Page 62 of The Kiss that Captured a Billionaire
“How did you find me so fast?” she asked.
“You get to blame Nikos this time,” he chuckled. “This one’s on him, but I’ll tell you tomorrow, just in case you do decide to kick me out.”
Fifteen
Theo stepped out of the restroom, drawing in a lungful of crisp morning air. The early sun cast long, golden shafts through the cottonwoods, their leaves shimmering above him. His breath puffed faintly in the cool air, but it wasn’t just the smell of coffee that drew him back to the van.
Rose was sitting cross-legged on the picnic table bench, steam curling from the enamel mug in her hands. She looked up when she saw him and held out a second mug toward him.
“Coffee,” she said simply.
He took it, fingers brushing hers. “Efcharistó,” he murmured, savoring the warmth against his chilled hands before taking a cautious sip.
She tilted her head, studying him. “Everything okay?”
“Yes. Why?”
“You’re looking at me funny.”
His lips curved. “Just… surprised you didn’t leave me again.”
She shrugged, a little smirk tugging at her mouth. “Would it have made a difference?”
“No,” he admitted, shaking his head. “I’d find you again. No matter how long it takes. Unless you don’t…”
Her eyes sharpened. “Unless I don’t what?”
He hesitated. The truth lodged somewhere in his throat, heavier than he expected. She unfolded her legs and stood. Stepping closer, her gaze locked on his.
“Unless I don’t what?” she repeated, softer this time.
He held her gaze, every instinct screaming at him to keep the words to himself. But he couldn’t. He shook his head in response.
For the first time in his life, uncertainty clawed at him. He’d faced billion-dollar deals and life-or-death missions with more confidence. But nothing mattered as much as her—and if she told him it was over, he had no idea what he’d do.
Her hand lifted toward his face, her fingertips almost brushing his cheek… then she dropped it and turned away. His chest tightened, bracing for her to end things between them right there.
Instead, she tucked her hair behind her ear and said casually, “Breakfast is ready.”
Relief swept through him so fast his knees almost buckled. He nodded once, willing his voice to work. “Thank you.”
They sat next to each other, their mugs steaming between them. A bowl of oatmeal sat in front of him, dotted with raisins and sliced banana.
He eyed the bowl, his lips twitching with self-deprecating amusement. “You know, this is quite a decadent breakfast for a billionaire.”
She grinned. “Don’t I know it. I splurged on the cinnamon.”
He ate a spoonful, pretending to consider it seriously. “Better than the pre-made food at the service station yesterday. I won’t even mention their coffee. That… was a crime against humanity.”
Her laughter bubbled out, as warm as the coffee. “That’s what you get for insulting my driving. Be careful about doing it to my cooking. If you thought my leaving you at the service station was bad, it could get much worse.”
He chuckled and leaned back, picking up his coffee cup and savoring another sip. “This is actually good—better than anything I’ve had in days.”
“High praise,” she teased.
“The highest,” he confirmed gravely.
They fell into easy chatter, talking about the morning chill, the way the van had creaked under them last night, and—though neither outright said it—the fact that they’d shared the narrow bed. She made a crack about how he took up at least seventy percent of the mattress; he countered with how her blanket-hogging could be classified as a hostile takeover.
