Page 40 of How to Fall for the Secret Billionaire
“Something just came up,” she starts, hands wringing. “But I need you to relax.”
I bolt upright. “You saying that already has me riled up. What is it?”
She hesitates. And that hesitation is the final warning shot.
I narrow my eyes. “Wait. Don’t tell me it’s about the flowers, Ana, because I will explode.”
Ana groans. “It is. Delia just called. Her grandson is in the hospital—some kind of food poisoning. She won’t be able to make the delivery today.”
My heart skips a beat. “Oh no. Is Benson okay?”
“She says he’ll be fine. He’s under observation.”
I exhale sharply. “Thank goodness.”
Then reality slams into me. “But the bouquet! We need that bouquet before Kettle Hour! The Honeysetts’ anniversary is today, Ana. That’s the one surprise I planned all week!”
Ana nods grimly. “I know.”
The room falls silent as the weight of it hits me. The Honeysetts—retired professors, room 3, married forty-eight years—live for this kind of thoughtfulness. I have to sort this out.
My goodness. If only Mia were here!
I press my fingers to my temples. “We can’t give them a scone and a smile. Not today. This is their thing. The anniversary. The bouquet on the piano. The card.”
I’m already on my feet, grabbing my keys from the hook by the door.
“I’ll go into town and get the flowers myself,” I say, already halfway into the hallway.
“But—Margot?—”
“I’ll be back before Kettle Hour!”
I push through the front doors and march straight to my truck. The air is crisp, my breath puffing out in front of me as I jam the key into the ignition and turn.
Nothing.
I pause.
Try again.
Click-click.
Nothing.
“No. No, no, no,” I mutter, gripping the steering wheel like sheer willpower might wake the engine.
One more time.
Still nothing.
“Are you kidding me right now?” I hiss, slamming my hand against the wheel.
This day is officially testing me.
I glance toward the inn, jaw tight. The sun is already beginning its descent behind the hills. If I don’t leave now, the Honeysetts won’t get their anniversary flowers. And if anyone deserves flowers and sentiment and attention, it’s them.
I rest my forehead on the steering wheel, letting out a slow, angry breath.
