic funds. Strictly for the clinic. The debt is mine to figure out, but this? This is what I worked for.

“Hope you plan on paying for that ‘feast,’ you’re piling up for your good ‘ole boy” I mutter, scanning a few more items he’s tossing in for Buddy.

Bryan smirks. “You think I’d skimp on my boy?” He scratches behind Buddy’s ears, the affection in the simple act making something warm unfurl in my chest. It’s effortless for him, that mix of teasing and genuine care. The kind of guy I fell for once.

I push the thought down, turning my focus to the shelves in front of me. But from the other side of the aisle, I hear it. A whisper. A low murmur.

“Bryan and Emma,” Mrs. Carter’s familiar voice carries softly, but not softly enough. “They’re just meant to be, aren’t they?”

Jen hums in agreement. “Perfect pair. Always were.”

Perfect pair?

Heat floods my face, a nervous flutter kicking up in my chest. My fingers tighten around the shopping cart handle as the words settle, unwanted … yet not entirely unpleasant.Meant to be. The thought shouldn’t affect me, not after everything, not when I’ve spent weeks reinforcing the wall between us.

But suddenly, that wall doesn’t feel so sturdy. Bryan, completely unaware of my spiralling, grabs a rubber ball and tosses it toward Buddy. “Catch, Bud!”

Buddy leaps, snatching the toy mid-air, tail wagging wildly. Bryan grins, full and easy, and something in my stomach twists. Oh, that smile.

It’s the same one he used to throw at me when we were teenagers, the one that always made me feel like the sun itself had turned in my direction. The kind of grin that disarmed, that made me believe. And I realize, with a quiet kind of panic, that I still feel it.

I try to shake it off, turning back to the cart, eyes down.Think about something else. Think about the clinic.But Bryan kneels beside Buddy, rubbing at his ears, laughing when the dog immediately licks his hand in return.

“Aw, come on, man.” He groans, wiping his hand on his jeans. “Could you at least have given me a warning?”

I should ignore it. I should focus on anything but the way his touch is so gentle, so effortlessly warm, like the same boy I once knew. The same boy who had once kissed me on the back porch of my grandmother’s house and promised me the world.

I swallow hard. He’s not that boy anymore. And I’m not that girl. But there’s no denying it, the pull is still there. And it terrifies me.

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