Page 54 of Wrong Room, Right Billionaire

“Touche,” Morgan scratches his chin, and it isn’t until we are in the light of the Pacific sunset that I realize how much gray he has in his facial hair and in his otherwise golden temples. I don’t mind it though. Honestly, I’ve never been into guys my own age. And the fact that Morgan is offensively good-looking for his age is just icing on the cake.

“I got it,” he blurts out. “Being alone.”

I think about that. I’ve never minded being alone. It’s why I do so well with a travel job. But I have wondered if it will ever get old.

“I haven’t been in a relationship in so long,” I answer. “I think I am used to it.”

“I mean doing things alone. Forever. You know, never having a partner in crime. What good are life milestones if you have no one to share them with?”

His words go deep, and I think he can see that. Because I have had those moments. Enjoying a sunset and realizing how I’d love to be enjoying it with someone. Trying a new dish and wondering what someone else would think of the flavors.

Having a child and seeing the joy on the father’s face when they’re born.

“I guess I never thought about it,” I answer with a forced smile. He studies me for a moment and then, luckily goes back to eating. I feel like I dodged a bullet here. And yet…it also feels like it grazed me.

“Excuse me.” The woman walks over to our table with a modest smile. “I’m sorry to interrupt. But the two of you are just so cute together. I was wondering if you’d like a photo?” she asks.

At first, I think she means on her phone. So she can post it. And while it’s probably not going to hurt our image, I’d prefer the first posed picture of us was one taken by me, posted by me. But then I realize she means a photo on my phone. “Sure.”

“Let’s do it against the banister. With the ocean and the sunset in the background,” she says, and I smile, handing her my phone.

Then I tug Morgan with me.

We stand the way couples usually do, his arm around me, my arm around his waist, my other hand on his chest.

“Are you sure about this?” he whispers through a smile as she gets the angle right.

“It will be great for the image,” I tell him without moving my lips.

“Alright, now a fun one!” she suggests.

I make a funny face. Morgan, of course, does not. I poke him in the side, and he doesn’t react. Then he pokes me and I shriek, collapsing against his chest with a laugh.

He smiles and then the woman takes the photo.

“You two are so naturally photogenic,” the woman says, handing me my phone back.

And as I look through the photos, she’s right. They’re perfect.

For the blog, I mean.

“You want to go for a walk?” Morgan asks, and I look up to see him paying the tab and grabbing our things.

“Sure,” I say. And with that, he grabs my hand, and we walk off the pier.

To my surprise, he wants to walk along the beach. I giggle as he attempts to tread through the sand in wing-tipped shoes.

“What are you laughing at?” he asks.

“It would be a lot easier if you took your shoes off,” I say.

“I’m not really a beach kind of guy,” he admits, physically cringing with every step.

“Then why did you suggest it?” I ask.

“Content?” he grits out, clearly struggling.

And while I am enjoying watching him struggle, I also feel kind of bad for the guy. He very clearly does not get out very often.