Page 55 of How to Fall for the Secret Billionaire
She laughs, shaking her head as we head back toward the house, our footsteps crunching softly on the gravel.
“Oh,” she says casually, like it’s not a big deal at all, “my mom’s making breakfast tomorrow. You should come.”
I stop for a second. “You want me to come have breakfast with your parents?”
She turns slightly, walking backward now, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. “Yes.”
“Wow.”
She raises a brow. “Is that a yes or a no?”
I shake my head slowly, still stunned. “Will there be pancakes?”
She chuckles. “Possibly. Depends if Mom is feeling generous.”
“In that case…” I nod. “Yes. I’ll come.”
She smiles, and something warm flickers in her eyes. She keeps walking. And I do too.
But inside, I’m buzzing. Because she asked. Because she wants me there.
And because somehow, for the first time in a long time—I’m happy. Very happy.
Inside the house, the silence stretches between us after we say goodnight. Neither of us moves.
Then Margot clears her throat. “Do you want some tea?”
I nod, trying not to smile too quickly. “Are we stealing Aunt Edie’s tea again? Because if yes, I’m officially proposing we laceher dinner with sedatives. I can’t survive one more morning of tilling that herb garden.”
She laughs, and the sound shoots straight through me.
“I can’t survive one more night of foot massages, either,” she says, veering off toward the kitchen. “Which is why tonight, we’re using my personal stash.”
I blink. “You have a tea collection? And you’ve been hiding it from me? I thought we were past secrets.”
She grins and opens a small wooden drawer beside the sink. “It’s not as vast as Aunt Edie’s, but it’s something.”
I peer in. It’s smaller, yes—but somehow more her. The care, the arrangement and the simplicity is veryMargot. There’s chamomile and a lemon-honey blend. A floral one in a clear bag with dried hibiscus petals. Something with mint. A couple of teas I can’t even pronounce.
“Pick one,” she says, crossing her arms.
I look at the drawer, then at her. Doesn’t matter what I choose. I’m not here for the tea.
“This one,” I say, grabbing the first thing my fingers touch.
She gives me a skeptical look. “You didn’t even read the label.”
“I don’t care,” I say, leaning back on the counter. “As long as I get to drink it with you.”
And just like that, her smile slips a little—not in a bad way. Just softer. Quieter. Like something’s shifting between us.
She boils the water. I watch her. I’m exactly where I want to be.
Moments later, she hands me my cup, watching as I take a careful sip.
I close my eyes for a beat, letting the warmth slide down. “Peppermint… and a little lavender?”
Her lips part in a smile. “Correct.”
