Page 5 of How to Fall for the Secret Billionaire
Waffles curls up in his usual spot by the hearth, nose tucked under one paw, pretending none of this happened. Just another peaceful morning in his kingdom.
I finally sit.
Curled up in one of the deep armchairs near the front desk, I hold my coffee like it’s sacred. It’s the first sip I’ve had all morning—strong, black, blessedly hot. For a second, everything else fades. No busted pipes. No irritated guests. No Waffles shedding fur on antique rugs or Aunt Edie trying to sneak her way into the laundry room. Just coffee, heat, and a little pocket of quiet.
My phone buzzes on the armrest. It’s a text from Mia, a close friend back in Bardstown, Kentucky, telling me all about her proposal. She’s now engaged to Jack Calloway, a popular Hollywood celebrity who is madly in love with her and worships the ground she walks on.
Good for Mia. She’s always been the matchmaker. I’m happy to see her getting her happily-ever-after.
We text back and forth for a bit until she asks,
Do you miss Bardstown?
I stare at the message for a second, thumb hovering. Then I set the phone down and exhale slowly, staring out the tall window that overlooks the porch. Early fall has officially arrived in Everfield. The trees are turning burnt gold and syrupy orange, and the morning light makes the wildflowers glow. It’s beautiful. I should be able to enjoy it.
But Mia’s question settles like a weight.
Do I miss Bardstown?
I think about it.
I don’t miss the job—that frantic, always-on PR life where I was constantly solving someone else’s problems, smoothing out someone else’s brand crisis. I don’t miss the corporate parties where I was expected to smile and network and quietly disappear after making everything look effortless. But I do miss the idea of what Bardstown could’ve been.
It’s such a fun town. Wineries, music, book festivals, food events. Every other weekend, there was something happening—live jazz on cobbled streets, bourbon tastings with firepits, community movie nights. But I barely touched any of it. I was always working behind the curtain. Or holed up in my office. I wasn’t in the group photos. I was the one taking them.
Except with Mia.
Mia never let me fade into the background.
When she found out I liked books, she made it her life’s mission to drag me into her book club with Aunt Dotty. I resisted. I didn’t have time. I had deadlines. But Mia didn’t care. She’d show up at my door with banana bread and a worn-out paperback until I gave in.
And once I joined, I realized what I’d been missing.
That book club became the one place where I didn’t have to be perfect. We met once a week, usually never talked about the book, and just… connected. We laughed. We overshared. We showed up messy and tired and honest. It was the only time I felt like I actually belonged somewhere in Bardstown.
So yes.
I miss that.
I miss her. And Aunt Dotty’s hugs. And the soft, warm quiet of those evenings when nobody needed anything from me.
I pick up my phone and type out a response.
Yeah. I do.
Then I add:
I miss book club. I miss you. I miss banana bread that somehow always tasted like peace. I miss Aunt Dotty, too.
I hit send and lean back, coffee cup resting against my chest.
The thing is—I thought moving here would be different. Slower. Simpler. But some days, it feels like I just traded one type of burnout for another. The inn never sleeps. There’s always something going wrong. I barely get through a single cup of coffee before I’m called away.
As stressful as this life is, I’d do it all over again.
No hesitation. No regrets.
Because I’m not doing this for me—I’m doing it for family.
