Page 23 of How to Fall for the Secret Billionaire
Despite the knot still lodged somewhere under my ribs, I can’t help it—I laugh.
Right on cue, Ana drifts in from the hallway with her arms full of clean tea towels. “She’s right,” she says. “I didn’t know he was that handsome.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m still smiling. “Are we seriously gossiping about a guest?”
“Absolutely,” Hazel says. “It’s Everfield. What else is there to do?”
Ana tosses a towel into the drawer. “Besides, he barely said anything. Just sat in the corner drinking tea and then said goodnight like one second later.”
“Tall,” Hazel adds. “And that jawline? Come on.”
Hazel is right. That jawline. He’s handsome, and I’d be lying if I said otherwise. My thoughts are taking a deep dive, but I catch myself just in time and force my face into a frown.
“Girls—to the truck. Now!”
CAL
Iwake up earlier than expected.
The room is quiet—too quiet for someone used to the constant hum of L.A. No traffic, no distant sirens. Just birdsong and the faint creak of the old building settling into the day.
It’s oddly peaceful.
I get up, shower, and pull on a hoodie over my T-shirt, deciding to take a walk. I could use some air. Maybe stretch my legs before breakfast. Maybe clear my head.
Downstairs, the front desk is manned by the lady from yesterday, Ana. She’s cheerful in a calm, steady sort of way. Not too much small talk, which I appreciate.
“Morning,” she says, glancing up from a clipboard.
“Morning.” I smile.
“Where are you off to so early?” She leans on the counter.
I gesture toward the door. “Just heading out for a quick walk.”
She smiles. “Enjoy it. It’s beautiful this time of day—especially if you take the trail by the winery. And breakfast starts at eight, just so you know.”
I nod. “Thanks.”
Then I glance around. I don’t ask out loud, but I look. Margot isn’t here.
Not that I was expecting her to be. But something about our interaction yesterday—firm but polite, professional but still… real—sticks with me. I can’t remember the last time someone spoke to me without pretense. Without caution or flattery or calculation.
I step outside.
The air is crisp, fresh. There’s a thin layer of dew on the grass, and the whole world smells like earth and woodsmoke. The inn’s porch creaks under my feet, and for a second, I just stand there, hands in my pockets, watching the town slowly wake up.
I don’t know what I’m doing here—not really. But I know I want more of whatever this is.
Quiet.
Real.
Uncomplicated.
I start walking.
I start down the gravel path, letting my feet decide where I go. The air’s cool against my skin, and for the first time in a long time, I’m not in a rush.
