Page 33 of How to Fall for the Secret Billionaire
I blink, surprised by the question, but then realize not everyone is familiar with small towns. He looks and acts like a city boy, no matter how hard he’s trying to blend in. “Kentucky.”
He nods like that confirms something for him, but doesn’t offer more. I wait a beat, then sip from my mug again. Still warm. Still fragrant.
I’m dying to ask him something—anything. I’ve already searched “Cal Reid” and found nothing. No background, no job info, no hometown, nothing. Just three short words and a blank profile. It’s maddening.
But I don’t ask. I bite my curiosity back and smile into my cup instead.
He stands, empty cup in hand, and takes a step toward the sink.
“I’ve got it,” I say, reaching for the mug before he can make it past the counter.
But he shifts away, gripping the handle tightly. “I’ll rinse my own cup, thank you, Miss Hartwell.”
Miss Hartwell.
The way he says it—formal, teasing, serious all at once—makes something flutter under my ribs.
He rinses the mug, dries it, then places it carefully on the rack and turns back to me.
“Thank you for the tea.”
“You’re welcome.”
His gaze lingers on mine for half a second too long.
Then he nods. “Goodnight, Margot.”
“Goodnight.”
He walks out of the kitchen, leaving me staring after him in a heavy state of confusion. He’s barely gone when I hear the familiar creak of the back hallway floorboard. I freeze.
Aunt Edie walks in like she hasn’t just scared the life out of me.
I instinctively slide my cup behind a huge box of sugar and try to angle my body between her and it like I’m not doing something mildly criminal.
“Aunt Edie,” I say slowly, suspiciously, “what are you doing?”
She raises an eyebrow, head tilted like she’s already caught me.
I’m trying to be softer with her today. After yesterday’s little explosion and my long apology this morning, we agreed we were fine. Still, it’s hard not to fuss when I see her up this late. She should be resting, not wandering the inn like a midnight inspector.
She inhales dramatically. “I can smell it. You brewed my favorite tea.”
I roll my eyes, unamused. “Aunt Edie, you don’t even drink the tea. You hoard it. It lives in your drawer like treasure, and you drink coffee like the rest of us mortals.”
She ignores me and walks over to the drawer anyway, peeking in like I may have stolen an entire sachet collection. “Just because I don’t drink it doesn’t mean I don’t notice when it’s been disturbed.”
“I didn’t disturb anything,” I say, lifting my chin with innocent pride. “I just borrowed a little.”
“A little?”
“For a cup,” I say.
She narrows her eyes. “You mean two.”
I suck in a breath. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, come on.” She waves a hand toward the hallway. “I just saw Cal heading upstairs, and he smelled like my tea.”
