Page 69 of How to Fall for the Secret Billionaire
And now I’m just sad. Deep-down, bone-deep sad.
“What’s wrong?” he asks gently.
I glance over to find him watching me, and panic spikes in my chest. I hope it’s not written all over my face—that hollow ache sitting somewhere behind my ribs.
To cover up the mess of feelings bubbling under my skin, I reach for something lighter—something safer.
I smile and clear my throat. “Oh—I didn’t tell you. We got a donation.”
Cal looks over at me, interested. “A donation?”
“Yeah. It came in anonymously yesterday. A large sum. No name, just a message that said something about appreciating the work we’re doing at the inn. Said the Key & Kettle was lucky to have us.” I let out a soft laugh. “It felt… unreal. Like a fall miracle or something.”
His expression softens, and he says it so easily, like it costs him nothing, “You deserve miracles, Margot.”
The words land somewhere deep.
I blink.
For a second, neither of us speaks. The night feels impossibly quiet. The breeze shifts the leaves behind us. The stars stay exactly where they are.
And he’s looking directly at me.
“Thank you, Cal,” I say softly.
He tilts his head, eyes still on mine. “Aren’t you curious to know who sent the donation?”
I hesitate.
“I was. At first,” I admit. “I even tried to trace it, but… I didn’t get anywhere.”
The wind picks up slightly, rustling the rosemary near our bench. I exhale, watching the way the leaves tremble in the moonlight.
“But the more I thought about it,” I continue, “the more I felt like… maybe it’s for the best. It was such a huge sum. If I knew who sent it, I don’t think I’d be able to take the money from them.”
Cal blinks, surprised. “Why?”
“Because,” I shrug, “I’d feel like I owed them. Or like it wasn’t mine to use anymore.”
He nods slowly, turning his gaze back toward the sky. “That’s very… you.”
I smile a little, not sure what he means, but I don’t ask.
And for a moment, we just sit there. Quiet. The wind picks up again, a little stronger this time, and as I move to brush hair out of my face, I accidentally knock my empty teacup off the bench.
We both reach for it at the same time.
My fingers brush his.
I freeze.
So does he.
Our heads are close—too close—and for a breathless second, I can count his lashes, see the curve of his mouth, feel the warmth radiating off his skin. The air between us shifts, crackling with something unspoken, something we’ve both been skirting around.
Then, just as quickly, he breaks the moment. He picks up the cup and stands, stretching a little. “Let’s head back inside,” he says, voice a little too light.
I shake my head. “I think I’ll stay out a bit longer. Still want to look at the stars a little bit.”
