Page 21 of Falling for the Wrong Billionaire
But now, it’s too late. I’ve let her in, and I don’t know how to get her out.
I look out over the cliffs, the stars beginning to dot the sky, and I realize I can’t keep running from this. I can’t keep pushing these feelings down.
I want more than just building things. I want her.
But I don’t know how to make that happen. Not with everything else in my life already so complicated.
***
The drive back from the cliffs is slower than it should be. The road curves through the coastline, the moonlight casting pale reflections on the water below. My thoughts are heavy, swirling around the conversation I had with myself out there — about what I want, what I’m afraid of, and what’s been building between Lucy and me.
I can’t deny it anymore. I can’t ignore how she’s been occupying my thoughts every minute of every day. How her smile makes everything feel a little more real, a little less complicated.
But I’m not stupid. I know it can’t be that simple. I can’t just let myself feel whatever this is. Not when I’m still not sure where this thing between us could even go.
I’m lost in thought when I notice her.
Lucy.
She’s walking along the beachside road, her silhouette barely visible in the dim light, the sand beneath her feet making her movements look almost dreamlike. She’s alone, her steps steady, but there’s a softness to her posture that makes my chest tighten.
I slow down, my heart giving a jolt. What am I doing?
I pull up alongside her, rolling down the window.
“Lucy!” I call out, my voice a little too loud in the quiet of the night. She looks up, her face a little surprised when she recognizes me.
“Liam?” Her voice is hesitant but warm, and I feel that same flutter I always get when she speaks my name.
“Need a ride?” I ask before I can stop myself. “It’s late, and it’s not exactly safe to be walking around here alone.”
She looks at the car, then back at the road, weighing her options. I can tell she’s tired — her shoulders are slightly hunched, her head a little down, like the weight of the world is just a bit too much today.
“I don’t want to bother you,” she says softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
“You’re not bothering me,” I respond quickly. “Really. I’m heading back anyway. I’ll give you a lift.”
She hesitates again, but I can see the weariness in her eyes, and finally, she relents. “Okay,” she says, her voice barely audible, but I hear the unspoken relief in it.
She walks to the passenger side, her footsteps light against the ground, and I can’t help but watch her as she opens the door.
As she slides into the seat, I feel a strange sense of calm settle over me. It’s just a ride, just two people driving home. But somehow, it feels more important than that.
The car pulls away from the curb, and I try to settle into the comfort of the quiet, but it’s hard with her so close. The night is still, the hum of the car the only sound between us. I glance at her out of the corner of my eye, my grip tightening on the steering wheel.
“Thanks for the ride,” she says after a few moments, breaking the silence. Her voice is softer now, and I can sense that she’s not as tense as she was earlier.
“Anytime,” I say, my gaze fixed on the road ahead. “It’s a quiet night. Thought you might appreciate a lift.”
She nods, but then the conversation shifts, and I’m not sure how it happens. Maybe it’s just the stillness of the night, or maybe it’s the fact that we’re alone.
I glance at her for a moment, caught off guard by the question. “I’m from around here. Grew up in Ocean Bay, spent most of my life here.” I pause, remembering how easy it used to be to leave for work and travel to the city, always coming back to the quiet of the town when I needed it.
“Funny,” I continue, a little more relaxed, “I thought I’d want to leave it behind when I was younger. But now? I can’t seem to imagine living anywhere else.”
Lucy smiles softly, and I’m struck by the way her expression softens. “That’s nice,” she says quietly, “finding a place like that.”
It feels like we’ve been talking for hours even though it’s only been a few minutes, the conversation flowing with ease. We start talking about childhood memories, little pieces of the past that make us who we are today. I find myself telling her about my childhood — about the small house we lived in, about my mom always making sure I had time for everything that mattered, even when I was so focused on my work.
