Page 3 of The Billionaire Is Back

“Yeah.”

“What are you going to do with all the money you make?”

“Make more money. And buy my parents a new house.”

I guffaw at that. “Your parents would never move out of their house.”

“Then I’ll pay for a total remodel.”

“That’s it? You’re going to make lots of money and pay for a remodel?”

“No, Sweeney,” he says, in a not-at-all-condescending way. “I’m going to do a lot more than that.”

“But what if it doesn’t make you happy?”

He stops in his tracks for a second, in the same way that he did when he took that first bite of my s’more. I guess no one’s ever asked himthis before. “I’m already happy, Claire.” He isn’t being defensive. He’s telling the truth.

“Then why do you need more than what you have here?”

He looks away from me, staring out at the lights reflected in the harbor. “I want to see how far I can go. Y’know? Not in terms of distance. I want to see what I’m capable of, what my limits are. Living here limits what I can accomplish. That doesn’t mean I hate this town or this life.” He looks back at me. “You really can’t see yourself ever leaving here?”

“No.” I don’t have to think about it either. It’s true. But the other thing that’s true is something I will never say out loud—to Grady or anyone else. That I have this crazy feeling I’d leave with him if he asked me to. Any place, any time. What I say, though, is “I couldn’t imagine living more than a few blocks from the water or Main Street or the islands. The puffins and the seals and the whales and the hanging baskets and just…everything. I love everything about this place.”

He nods, slowly. I wait for him to ask a question. Any question. Anything to break the silence. All I’m aware of is the maritime air and the sound of his breathing and the twelve or so inches between us.

Suddenly, he’s gripping my arms and yanking me toward him as he glares at Robbie, who’s seated in a wheelbarrow chariot that’s careening toward us, piloted by some other drunk idiot whose name I can never remember. He’s wearing a football helmet and holding up one of my marshmallow roasting forks and yelling. Theycontinue on past us as if they didn’t even realize they almost ran us over and stabbed us with fork prongs. It’s the Robbiest thing he could possibly do, and I’m not even mad at him because it made Grady put his hands on me again.

He finally lets go and shakes it off. Most guys would yell at the drunk idiots, but Grady isn’t a yeller. He drags his fingers through his hair. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You want to go home?”

“Yeah. I mean, I guess my dad can drive me back in the morning to clean up the s’more station.”

“Yeah. I’ll give you a ride. Home, I mean. I have a call with the New York investor I’ll be working for in the morning, so…not gonna stay up late.”

“Well, now who’s the party animal?”

He blows out an amused breath. I amuse him. It’s something, I guess.

Fifteen minutes later,we’re turning onto my street in Grady’s 1983 Mercedes that he bought with the money he made from modeling for catalogs. He keeps it impeccably shiny and clean and tuned-up, and it keeps breaking down anyway. His parents give him all kinds of grief about it, but I think this car is hot as hell, and I can’t believe I’m in here alone with him tonight. The radio’s on a low volume, and we haven’t said a word since we got into it. Then “More Than a Feeling” by Boston comes on.He turns it up and starts bobbing his head and singing along.

I have always felt this song deep in my chest, but ever since last summer, it has meant so much to me I could barely stand listening to it.

There was this one night I stayed up with Grady and my brother when my parents were having an anniversary weekend getaway in Kennebunkport. Jake and Grady let me playRock Bandwith them on Xbox. I was on vocals, Grady was on drums, Jake was on guitar. We hit all the right notes, and we were flying. We scored over two hundred thousand points and high-fived each other when we finished. I didn’t even know I could feel sexy or what sexy would feel like, but I felt sexy. I felt safe and sexy with him even though my brother was there, and I might never feel that way again with anyone else. Ever.

He pulls into the driveway behind Jake’s truck. He doesn’t turn off the engine, but he does put the car in Park.

He’s leaving town next week.

I’ll see him at the ceremony tomorrow, but I will never be alone with him again.

I might never see him in person again after tomorrow.

I don’t even know if he’s going to stay in touch with me. Why would he? We’re Facebook friends, but only because I added him and only because of Jake.

My heart feels stuck in my throat.

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