Page 92 of How to Fall for the Secret Billionaire
I end the call, slip my phone into my back pocket, and start walking toward him.
Sam spots me from a distance and lifts a hand in greeting. He stops walking and waits, like he expected me to come along eventually. I pick up my pace and fall into step beside him.
“Morning,” I say.
He nods. “Morning, Cal.”
His gaze roams with my face. “You look… rested.”
I laugh. “Do I?”
He gives me a knowing look. “Rested. Happy. I like this look on you.”
I try not to smile, but I fail. Margot’s face flashes in my mind—her laugh, her lips, the way she looked at me last night.
“Maybe because I’ve decided to stay a few more weeks.”
Sam smiles. “I knew it! So where are you headed?”
“Just out for a walk. Clearing my head.”
He nods. “I ran into town to fix something for a local. Heading home now to grab breakfast before I come back to the inn. Need to deal with that busted hose in the garden.”
He pauses, then jerks his head toward the orchard path. “Come eat. Jo made cornbread.”
I start to shake my head. “I need to talk to Margot first?—”
He cuts me off with a scoff. “This has nothing to do with Margot. I’m offering you breakfast as a friend, not trying to matchmake you with my daughter.”
I raise a hand in surrender, grinning. “All right, all right. I won’t say no to cornbread.”
We head down the path toward the orchard house, and the moment Sam pushes open the door, the smell of something warm and buttery hits me. Jo is at the stove, pulling a skillet off the burner, and when she sees me, her whole face lights up.
“Well, look who’s here!” she says, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Cal, you’re just in time. Sit, sit. I made cornbread and sausage gravy.”
“Good morning, Jo,” I say, grinning as I take a seat at the table. “You’re going to spoil me.”
“That’s the point,” she says with a wink. “Sam never brings his friends around, so I have to make sure the ones who do come never want to leave.”
My smile widens when Jo refers to me as Sam’s friend, but for a second, it falls as I wonder if I’m not pushing our friendship by being interested in his daughter. Should I talk to Sam about it? Or should I pursue this thing with Margot first and see where it leads?
We dig into breakfast, and it’s perfect—crispy-edged cornbread, warm and soft inside, with gravy that tastes like home. Jo keeps the conversation lively, telling stories about the orchard, while Sam throws in dry one-liners that make her swat his arm.
I find myself laughing, actually laughing, not the polite kind I usually give at boardroom jokes. I like it here. Maybe too much.
By the time we’re done, the sun is higher, and Sam glances at the clock. “We better head back so I can fix that hose before Margot notices.”
Jo waves us off with a smile and another piece of cornbread wrapped in a napkin for me. We walk back toward the inn, the gravel crunching underfoot, sun already beating down like it’s got something to prove. Sam’s talking about the garden hose he wants to fix—it’s been leaking near the hydrangeas and “creating a swamp” under the mulch.
“I told Edie I’d deal with it yesterday,” he mutters, adjusting the cornbread napkin Jo gave him so it doesn’t fall out of his pocket. “She threatened to stage a drought protest if I didn’t.”
I laugh. “Well, I can’t wait to see that. Aunt Edie chaining herself to the hose with a homemade sign.”
He snorts. “Don’t tempt her.”
When we reach the garden, the humidity hits full force. It’s beautiful back here—rows of blooming lavender, thick green vines twisting around white trellises—but the air is heavy, the kind that clings to your skin.
Sam stops, looks at me with narrowed eyes. “You should go inside. It’s too hot for standing around.”
