Page 98 of How to Fall for the Secret Billionaire
Instead, he says softly, “I’m not asking for perfect, Margot. I just want real.”
That stops me cold.
“And I don’t want anything you don’t want,” he says. “We’ll go at your pace. You take the lead.”
He doesn’t push after that and that’s the thing I find interesting about Cal. There are times I see how clearly he wants me, but he just lets me set the pace. My walls are slowly coming down, and it’s strange—and exhilarating—that the universe sent me the type of man I need exactly when I need him.
CAL
Ileave the pantry with my head full of her—Margot, the way she blushed when our hands touched, the way her voice caught when she agreed to meet me tonight. I can’t sit still. Can’t focus. There’s too much anticipation coiled in my chest.
So I walk.
Past the inn. Past the orchard. Past sense, honestly. I end up in town without even realizing I was heading there. The afternoon is bright, loud with birds and chatter, but everything feels quieter in my head. Except for her.
I’m about to walk past the coffee shop—keep it moving, stay low—but something makes me pause. A little caffeine won’t hurt. Something to hold, something to do.
Inside, the familiar barista is at the counter, with a beanie and a stare that always lingers too long.
I smile and greet him like I always do. “Hey, man,” I say. “Just a black coffee today.”
He gives me a small smile and rings it up, but his eyes do that thing again. That flicker. Like he’s chewing on a suspicion.
He thinks I look like someone famous—I told him that once, made a joke about being mistaken for an actor. He laughed. But every time I come in, he watches me like he’s trying to prove himself right. Like he’s waiting for the truth to fall out of my pocket.
I take the cup, nod my thanks, and step outside before he can say anything else.
As I walk back toward the inn, the coffee burning warm in my hand, a tightness grows in my chest.
The bubble I’ve built here—quiet, safe, simple—it’s thinning.
My anonymity won’t last forever.
And tonight, after everyone’s asleep, I’m going to sit across from Margot Hartwell and try to keep pretending I’m not a liar.
Or worse—try to stop. Should I tell her everything?
I hold the coffee the whole way, gripped in my hand like it’ll steady me. But with everything in my head, I don’t even drink it. Not one sip.
By the time I do, it’s cold.
I toss it in the nearest bin, watching the cup disappear with a hollowthunk.
Then I keep walking.
Toward the inn.
Toward her.
Toward everything I probably don’t deserve. Or maybe I do deserve it. I’m being too hard on myself. I’m not a liar. I’m just a traveler looking for something, and I’ve found it. It’s not like I plan to hide the truth forever. I’ll tell her by the end of the week or the next.
The inn comes into view, all soft edges and wraparound porch and windows that glow like they’re keeping secrets. Thea is standing by the front door, hugging a giant printer to her chest like it personally offended her. It’s bulky, clearly dead weight, and she looks like she’s one second from launching it down the porch stairs.
She notices me and gives a small wave. “Hey, Cal.”
I stop. “What did that printer ever do to you?”
She exhales, frustrated. “It stopped working. Completely. And of course it decides to die when I actually need it.”
