Page 25 of How to Fall for the Secret Billionaire
He stands and wipes his hands on an old rag tucked into his back pocket. He’s solidly built, maybe in his early sixties, with sharp eyes and the kind of quiet calm I recognize from guys who are good with their hands and not big on wasting words.
“Don’t think I’ve seen you around,” he says.
“Just got in yesterday,” I reply, offering a handshake. “Cal.”
He takes it with a firm grip. “Sam. I’m the unofficial handyman around here. Margot calls me mostly to wrangle loose floorboards and grumpy plumbing.”
Small talk. I can’t remember the last time I did something like this. I laugh. “Honestly? Sounds like a good life.”
He chuckles. “Some days are better than others. You into woodworking?”
I nod. “A little. I used to mess around with scrap pieces in my dad’s garage when I was younger. Nothing fancy. Mostly just to impress him.”
Sam tilts his head like he gets it. “That’s the best kind, then.”
Sam doesn’t ask what I do. Where I’m from. He just talks. Like I’m any guy passing through. Like I belong here.
It’s… nice.
Eventually, he slaps the hammer against his palm and says, “Well, if the porch falls apart under your feet tomorrow, just pretend you never saw me.”
“Deal,” I say with a grin.
He nods once and bends back down to finish what he started.
I head inside.
Inside, the inn smells like maple and something warm. I head toward the front desk, where Ana is flipping through a clipboard.
She looks up and smiles. “Hey, you’re back.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Town’s beautiful.”
“It grows on you fast,” she says. “You ready for breakfast?”
“I was actually wondering…” I glance toward the stairs. “Can I have breakfast in my room?”
“Of course,” she says. “We usually serve in the dining area, but we can make an exception.”
“I appreciate it.”
“I’ll send something up in a few minutes,” she says, jotting something down. “Any allergies?”
“Nope. I’ll eat whatever the chef’s feeling good about.”
She laughs. “Got it. Go ahead and relax. I’ll make sure Waffles doesn’t eat your toast before it gets to you.”
As if summoned, Waffles trots out from behind the counter, tail wagging with joyful entitlement. He noses at my hand and gives a soft, insistent bark.
“Hey, buddy,” I say, crouching to ruffle his ears. “You again.”
He flops onto his back for a belly rub, completely unbothered by the world.
I’m still on the floor with Waffles when I hear a voice behind me.
“Well, well. Aren’t you a morning person?”
I look up to find a woman descending the stairs in a silky bathrobe and slippers. Amee. I remember the name from yesterday’s introductions.
