Page 68 of How to Fall for the Secret Billionaire
I shake my head, my voice softer now. “You always do that. Step in. It’s not just Glen. It’s everything else.”
He goes quiet. His fingers drum against the ceramic, then still. When he speaks, it’s almost a whisper.
“I just like to help you, Margot. Anything to relieve your stress.”
My breath catches. He looks at me then, really looks, and for a beat too long, neither of us moves.
Then he grins—playful, soft, familiar—and stands. “Come with me.”
I blink. “Where are we going?”
“Outside.” He picks up his teacup. “The sky’s beautiful tonight. I saw it from my window.”
I laugh under my breath but get up anyway, grabbing my tea. “You’re starting to sound like Aunt Edie.”
He leads me out the back, through the warm hush of the inn, into the open air. The night greets us like an old friend. He heads toward the herb garden, and I follow without question.
We sit on the bench, steam rising from our cups, shoulders barely brushing. The silence stretches wide and easy between us.
And for the first time all day, I feel myself begin to breathe again, which is ironic because this is where everything fell apart last night.
“You’re right,” I say softly, tilting my head back. “The sky’s actually beautiful.”
Cal points upward, dead serious. “That one’s Orion’s Elbow. And over there—that’s the Left Sock of Pegasus.”
I blink, trying to follow his finger. “Oh, really? I didn’t know you knew about skies and stars.”
He bursts out laughing. “I was messing with you. I don’t know anything. Those aren’t even real names.”
“Cal!” I slap his arm, playful and appalled. “I totally believed you!”
“But I get points for confidence, right?” he grins.
I shake my head, trying not to laugh, but I’m failing. His joy is so infectious, I feel it in my chest. Warm and steady.
“I’ve always loved astronomy,” he says after a pause. “I envy people who can just look up and know what they’re looking at. Like, they see stories in the sky. I think that’s… beautiful.”
“I think so, too.” I look up again at the vastness above, finishing the rest of my tea.
“And that’s one of the reasons I love it here so much,” he adds, setting his cup on the bench beside him. “No pollution. You can actually see the stars. Be reminded there’s beauty around you.” He glances at me briefly, then back up. “In the city, you can’t. Too many lights. Too many skyscrapers. The stars disappear.”
He exhales slowly. “I’m supposed to return in three days, and I already dread it.”
He’s still looking at the sky, but I’m not. I’m staring at him, completely thrown.
Three days.
Three days?
It hits me hard—like the wind’s been knocked out of my chest. I suck in a breath and try not to react, but it’s too late. My mouth parts involuntarily, and I know—I know—it shows.
I’ve been so wrapped up in him, in his presence, his laughter, his steadiness, that I forgot.
I forgot he’s leaving.
Usually, I’m hyper-aware of a guest’s check-out date. I prepare. I plan. But with Cal… he’s slipped into my life so seamlessly, it felt like he belonged here.
It still feels like that.
