Page 13 of The Billionaire Is Back

I nodded and examined the front and the back of the CD case. “You should know. You’re the same exact way,” I muttered.

I looked back up at her. There was a patch of flour on her cheek. There was always flour on her face or in her hair or on her clothes. Evidence of her passion for baking. I had always pointed it out to her whenever I saw it, and she’d brush it away herself because it didn’t seem right for me to touch her like that.

But this time it didn’t feel quite right not touching her. In a friendlyyou’re my best friend’s little sister, so this is just me being helpfulkind of way. “Flour on your face,” I said quietly. I reached over and gently wiped it from her cheek with my thumb, the way I’d wipe away a tear. I didn’t mean to cup her face, but she leaned into my hand. I held it there for just a second. She was Jake’slittle sister, and I had always thought of her like my own little sister when we’d been growing up. She was Little Sweeney. But in that moment, I realized I couldn’t ignore how things were changing for her. And I knew they could never change for me. I stroked her cheek with my thumb again one more time before pulling my hand away.

And then Jake or Damien or Robbie or her parents interrupted us, and the memory drifts away.

“Awake my soul!”I scream over the music and wind.

Our music is noughties.

The stereo is nineties.

My car is eighties.

But our souls are even older, Claire’s and mine.

I stop a couple of times for gas and snacks along the highway, but I make great time. As I exit off the state route, I can smell the sea. New York is surrounded by ocean water, but it’s not the same. New York smells like concrete and people. Like city. I didn’t realize how much I missed this smell until the sea salt whips around the inside of my car.

It’s around4:30 when I pull into my parents’ driveway. I stare at the house I grew up in. As predicted, they refused to let me buy them a new house. I sent them money for upgrades, but they always claimed the housedidn’t need it. Right now, I kind of like that it doesn’t look much different from how I left it.

My journey back in time is officially complete. I feel a little battered. My voice is hoarse, my skin’s sweaty, my heart’s aching a little, and my soul is most definitely awake.

But I’m home.

And whatever I’ve missed, whatever I’ve failed at, I can make up for it. Because that’s what I do. I work hard and I work smart and I get shit done.

I step out of the car, stroll over to the front porch, and try to open my parents’ front door. It’s locked, and I didn’t bring my key. I knock, try the doorbell.

No answer.

I peer into the windows from the porch. Doesn’t look like anyone’s home.

What the hell? It’s not like I was expecting a party but—no one’s here?

I text my mom.

ME: Hey, I just pulled up. Where are you guys?

I see dots, and then a text pops up pretty quickly.

MOM: Oh, heavens! I’m sorry honey, we’re running late. Can you go to Main Street and pick up the cake? Oh God, it’s probably closed by now. Is it closed? It’s probably closed.

This is my mother’s textingstyle. She could have said that out loud or thought it to herself and then typed something else. But that’s not how she rolls. Every thought gets typed out.

ME: What’s the cake for?

MOM: For your welcome home, silly! I put in the order as soon as I got off the phone with you this morning!

ME: I have to go pick up my own welcome home cake?

MOM: Excuse me, Mr. Fancypants. Too important to pick up a cake? Maybe you can have your butler do it?

I sigh. Even if I wasn’t worth a billion dollars, would it be fair of me to think that picking up my own welcome-home cake is weird? I think that’s fair. But I guess I can’t say because I do, in fact, have a billion dollars.

MOM: We’d get it, but I’m on the beach with your father and brother and they refuse to leave, even though I’ve reminded them several times that we need to pick up the cake and get home to see you. But the lobster training is taking longer than expected. They’re telling me it’s in a very precarious place.

I read those last two sentences three times in my head.

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