Page 145 of How to Fall for the Secret Billionaire
She hums as she buckles in—some old jazz tune Jo had playing last night in the orchard house. I think she’s doing it without realizing. I hope she never stops.
The house isn’t far. Ten minutes from the Key & Kettle, past a bend in the road where the trees lean in like they’re whispering secrets. There’s an old oak in the front yard and wide porch steps that creak when I test them. The house is huge, but it’s exactly what we want.
Margot had some reservations about leaving the inn permanently, but it’s not a far walk, and her sisters assured us they’ll be around more often to help. It’s a new step for us, and we’re happy to have their support.
I open the front door, then step back to let her go in first.
She lingers in the doorway. Doesn’t rush it. Just stands there, eyes scanning every corner, like she’s trying to memorize it before it becomes real.
Then she takes a breath and steps inside.
It’s quiet. Bright. Fresh paint, clean floors, sun pooling across the hardwood. I can already see her making coffee in the mornings. Reading near the window. Laughing in the hallway. I walk in after her, close the door, and we just stand there—hand in hand, still in our coats, hearts beating fast.
“You ready?” I ask.
She turns to me, face flushed from the cold and the moment. “I’ve never been more ready.”
I kiss her hand. Let the quiet settle around us like a promise.
We’re not just building a home. We’re building a life.
I hear footsteps crunching on the gravel outside.
Margot’s head tilts. “You hear that?”
Before I can answer, Waffles comes charging around the corner like a rocket in fur. His tongue is out, ears flopping like he’s in his own slow-motion movie.
“Oh geez,” I mutter, stepping aside just in time.
Margot yelps as Waffles barrels past us and into the house like he already owns the place. He skids across the hardwood, tail wagging furiously as he circles the empty living room and flops right in the middle like he’s claiming his territory.
“Well,” Margot says, breathless and laughing. “Looks like he approves.”
Behind him, the rest of her family walks up—Aunt Edie in her signature scarf, Hazel with paint on her jeans, Thea clutching a small potted plant like a housewarming gift, and Jo and Sam holding hands, looking proud enough to burst.
They all stop on the porch, looking in through the open door like it’s the beginning of something sacred.
Hazel’s the first to speak. “So…when’s the first dinner party?”
Margot just grins and pulls me closer. “Soon. But first, we make this place ours.”
And as her family steps into our new home, I realize something:
I thought I was starting over the day I left everything behind.
But really… this is the beginning. It all starts here.
The End.
