Page 42 of How to Fall for the Secret Billionaire
I turn. “Look at the road, Mr. Reid.”
“I’m looking.” He glances out at the windshield again, a half-smile on his face.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
His lips twitch. “You’re pretty.”
Just like that. Like it’s a basic observation, like he’s pointing out the weather.
Before I can recover, he adds, “I also think it’s sweet. What you’re doing—racing into town to buy flowers for a guest’s anniversary? That kind of care isn’t the usual. It proves Key & Kettle is a real home.”
His voice is low, genuine. No charm, no game. Just truth.
I can’t help but smile. “Thank you.”
“So how many years have they been married?” he asks, eyes on the winding road ahead.
“Forty-eight,” I say.
He lets out a low gasp. “Their marriage is older than me.”
I arch a brow, latching onto that crumb of information. “How old are you?”
He glances sideways, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I’ll tell you… but only if you do something for me in return.”
“Something like?”
“Stop calling me Mr. Reid.” His tone is light, but there’s a note of sincerity underneath. “I’ll be more comfortable if you call me Cal.”
I consider that. “Okay,” I say eventually. “Deal.”
“Good. I’m thirty-one.”
“Oh.”
He chuckles. “Oh? What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. You don’t look a day over twenty-five.”
His smile grows. “Your first compliment. I’m filing that one away for later.”
I laugh, shaking my head. It’s so easy to talk to him, easier than I want it to be. My shoulders begin to loosen without me realizing.
“So… Mr.—Cal.” I catch myself, and he gives me a small approving nod.
“Yes?”
“Where did you even find out about Key & Kettle?”
“An online ad,” he answers. “I was hooked immediately.”
I raise an eyebrow, teasing. “So the marketing worked.”
“Too well,” he mutters, almost to himself. Then he glances at me. “But I’m glad it did.”
There’s a beat of quiet, then he laughs and stays silent. For the first time in my life, I’m dying to continue a conversation, but I don’t want to press hard.
Soon, we pull up in front of The Wild Bunch, one of Everfield’s flower shops, a cozy little cottage with ivy crawling up its sides and soft music floating out through the open door. I reach for the handle, but before I get out, I glance at Cal.
