Page 20 of Falling for the Billionaire Best Man

I was sensing something. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was a restlessness to her. Or maybe it was a resignation. Like she felt this was where she was stuck rather than where she got to live.

“I like it,” she said with little conviction. “One day, I would like to live the dream.”

“And what’s the dream?”

“The bakery in New York,” she said with a half-smile.

She didn’t ask about my life or my work, which was refreshing. Normally, that was the first thing people wanted to know—what I did, how much I made, how I’d built my empire. But Dorie didn’t seem to care about me at all. Again, I was surprised by how uninterested she was in me.

“Can I look around?” she asked.

“The house?”

“Yes, and the backyard,” she said. “I’ve always wanted to know what these old houses looked like.”

“Sure.” I nodded.

I gave her the two-cent tour of the nine-bedroom home. The high ceilings and large rooms were largely untouched by time. Unlike most home designs these days or my penthouse back in New York, there were lots of walls. Rooms were separated with each space offering plenty of natural light through large, sash windows.

“I can almost hear the echoes of laughter and music from grand gatherings,” Dorie said with a sigh. “Can you imagine the parties that would have been held here in the early twentieth century? Big ball gowns trying to squeeze into these rooms.”

It never actually occurred to me at all. “I imagine hot and stuffy,” I said. “Smelly. Did they have deodorant back then?”

“You are the least romantic man I’ve ever met.”

I shrugged and led her upstairs to see some of the bedrooms. The old wooden doors were solid, none of the flimsy ones here. After her inspection, we headed back downstairs. I refilled her wine glass and led her out onto the veranda. It was where I had spent a couple hours last night. The panoramic view of the Atlantic stretched before us. Traffic had slowed to almost nothing, allowing the rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the shore to be heard even better.

We sat down in the wicker chairs that lined the porch. I watched as she inhaled deeply and closed her eyes.

“Is it everything you thought it would be?” I asked her.

She smiled. “It’s beautiful. Did you buy it?”

“No, just renting for the month. I know a guy that knows a guy and he hooked me up.”

“Of course,” she said.

I heard the judgment in her tone but said nothing. “How soon do you plan to move to New York?” I asked.

She snorted. “I thought it would be a couple more years, but I’m not sure. Things are in flux.”

“Yeah?”

She waved her hand, dismissing it. “So, this is the place where you’ll be hosting the pre-wedding festivities.”

“That’s the plan,” I said. “I tried to find something bigger, but there wasn’t a lot of options.”

“I think this is plenty big,” she said. “And you actually have a yard. Most of the houses around here are packed so tight you can stick your arm out the window to borrow a cup of sugar from your neighbor.”

I chuckled. “Yeah, the real estate development out here definitely pushed some code limits.”

She leaned back in her chair. For a moment, she seemed lost in thought, her fingers drumming softly against the armrest of the wicker chair, her other hand wrapped around the stem of her wine glass. I couldn’t help but wonder what she was thinking about. Her bakery in New York? Her sister’s wedding? Or something else entirely? Me, possibly?

The silence between us wasn’t awkward, though. It felt comfortable, like we’d known each other for years instead of just a couple of hours. Maybe it was the wine or the sound of the ocean, but there was a sense of peace in her presence that I hadn’t expected.

The rain that had been threatening all afternoon finally started. It started light but quickly turned into a steady downpour. It was getting late. I could see she was exhausted. She said today was her busiest day of the week. The wine was probably hitting her hard as well.

“You should just stay the night,” I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them. “You’re probably past the point of driving.”

She blinked at me, surprised, then shook her head. “I’ll call an Uber.”

I tried to brush off the disappointment, shrugging like it didn’t matter. “Suit yourself. But leave your keys. I’ll drop your car off in the morning.”

She raised an eyebrow, a hint of flirtation in her voice. “You don’t know where I live.”

I smirked. “You could… I don’t know, tell me where you live?”

She laughed, and the sound did something to me—something I wasn’t ready to examine. “Better yet,” I said, pulling out my phone. “Let’s exchange numbers. That way, I can let you know when I’m on my way.”

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded, pulling out her own phone. We exchanged numbers, and I felt a strange sense of satisfaction as I saved her contact. It was ridiculous, really. I wasn’t some teenager getting a girl’s number for the first time. But there was something about Dorie that made me feel different. Like I wanted to keep her close, even if it was just through a text message.

When her Uber arrived, I walked her out, holding an umbrella over her as the rain poured down. I gave the driver a sharp, slightly menacing look, silently warning him that if anything happened to Dorie on the drive home, there would be hell to pay. The guy nodded, letting me know he got the message. I reluctantly closed the door, stepping back as the car pulled away.

I stood there for a moment, watching the taillights disappear into the rain, feeling weird. Why was I feeling anything at all? I shook my head, trying to clear it, and went back inside. My eyes landed on the wine glasses on the counter, and I noticed the faint smudge of lipstick on hers. I stared at it for a moment, my mind racing, before forcing myself to look away.

I needed to get more sleep. That was it. I was tired, and my brain was playing tricks on me. The last thing I needed was to do something I’d regret, like texting her immediately and asking her to come back.