Page 66 of How to Fall for the Secret Billionaire
“You’re kidding,” Aunt Edie breathes.
“Nope.” I shake my head, the excitement bubbling up now that I’ve said it out loud. “It’s real. I double-checked everything. It’s sitting in our account as we speak.”
“How much?” Mom whispers.
When I tell them, they both gasp and then squeal. This is the happiest I’ve seen them in a while. Yup. Cal forgotten. For now.
Mom clasps her hands together, practically vibrating. “Oh, Margot. That’s incredible!”
“But who would send such a large amount of money?” Aunt Edie asks. “Is someone that wealthy in Everfield?”
“Who cares!” Mom laughs, reaching for a slice of pear. “This is a miracle. I’ve only ever heard about Christmas miracles. We may have just invented fall miracles.”
I laugh too, but part of me is still stunned. It’s been sitting on my chest like a secret, and now that it’s out, it’s starting to feel real.
We spread out napkins and begin scribbling notes—budget ideas, priority lists, actual excitement. It’s ridiculous how fast we slip into planning mode, but it’s what we do best. Make do. Make plans. Make it work.
Jo taps her pen against the rim of her teacup. “I’m just so thankful we can sort Edie’s hospital bills. That alone is enough to make me cry.”
“I’ll be fine, you know,” Aunt Edie mutters, though she looks suspiciously misty-eyed.
“We know,” I say gently. “But it’s still been a lot.”
“And there’s still enough left over,” Mom adds.
We all laugh. It feels good. Like air after too long underwater.
I sit back, holding my cup between my palms. For the first time in months, the weight on my shoulders feels… lighter.
Maybe miracles do happen. Even in the middle of fall.
We all freeze at the sudden bang of the front door, followed by the unmistakable squeal of a child. A second later, a blur of sandy hair and sticky fingers barrels into the kitchen, giggling like he’s just pulled off a heist.
“Niall,” I say, half-laughing, half-groaning. “What are you doing here?”
Clara appears in the doorway right behind him, her eyes rimmed with exhaustion and her hair doing its best impression of a tumbleweed. “He refused to go with the others to his father, so I’m stuck babysitting.” She narrows her eyes at her son. “Niall! Drop that! Now!”
He’s climbing the stool, reaching for Aunt Edie’s tea tin with the confidence of a child who’s done this before. I swoop in and redirect him toward a safer thrill—an empty fruit bowl.
“Clara, you can’t babysit your own kids,” Mom says through a laugh. “They’re your kids.”
Clara groans and flops dramatically onto the stool by the door. “Jo, please just let me have that. Please.”
Aunt Edie chuckles into her cup, and Niall starts banging the fruit bowl like it’s a drum set.
I take that as my cue to escape. “Okay, chaos crew,” I announce, pushing back my chair. “It’s almost time for Kettle Hour. I need to make sure everything’s in place.”
Kettle Hour passes in a blur—laughter, stories, warm scones, the usual magic. But no Cal.
I’d seen him earlier, just before it started, slipping into the inn and heading straight upstairs. Not a glance in my direction. Not that I was looking. Much.
By eight, the place is quiet. Guests have trickled off to their rooms, the fireplace crackles low, and the scent of cinnamon still hangs in the air. I’m behind the reception desk, flipping through the daily reports, when the landline rings.
I answer with my usual calm voice. “Good evening. This is Margot from the Key & Kettle Inn. How may I help you today?”
“Margot. It’s Glen.”
I straighten, feeling very guilty. I really should have called, but I got carried away with everything happening and forgot. “Glen? How are you?”
