Page 53 of How to Fall for the Secret Billionaire
I hear the screen door creak open behind me.
Speak of the devil.
Aunt Edie walks out with two tall glasses of iced tea, condensation dripping down the sides. I stop tilling, wipe my hands on my jeans, and smile as she approaches.
She hands me one. “Take a moment to rest, farmer boy.”
I chuckle and accept the glass. “Thank you kindly, ma’am.” I settle on the bench beside her, the ice clinking softly in the glass as I take a long sip. It’s cold and sweet, with a hint of mint. Perfect.
We sit in silence for a while, the bench creaking gently beneath us. Above us, the sky is a wash of clear blue, the kind that makes you feel both infinite and small at the same time.
Aunt Edie takes a sip of her iced tea and says, “It’s a beautiful morning.”
I nod, wiping the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. “Can’t appreciate it fully when the sun’s trying to kill me.”
She lets out a laugh, soft and warm, and it makes me smile. But despite the humor, I notice the shadows in her eyes.
“You seem worried.”
Her smile fades, and she stares down into her glass like the ice might offer some kind of answer. “I just… stumbled on the inn’s financial to-do list this morning. It was in the kitchen drawer. Margot probably forgot it.”
I purse my lips, remembering she was working on it three nights ago.
I stay quiet, letting her speak. Sometimes silence is better than any comfort.
“I feel terrible,” she says. “I’ve put so much pressure on her—on all of them—without meaning to. My medical bills are… a lot. I wish there was something I could do to help ease it. Instead, I’m just another line item weighing her down.”
There’s a tightness in her voice she’s trying to mask, but it’s there. The kind of guilt that festers quietly under responsibility and pride.
I reach down, pluck a weed from the garden, and let the roots dangle between my fingers. “You’re not a burden, Edie. You’re the reason this place feels like home.”
She looks at me, eyes bright but stubborn. “Tell that to the debt collectors.”
I laugh.
She watches me for a moment, then frowns. “I don’t like that you’re enjoying my punishment.”
I grin. “No matter what punishment you give me, I’ll enjoy it. I like this place a little too much. Everything here feels like an experience, not a chore.”
Aunt Edie gives me a look—half amused, half wary—and stirs her tea with her straw. “Sometimes,” she says, her voice low, “we end up exactly where we’re meant to be by accident.”
I pause, her words hitting deeper than I expect. I glance at her. “Was that accidental wisdom or intentional meddling?”
She shrugs, but the curve of her mouth betrays her. “Just an old woman observing life.”
“You’re not that old.”
She gives me a look. “I’m old enough to see right through you, young man.”
“Right through me?” I frown. “What do you mean?”
She pats my knee—gentle, but it lands like a command. She stands, brushes off her skirt, and walks away like she didn’t just throw my entire heart into a tailspin.
“I expect that garden weeded by sundown,” she calls over her shoulder.
I let out a low breath and lean back on the bench, staring up at the wide blue sky.
“Yes, ma’am.”
