Page 34 of How to Fall for the Secret Billionaire
I cough. “He was here for only about five seconds.”
“The time it takes to boil the water, steep the bag, pour the tea, and drink it while it cools is over ten minutes.” She raises an eyebrow like she’s been doing the math since she walked in.
I roll my eyes and throw the dish towel on the counter. “Go to bed, Aunt Edie.”
She smirks. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll sleep just fine… unlike someone else tonight.”
I narrow my eyes in warning. “Aunt Edie… no!”
She shrugs. “I didn’t even say anything,” she says with a chuckle.
Then she sighs like she’s replaying a distant memory and smiles dreamily. “He is so handsome, isn’t he?”
I cross my arms. “I don’t know.”
She snorts. “Lying doesn’t look good on you, Margot. You’re very straightforward. It’s one of your better qualities.”
“Aunt Edie.”
She ignores me. “He reminds me of someone,” she adds, her smile going soft—nostalgic, even.
“Who?”
She just shrugs, turns on her heel, and walks out like she didn’t just drop a strange bomb. I’m still frowning after her retreating back when the phone on the reception desk rings. I cross the hall, pick it up, and press it to my ear.
“This is Glen from Room 10,” a man’s voice says, a little frazzled. “My heater just stopped working, and I really need to take a shower.”
I close my eyes, inhale deeply, and reach for the repair log.
So much for a quiet night.
CAL
It’s early when I head out again.
The sky’s still streaked with silver and soft gold, and the morning air bites just enough to wake me up. I shove my hands into the pockets of my jacket and walk toward town, Waffles trotting after me a few steps before losing interest and circling back.
Everfield is quiet this time of day, as I’ve noticed for the one week since I’ve been here. A few joggers pass with polite nods, and someone’s already hanging up aClosed for Fall Fest Prepsign on their shop window.
I spot the coffee shop I passed before—quaint, with warm light spilling onto the sidewalk—and duck inside.
The bell over the door jingles.
There’s barely anyone in yet. Just an older woman reading a newspaper and a barista wiping down the counter.
“Morning,” the barista says as I approach. He looks like he can’t be older than twenty. Thin, bleached tips, sleepy eyes.
I scan the chalkboard menu. “Black coffee. Large.”
He nods and rings it up. “You visiting?”
I pause. “Something like that.”
His eyes narrow a little, flickering up to my face again. His brow twitches, like something just clicked. “You know, you look a lot like?—”
“—an actor in this one popular movie I can’t remember. I hated him because my ex swore he was hot,” I cut in smoothly, flashing the faintest smile. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”
He blinks, laughs. “If your ex swore he was hot and said you look like him, it would be a compliment.”
