Page 103 of How to Fall for the Secret Billionaire
“She looks fine, let her breathe?—”
Aunt Edie lifts both hands like a queen greeting her court. “Well, I did say I missed the circus.”
And for the first time all day, I laugh.
As my family crowds around Aunt Edie—offering her water and fluffing her pillows—I step back, quietly inching toward the window.
I should be laughing with them. I should be relieved, fully and openly. But all I can think about is Cal.
From the moment Glen came rushing in—panicked and out of breath—Cal was there. He was the first one to move, the one who helped carry Aunt Edie down the stairs, who drove us to the hospital like his life depended on it. He signed the forms. He opened the doors. He smiled at me like everything was going to be okay, and somehow, I believed him.
He told me not to call my parents right away. Said the doctors had her stabilized, and it would only cause more panic. And he was right.
And when the adrenaline wore off and the waiting began, he stayed. All night. Eyes wide open, sitting beside me, telling ridiculous stories to keep me awake, to keep me sane.
Not once did I feel alone.
Now, looking out the window, I realize my feelings for him have grown. He’s not just a guest anymore. He’s not even just a friend.
He’s become something more. Something steady and safe and good. I don’t know what that means yet—but I’m willing to plunge in. I’m no longer afraid.
Throughout the day, we make sure Aunt Edie gets exactly what the doctor ordered: rest, tea, more rest, and absolutely no excitement. She rolls her eyes at the fussing, of course—tells Hazel to stop plumping the pillows like she’s punching them, tells Thea to stop asking if she needs anything every five minutes, tells me to go stretch my legs and stop hovering. But underneath all her protests, I can tell she loves being loved this way.
By evening, she’s back to her usual self—bossing the nurses around, making jokes about hospital food, and flirtingshamelessly with the young male orderly who wheels her to the car.
We take her home in quiet relief, our little family exhaling all at once. By the time we pull into the gravel driveway of the inn, twilight has settled in like a soft blanket. Aunt Edie is dozing in the backseat, her head tipped slightly, a peaceful look on her face. I don’t want to wake her, but Ana opens the front door before we’ve even parked and comes hurrying out, her face lit up.
“Surprise delivery came in while you were gone!” she says as we start helping Aunt Edie out of the car. “New linens—like, really nice ones. Two full crates of cleaning supplies. And wait till you see the kitchen stock—truffle oil, saffron, imported pasta… I thought I was dreaming.”
Aunt Edie blinks, confused. “Did someone make a mistake? I didn’t order anything.”
“That’s what I thought,” Ana says. “But everything had the inn’s name on it, labeled and delivered perfectly. I even asked the guy twice if he had the wrong address. He said, ‘Key & Kettle, right?’ Then gave me this.”
She hands me an envelope. Inside is a printed invoice, simple and neat. Everything Ana described is listed—each item high-end, nothing frivolous, just… thoughtful. Useful. Expensive.
I scan the bottom, expecting to see a business name, a sender, something.
Nothing. No company. No person. No return address.
Just a single, typed line where the name should be:
Paid in full.
My stomach tightens. I glance at Aunt Edie, who’s now busy scolding Hazel for carrying her too quickly.
Ana looks pleased. Aunt Edie looks grateful.
But I’m suspicious. And I have a sinking feeling I know exactly who sent it.
I tuck the invoice into my back pocket, still thinking about that single, haunting line—Paid in full.
“Where’s Cal?” I ask Ana quietly as we step inside.
She glances around the empty common room and shrugs. “He said he needed a walk. Left maybe twenty minutes ago. Hasn’t come back yet.”
Of course he did.
We help Aunt Edie up the stairs slowly, all of us hovering as if she might shatter at any moment. She grumbles the entire way, saying we’re fussing too much, but the smile she gives us when we finally settle her into bed is warm and tired and grateful.
