Page 81 of How to Fall for the Secret Billionaire
Not like I care, but…
By five p.m., the wine event is in full swing. Now, the band is playing something warm and jazzy, laughter bubbles from everydirection, and the golden hour light casts a glow that makes everything look like a postcard.
That’s when Cal walks in.
Button-down, sleeves rolled to the forearms, dark jeans that fit too well, hair slightly tousled like he didn’t even try. Like he just exists that effortlessly. He’s smiling at something someone says near the entrance, and it hits me like a punch to the gut.
No.
I shouldn’t care. I really shouldn’t.
But I do. I care too much.
He looks like every version of a fantasy I have no business entertaining. Not after everything.
Without thinking, I excuse myself from the table near the punch bowl and slip out of the front parlor into the open air. The evening breeze brushes against my arms like a balm, but it doesn’t cool the heat twisting in my chest.
I inhale, long and slow, and press a hand to my stomach. I don’t even know what I’m feeling—anger, longing, frustration, all of it knotted together in a way I can’t begin to untangle.
He’s leaving tomorrow.
And it feels like he’s taking something important with him.
I wander past the laughter and clinking glasses, past the rows of wine-tasting tables and the band warming up for their next set. No one stops me—they’re too busy enjoying themselves, which is exactly how it should be.
But I can’t breathe.
Not properly.
I find a quiet spot behind the trellis wall near the herb garden, where the string lights don’t quite reach and the music fades into a low hum. I sit there in silence for a while, feeling my heart expand and contract in my chest.
Suddenly, I get an overwhelming urge to call Mia.
Yes. Mia will know what to do.
I pull out my phone and tap Mia’s name.
She picks up on the second ring.
“Margot Hartwell! I was just telling someone about your inn and your impossibly perfect pastries. How’s the event? Did the band show up in one piece?”
“That’s not why I’m calling.”
There’s a pause. The silence on her end shifts.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s… there’s this guy. A guest. Cal.”
“Ooh.” Her voice perks up again. “A guy? Let me sit down for this one.”
“Stop.” I let out a soft laugh, then shake my head. “He’s been staying here for three weeks now. He helps with things. He’s kind. Funny. Quiet sometimes, but really warm. He gets along with my family—like, actually gets along with them. Dad practically treats him like a long-lost son.”
“Oh, dreamy.”
“You remember that romance book we read in the club last year, that put us all in a reading slump because we were so in love with the hero and couldn’t get into another romance book for weeks?”
Mia burst out laughing. “Oh, yes. We had to read an action genre after until we recovered. The hero’s name is Will, I think.”
