Page 100 of How to Fall for the Secret Billionaire
I freeze.
I’m about to take one quiet step backward, disappear before they notice me—when Aunt Edie turns.
“Oh don’t worry,” she says with a mischievous smile. “I was just about to leave.”
Margot’s eyes snap toward me in surprise.
“No wonder she’s been trying to get me out of here all evening,” Edie adds as she grabs her tea and slips past me. “Ten minutes ago it was, ‘Don’t you want to rest, Aunt Edie?’ and five minutes ago it was, ‘Are you sure you’re not tired, Aunt Edie?’ Honestly, it was suspicious.”
I glance at Margot. She’s blushing. Bright red. And I’m pretty sure I am too.
Edie hums as she walks out. “Young people,” she says, half-singing to herself. “Always so obvious.”
Margot won’t meet my eyes.
And just like that, we’re alone.
We stare at each other quietly, the kitchen wrapped in a hush that hums just beneath the surface. The tea kettle lets out a soft puff of steam. Margot leans against the counter, her arms loosely folded, her eyes on me. There’s a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. I match it without thinking.
Neither of us says a word.
Until she breaks the silence.
“Should we take a walk?” she asks, her voice soft but certain.
I nod, my chest already lighter. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
We slip out through the back door. The night air is cool, but not cold. The orchard behind the inn glows in the moonlight, rows of trees stretching wide beneath the stars. It’s quiet in that magical way only small towns can be at night—just the crunch of our footsteps on grass and the sound of wind moving through branches.
Margot wraps her arms around herself as we walk. Not because she’s cold, I think, but because she’s nervous. I get it. I am too.
I want to reach for her hand, but I don’t. Not yet.
Instead, I say, “This place is so dreamy.”
She glances at me, her mouth quirking. “Yes. Aunt Edie and my dad planted most of it when I was a kid.”
“Wow. What was your childhood like in Everfield?”
She pauses, glancing around like she can still see the echoes of her childhood between the trees. “It was a good one. My childhood.”
I wait, letting her speak in her own rhythm.
“My parents… and Aunt Edie—they made everything feel safe. Warm. We didn’t have everything, but we had each other. There were bonfires out here in the fall. Homemade jam in the summers. We made up stories under these trees, pretended we were fairies and witches and secret agents.”
I grin. “Secret agents, huh?”
“Oh, absolutely. Thea had a decoder ring and everything.”
She laughs, and the sound feels like it tugs something in my chest. There’s so much heart in her. So much history.
She looks up suddenly, then pulls me gently by the sleeve. “Come on. Let’s sit.”
She leads me off the path to a wide, knotted tree with thick roots stretching out like arms. She lowers herself to the ground, and I follow. We sit shoulder to shoulder, our legs stretched out in front of us, staring up at the moon through the branches.
Everything’s still. Quiet.
I want to reach for her hand.
