Page 53 of Falling for the Wrong Billionaire
I smile, nodding. “They’re a handful.”
He chuckles, shaking his head as he sets their food down. “But you love them.”
My heart skips a beat. I do love them. I love the way they fill the quiet spaces in my life, the way they always manage to make me smile even when everything else feels uncertain. It’s like they give me a sense of purpose — a reason to keep going, even when I feel like I’m lost in the world.
Liam finishes feeding them and then turns back to me, his hands lightly brushing the countertop. “So, what do you feel like doing now?”
I pause for a second, unsure of how to answer. I can tell he’s trying to keep things light, but there’s something in the air now, something deeper between us. The whole morning, all the moments we’ve shared, have felt like I’m walking a fine line. I can’t stop thinking about what happens next.
“I was thinking,” I say slowly, trying to make it sound casual, “maybe we could bake something? I’ve been wanting to try a new recipe.”
Liam raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “Baking, huh?”
I nod, my voice a little more hesitant than I intended. “Yeah, I know it’s a little strange, but I’ve been in the mood for it.”
He smiles, that easy smile of his that always makes me feel like I can trust him. “Alright. If you insist. I’ll follow your lead.”
We move to the kitchen, and as Liam pulls out flour and sugar, I start to feel a sense of calm settle over me. There’s something about the act of baking, about making something from scratch, that’s grounding.
We start working together, moving around the kitchen in sync, a kind of quiet rhythm developing between us. Liam’s hands are strong as he mixes the dough, but his movements are gentle, as if he’s careful not to rush it. I watch him, my heart fluttering in my chest.
After a few minutes, I pull the flour from the cupboard, and as I sift it into the bowl, the inevitable happens.
A cloud of flour bursts into the air, covering us both in a fine dust. I look up at Liam, and he’s grinning, flour on his cheek.
“Oh, you are so dead.”
I burst into laughter, and before I know it, I’m flinging a handful of flour in his direction.
The playful banter continues as we both end up covered in flour — but there’s something so freeing about it. I can feel my defenses start to slip away with each laugh, with each moment of shared happiness.
Liam grabs a dish towel, wiping his hands on it dramatically as he moves toward me. “You’re in so much trouble.”
“Oh no,” I tease. “You’re the one who started it.”
I’m not sure how it happens, but in the midst of all the playful chaos, I find myself laughing harder than I have in weeks. It’s as though, for a moment, all the pressure I’ve been holding inside me just fades away.
We finish baking, though I’m not entirely sure how. Flour is everywhere, and the kitchen looks like a tornado hit it, but it doesn’t matter. The moment has been enough.
We sit down to enjoy the blueberry muffins we made. The warmth of the oven lingers in the air, and the rain outside is adistant hum.Amazingly we haven’t choked or succumbed. Must be the recipe was okay.
Liam watches me closely, his gaze soft, and I can tell he’s taking in every little detail. I realize I’ve never felt so seen in my life.
"I’ve learned a lot about strength and kindness from my nanny," I say softly, breaking the silence. "She was the one who taught me how to take care of others. How to put people first."
Liam listens intently, his expression serious as he leans in slightly, his elbows on the table. "She sounds amazing."
"She was," I say, my voice thick with emotion. "She was the only person who ever made me feel like I belonged."
We sit in silence for a moment, the weight of my words hanging in the air. I don’t usually talk about my nanny — about how much she meant to me. But with Liam, it feels like it’s okay.
"That’s a gift," Liam says softly. "Not everyone gets that. You were lucky."
I smile, my heart swelling a little. "I was. I still am."
The conversation shifts, but the air between us feels different. There’s a quiet intimacy in the room now, something that wasn’t there before.
The ferrets are busy exploring the kitchen, causing their usual chaos, and I can’t help but laugh at how perfectly they fit into our little bubble of chaos.
