Page 72 of How to Fall for the Secret Billionaire
Sam grins. “Jo still brings it up anytime I act like I know what I’m doing with a hammer. And it’s been decades of me fixing other things around the house,” he laughs. “Women.”
“Same thing happened to my dad. Not a hammer, but a drill.” I shake my head, a faint smile playing on my lips. “He drilled a hole right through his finger. I can’t even remember what we were working on, but he made a slip and—boom—blood everywhere.”
Sam lets out a full laugh. “Good lord.”
“I just remember screaming and screaming while Dad kept saying, ‘It’s okay, Cal. It’s not as bad as it looks.’” I pause. “But it was. It was terrifying. Mom grounded him for a month.”
Sam bursts into laughter again. “Sounds like you were close to your dad.”
“Yeah.” I nod, my smile softening into something more tender. “I was an only child. My parents were really all I had.”
The sun is climbing higher now, making everything golden. I wipe sweat from my brow and glance around the backyard—the half-built bench, the tools, the buzz of insects nearby. “This inn… It’s provided me more comfort than anywhere else has since I lost them.”
There’s a quiet beat. Then Sam looks up at me.
“You leave tomorrow?”
I blink, caught off guard that he knows. “Early morning of the day after tomorrow.”
He nods once.
Then, I ask, “Can I tell you something?”
“Yeah.”
I set the hammer down and look at him fully. “I don’t want to go.”
Sam watches me closely, patiently.
“When I first came,” I continue, “I honestly thought I wouldn’t last a week. Now it’s been three, and I don’t want to leave. Isn’t that weird?”
“No.” Sam’s voice is steady. “Not weird at all.”
He looks around us. “Some places,” he says, “just make it hard to leave.”
I glance down at my hands, now callused from all the activities I’ve been doing around here since I came. Even now, sawdust clings to my skin. My nails are a mess. But somehow, this feels more honest than any suit I’ve ever worn.
Sam doesn’t say much. He just keeps working beside me like time is nothing and words aren’t always required. And for some reason, that makes me want to talk more. I like that he never prods or asks difficult questions. It makes him so easy to talk to.
I reach for another nail and glance over. “What was Margot like as a kid?”
Sam looks up, amusement tugging at his lips. “Exactly as she is now.”
I raise a brow. “Oh yeah?”
He chuckles. “Margot’s always been sharp. Orderly. Knows how to take charge. She was the kid organizing lemonade stands like they were Fortune 500 companies.”
I grin. That tracks.
“She’s always cared more than she let on,” Sam adds. “Wanted things done right, wanted everyone taken care of, but didn’t want to look like she was trying too hard. Still doesn’t.”
I nod slowly, something warm building in my chest.
“I see that,” I say quietly.
“My daughters all have distinct personalities,” Sam says, his voice light but thoughtful. “They’re all beautiful and special in their own way, and so dear to me. But with Margot…” He trails off for a second, hammer paused midair. “It’s different. I justwish she’d slow down sometimes. Enjoy the moment. Let herself be young.”
I exhale, nodding. “Yeah. I’ve noticed that. Like she’s always carrying the whole world on her shoulders.”
