Page 64 of The Renegade Billionaire
“I’ll make a deal with you,” Braxton says, and I purse my lips together. As much as I innately trust this man, he has a sneaky way of getting me to agree to things I wouldn’t if he were anyone else.
“What kind of deal?”
“I’ll help Pops fix up whatever needs fixing around here in exchange for room and board for Sage.” I open my mouth, but he squeezes my hand. Freaking hell. I’d forgotten he was still holding it. “If they stay longer than a few weeks, we’ll renegotiate.”
“That’s a very generous offer, Braxton. But I know my grandfather. Fixing up the inn is going to cost more than a few weeks’ stay.”
He shrugs. “Then it’s a deal you shouldn’t refuse.”
It takes effort, but I remove my hand from his. “I don’t understand why you’d do this. I love Happiness, don’t get me wrong, but people don’t just drop thousands of dollars to stay in a run-down inn. They don’t make these kinds of deals. It doesn’t make any sense, so forgive me if I’m a little suspicious.”
Braxton’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I feel as though I have purpose here, Madison. For the first time in my life, I’m doing what I want to do. I’m making a difference. I’m making friends—” He drops his chin to his chest. When he meets my gaze again, I see the truth in his words. “At least, I hope I’m making friends. You asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, well maybe this is it. Maybe it’s finally time I get to be the helper.”
Fist, meet stomach. It’s an emotional sucker punch, but how can I deny him that? He wants to be a freaking helper, and all I want to know is how this kindhearted man ended up in my inn, spreading kindness like he’s some kind of stinking fairy.
“Do you have any idea what you’re signing up for here? In case you haven’t noticed, my grandfather doesn’t exactly believe in boundaries.”
Pops harrumphs from his spot on the sofa.
“I promise I won’t do anything I don’t want to do, and I’ll make sure we stay on a budget too.”
I stare at a spot on the wall that used to hold a picture of me and my parents at the lake. We removed it when I moved in because it made me spiral, but there’s something about that empty spot now that has my insides trembling. The picture hook it hung on is still in the drywall, and the longer I stare at it, the heavier and more out of sync my heartbeat grows.
I haven’t had this sensation in years. Not since before my parents threw me away—when I thought I knew what love felt like.
It’s as though some hidden piece of myself is nudging me to trust Braxton, or at least to give it a try, and it’s so overwhelming. I nod and stand quickly.
My guest is not teaching me how to love again. He’s just not.
“Fine. That sounds fine. How do we claim that on taxes, and what will it do to the insurance and house evaluation? Would weacknowledge it as a gift? Or a grant? Are there scholarships for renovations?”
It’s so off-topic and so far removed from the spiraling happening in my mind, I choke on a laugh. It’s something Pops would do to ease the tension.
Gah. I cover my entire face with both palms. “What’s wrong with me?”
Braxton chuckles too, but it’s subdued. I’m probably freaking him out, and he has enough to worry about, so I lower my hands to my lap.
“I’m not sure how you’d claim it, but I promise to find out,” he says with kind eyes that shatter my reserves.
“Great. Breakfast.”
I spin so quickly, only one foot touches the floor before I’m nearly sprinting for the kitchen.
“I signed us up for the peanut butter cream cheese brownies for tomorrow,” Pops calls through the swinging door, and I drop my forehead to the cold metal of the refrigerator.
“You’re the only one who eats those, Pops,” I shout back.
“The boy’ll eat them too.”
The boy. In what world is a grown freaking man okay with being calledboyall day long?
My world, apparently. Or the wonderland I’ve fallen into, anyway. Because there’s not a dang thing about Braxton Mitchell that makes sense except that he makes my body sizzle in ways I’ve only ever read about. But if my brain doesn’t get on board soon, I’ll end up right back where I was all those years ago.
And there isn’t a man alive who I’ll allow to break me again. It’s a good reminder for me. Braxton Mitchell is a guest, a passerby, a town visitor. I cannot get my heart involved.
Braxton’s rich laughter booms from the family room, followed by Pops’ voice working a new scheme, and my bodysings with familiarity. No matter how much I deny it, that man in there makes me feel safe.
Maybe it’s too late. Maybe my heart is already involved, and I don’t know if there’s anything I can do to stop it.
