Page 55 of Falling for the Billionaire Best Man

I groaned, shaking my head. “I didn’t volunteer for that. I was forced. And you’re paying for my lunch as compensation.”

She rolled her eyes but laughed. I found myself liking the sound of it. It was light, carefree, and completely genuine. “Fine,” she said, still smiling. “But only because you looked so pitiful out there. And it was better you than me. You’re a foot taller than I am. I don’t stand a chance.”

I smirked, leaning back in my chair. “Those kids were feral. I’m convinced schools are just breeding grounds for tiny sociopaths.”

Dorie raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “What about you? Did you feel threatened by public school kids when you were younger? Or did you go to some upper-crust private academy where you used gold fountain pens to practice your signature in anticipation of taking over your parents’ dynasty?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Okay, there’s some truth to that. But it wasn’t all gold fountain pens and trust funds. I had to work for what I have.”

“And clearly you’ve done a good job building on that start,” she said.

I nodded. “Yep. Did your parents help you with your bakery?”

“No,” she answered. “They could help the lawyer or help the baker. Not both. Are your parents in real estate?”

I noticed the way she changed the subject every time I tried to ask about her own experience in school. It was subtle, but it was there—a flicker of discomfort, a quick deflection. The more time I spent with her, the more I wanted to know about her, to find out what made her tick. She was a mystery, and I was determined to solve it.

But she was not giving me much to work with.

“You could’ve been big in my line of business,” I said.

She smirked at me. “I followed my dreams instead.” But then she sighed under her breath. “And look where that got me.”

I frowned, about to ask what she meant, but the waitress arrived with our orders. The plates were put down in front of us and the smell of fresh seafood filled the air. My crab cakes looked surprisingly good—golden brown and not overly greasy. Dorie’s lobster roll was piled high with meat, spilling out the sides of a toasted bun. She didn’t hesitate, picking it up and taking a big bite. A little bit of butter dripped onto the plate.

“See?” she said around a mouthful. “Told you it was good.”

I picked up my fork, cutting into one of the crab cakes. The outside was crisp, and inside, the crab meat was tender and flaky. I took a bite and raised my eyebrows in surprise.

“Okay,” I admitted. “You were right.”

“Of course I was,” she said, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “I wouldn’t steer you wrong.”

We ate in silence for a few minutes, the only sound the clinking of silverware and the low murmur of conversation from the other tables. The food was good—better than I expected.

“So,” I said after a swallow of Coke. “You ever think about expanding? The bakery, I mean. Seems like you’ve got a good thing going.”

She shrugged, picking at her lobster roll. “Sometimes. But it’s not that simple. Rent’s going up everywhere, and it’s hard to compete with the chains. Plus, it’s just me running the place. I don’t have the resources—or the energy—to take on something bigger.”

I nodded, understanding the struggle. “Yeah, I get that. Still, you’ve got something special there. It’d be a shame not to see it grow.”

She gave me a small smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Maybe one day. For now, I’m just trying to keep the doors open. And keep myself from being kicked out on the street.”

“What happens if they force a sale?” I asked. “Do you have your eye on another spot to put your bakery?”

She snorted. “No. Not that I could afford. More and more of us little guys are getting pushed out.” She trailed off, her eyes drifting to the window. “Anyway, enough about my bakery woes. No use worrying about what may or may not happen. I’ll deal with it when it happens.”

We finished our meals with the waitress delivering the check. I snatched it before Dorie could, and she immediately protested.

“Hey! I thought I was paying,” she said, reaching for the check. “I owe you, remember?”

I held it out of her reach, grinning. “I wasn’t actually going to let that happen.”

She glared at me, but there was no real heat behind it. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are, having lunch with me,” I shot back, my tone teasing.

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue further. I paid the bill, and we headed outside, the cool spring air a welcome change from the stuffy restaurant that had the typical seafood smell.