Page 96 of How to Fall for the Secret Billionaire
Ana gasps. “You knew? And you didn’t tell me?”
“We talked about it last night,” I say, reaching for the Earl Grey tin.
Ana’s brows shoot up, and for a second, I think she’s going to interrogate me. But then she tilts her head, narrowing her eyes. “Are you okay?”
I glance up, stirring honey into my cup. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
She doesn’t press. Just hums and heads to the fridge, pulling out a few bottles of cold sparkling lemonade.
“I’m taking these to Cal and your dad. They’re sweating buckets in the garden,” she says over her shoulder.
My heart skips. I knew he was still here—of course I did—but hearing it out loud sends a flutter through my chest.
He’s really staying for me!
“I’ll take it out,” I say, reaching for the cold bottles in Ana’s arms before I can change my mind.
Ana raises an eyebrow. “Okay…” She hands them over, watching me a second too long, like she knows something I haven’t admitted yet.
I leave my tea forgotten and step out the back door, the drinks clinking against each other as I press them to my chest.
The sun is already warm on my face, and the garden looks freshly alive—green, blooming, bright. Then I see them. Cal and Dad, laughing like they’ve been friends for years, crouched near the hose and a pile of tools like it’s a Saturday morning ritual.
My heart does a little skip. Then a tumble. Then another skip.
Dad sees me first and waves. “Hi, Margot!”
I laugh and wave back, walking toward them with the kind of nerves that make me wish I’d let Ana bring this out instead. I can’t even look at Cal. Not yet. Not with the memory of last night still blooming on my lips.
They stand when I get close, dusting off their hands like they’re getting ready for something important. I hand them the bottles—one to Dad, the other to Cal.
“Thanks,” Cal says, and when I finally glance at him, he’s already looking at me. He winks.
I feel my face go hot—cheeks, ears, neck, everything. I probably look like a sunburnt tomato. Great.
They both open their drinks and take long gulps, and I just stand there, trying to remember how to breathe like a normal person.
Cal lowers his bottle, his eyes still on me. “You look beautiful, Margot.”
I suck in a breath. It hits me low in the stomach, like I wasn’t bracing for it—because I wasn’t.
“Thank you,” I manage, my voice way too soft. And then, like a total coward, I turn away, “I-I should get back inside.”
I don’t wait for a reply. I just turn and walk—fast—trying not to trip over my own feet, trying not to grin like an idiot, trying not to think about how stupidly happy one compliment from him makes me.
Geez. What is happening to me?
Through the rest of the day, Cal and I don’t speak to each other. Not properly, at least. I’m avoiding him—and not in a subtle way, either. Every time he enters a room, I find a reason to leave it. I keep myself busy, too busy, like that’ll stop me from thinking about his compliment. Or his wink. Or that kiss.
He’s always hovering nearby, though. Not in an annoying way—just close. Like he’s waiting for the moment I stop running.
But I can’t talk to him. Not yet. Not when I feel like a little schoolgirl with a crush, flushed and awkward and far too aware of the way he looks at me.
I keep stealing glances, though. Watching him move through the inn like he belongs here. And for the first time… I don’t pushthe thought away. The idea of him here, in this space, in my space—it doesn’t scare me. It doesn’t tighten my chest the way permanence usually does.
And that’s when it hits me.
Since Cal arrived, I haven’t felt overwhelmed. Not once. I haven’t snapped at anyone. Haven’t curled up in my room, paralyzed by the pressure of keeping everything running. I haven’t cried in the pantry once.
