Page 31 of The Runaway Billionaire's Inconvenient Baby
“Glad to know I’m wanted,” I mutter under my breath, but I’m not quiet enough to stop Billie from hearing.
She digs an elbow into my side as if to saybenice,then changes the subject, asking the pair how they’ve enjoyed the day, how their personal lives are going, how the grandkids are. I tune out, mostly because I don’t care but partly because I don’t want to say anything else that’s going to make me look bad.
These people have already decided they hate me. Best to keep my mouth shut and not do anything else to make them hate me more.
I do wonder where Billie has all the brain space for these facts, though. There hasn’t been a single person we’ve spoken to that she hasn’t known personally. She holds all the details about kids and wives and jobs, and it wouldn’t surprise me if she knew when everyone’s birthday was too.
When she first started fighting me, I thought it was to be stubborn. When we first started hanging out, I thought it was an act, but it’s not. With every second longer I spend with her, it becomes clearer that this is no act. It’s who she is. She doesn’t care about these people because she has to or because she thinks it makes her look good. She cares simply to care, because she wants to know about them, because she wants them to be okay.
That’s not a new revelation to me, but it hits me hard in the face again.
But sitting here watching her, I realize she’s always the one to ask the questions. Who does she have looking after her?
I’m sure all these people would be there for her if she needed them to be. But is she the kind of person who would even ask? Or would she struggle alone? Does she need someone who can see through her the way she sees through everyone else?
I never even thought of asking her if she has a boyfriend.
Finally, the couple stand up to leave. They offer Billie a hearty goodbye and me a polite but cold one. Billie waves as they go, and we watch as they trudge their way over the sand, leaving just us by the fire in the slowly darkening evening light.
“I get it now,” I say, almost to myself.
“Get what?”
“This.” I gesture around at the island. “The beauty of it all. The way things work here.”
“Good,” she says quietly, staring down at the sand between us like she can’t quite force herself to look in my eyes.
“It’s all because of you,” I say.
She shrugs. “Anyone would have done it.”
“No, they wouldn’t. They haven’t. Who else but you has shown me around, demanded that I learn more about the town before I set my heart on buying it? Nobody else has shown as much passion.”
Despite the fading light and the orange glow of the fire on us, I can still make out the blush that rises on her cheeks. “Really,” she says, pushing her hair behind her ear. “It was nothing.”
“No,” I say forcefully. “It was everything.”
Finally, she looks up at me, blinking her beautiful blue eyes, the flames flickering over them, making her look more alive than ever.
“I needed you to see everything,” she whispers. “I needed you to see what this town means.”
She smiles thinly, embarrassed, her eyes darting around to look anywhere but at me. “Let’s finish our s’mores,” she says, trying to change the subject.
“When was the last time you made these?” I ask, not wanting to embarrass her further.
She shrugs again. “We do this every year. Usually, I’m busy with the cleanup crew, but I manage to sneak a graham cracker or two every few years.”
“And do you usually do it by yourself?” I ask as tactfully as I can.
Not tactfully enough, though. She raises an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”
I swallow hard and set my face into a perfect mask of vague, friendly curiosity. “Oh, nothing, just wondering if there’s anyone special in your life, that’s all.”
She narrows her eyes at me but shakes her head. “Usually, Willow and my mom are here. They’re the most important people in my world. But I don’t have a partner if that’s what you mean.”
I nod as if I’m vaguely interested but not really intrigued, trying to deny my pounding heart, the giddiness it wants to feel. “Well, maybe you should find someone,” I say, any tact I had been building crumbling.
She cocks her head ever so slightly to the side, like the cogs are turning in her mind and she’s trying to interpret what it is I’m saying. “I’ve never really had the time,” she says quietly.
