Baby and the Billionaire

by Beverly Evans

  "I was just wondering if the streets were a mess. I was thinking about driving into town for a little bit."

  "They shouldn't be too bad," Ruby says. "I have some errands to do, and Jamie brought over his truck. If you want, I can give you a ride up there."

  "Sure. Thanks."

  An hour later, Ruby pulls into the parking lot of a bakery.

  "I have to go talk to them about my order for the party. Is this alright or do you want to wait, and I can bring you somewhere when I'm done?"

  "This is fine," I nod. "I'm just going to walk around a bit."

  "I'll let you know when I'm done. Stay warm."

  I smile and get out of the truck. Looking around, I try to orient myself with the map from the Shadow Creek website. Figuring out which direction I need to go, I walk out onto the sidewalk and pull my collar up over my neck. Fortunately, the walk ahead of me is only a few blocks. When I envisioned this visit, it wasn't snowing.

  Whoever got up early to spread salt on the sidewalk prevents me from wiping out, and I make it to the real estate office still on my feet. Through the glass door, I see Scarlett sitting at her desk, leaning over a stack of papers, and nibbling the end of a pen. She looks up at me when I open the door, but my smile isn't returned. Instead, her eyes darken.

  "Hello, Scarlett," I say.

  "Did you come by to see just how funny it was?" she asks.

  "What are you talking about?" I ask.

  She stands and pulls open the top drawer to her desk. She snatches something out and stalks around to face me.

  "This," she says, shoving a piece of paper toward me. "Is this your idea of some sort of joke?"

  I take the paper and look down at it. It's heavy cream-colored cardstock, and I realize it's a card.

  "’Trick or Treat’?" I ask. "What is this?"

  "Like you don't know," she snaps.

  "I don't know. It seems a little late for a Halloween card," I shrug.

  The angry look on Scarlett's face fades.

  "You didn't leave this on my porch?" she asks. "I found it yesterday when I got home. It was in a vase of black roses."

  "How could I possibly leave that on your porch? How would I know where you live? And why would I do that?"

  "I thought you were making a joke about last year," she says.

  "With all due respect, that's a pretty messed up joke."

  "That's what I thought, too."

  "I wouldn't do something like that, Scarlett. I actually came here today because I feel bad about the way things went yesterday when I saw you."

  "You did?" she asks.

  "Yes. Do you think we can start this conversation over?"

  Scarlett's cheeks are tinged pink as she nods.

  "Yes."

  "Okay." I step back out of the office, then walk in again. "Hello, Scarlett."

  "Hi," she says, then falls silent. I suddenly realize I never introduced myself.

  "Gavin Hall," I tell her, holding out my hand. "It's nice to finally meet you."

  "Hi, Gavin. It's nice to meet you, too. How are you enjoying this lovely February weather?"

  She giggles, and I smile.

  "Now you're the one teasing me," I tell her. "But I accept that. I'm actually surprised by the snow. I thought it was going to be sunny this weekend.”

  "Nature has different ideas," she offers.

  "So it seems." I take a step closer. "I wanted to say I'm sorry for blowing you off yesterday. Running into you took me by surprise, and I wasn't thinking. I would very much like to see you again," I say.

  She smiles, any hint of embarrassment gone.

  "Would you be up for an adventure later?" she asks.

  "Absolutely," I tell her.

  Scarlett gives a single nod, the tip of her tongue briefly slipping out to slide along her full bottom lip.

  "Good. Meet me back here at the end of the day."

  "I look forward to it."

  She smiles and walks back to her desk, her hips swaying beneath her fitted navy blue dress. She drops the note back into the drawer and closes it before settling into her chair and picking up her pen again.

  "I'll see you then," she says.

  "Have a good day." I smile and walk back out of the office into the still-falling snow.

  I make it back to the parking lot of the bakery just as Ruby comes out. She has the baby in one arm and a large pink box in the other. I rush up to take the box from her.

  "Thanks," she says. "Apparently, I don't have the ability to go into a bakery without buying at least a dozen treats. They just all look so good."

  "I'm sure Beck won't mind," I tell her.

  "That's only if Jamie doesn't get his hands on them first," she says. I set the box onto the back seat next to the baby's carseat and get into the front. "Did you do everything you needed to?"

  "Yes. I'm good," I nod. It went perfectly. Well, almost. But at least we fixed it before things got confusing.

  "Great. If you don't mind, I just need to stop by the grocery store for a few things; then we can head back to the house. Beck should be finished up with his conference call by the time we get there."

  "Sounds fine."

  I'm up for anything that will make the time until this evening pass more quickly so I can get back to Scarlett.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Scarlett

  It's not uncommon for me to have the office open on Saturdays. A lot of people looking for new houses don't have the time on a weekday to go look, and staying open for at least one day of the weekend stretches my opportunities for sales. Today, coming into the office was as much about not sitting in my empty house as it was about being there in case a client decided to stop by.

  With Sylvia out of town until tomorrow, I’m feeling a little too isolated in the quiet. I tossed the flowers last night, but kept the note, wanting to know where it is in case... I'm not sure how to finish that. In case I need it.

  Seeing my unmasked rescuer come through the door made me snap, but now I'm even happier I came into the office today. My aggressive and somewhat hasty accusations aside, he came specifically to see me, to apologize for the impressive display of awkward yesterday. If I hadn't been here, he wouldn't have found me, and we wouldn't have plans to see each other tonight.

  Of course, that means the day ticks by with all the speed and urgency of molasses sent through an ice luge. Saturdays are rarely busy if I don't have tours or open houses planned, but today is particularly slow. By noon I've already finished my paperwork, and by two, I've sketched out plans for staging the next house I will show. It's coming on the market within the next month, and I plan on taking full advantage of spring when staging it.

  Finally, a client stops by. I've been working with her for more than six months, so it doesn't surprise me to see her eyes full of tears and her hands clutching the glossy pages of a home decorating magazine. I don't often have people put nearly as much stress into picking out their new houses as Marilyn. It's a massive decision, of course, but I've found that most buyers go into the process eager to make their choice. Most of my clients in the market to buy a house, spend a month or less shopping. Two months is pushing it. Six months is Marilyn's crisis of too much time on her hands and just enough money to cause trouble.

  She likes to twirl around in the same circles as them, but she is not one of the wealthy elites of Shadow Creek. Not that the small town is crawling with them, but there are a few families that represent the finer things in life. And then there's Beck Jenkins and his wife Ruby, who very well may have more money than the rest of the town combined. They don't act like it, but it's hard to miss the news articles, private plane, sprawling house, and other signs of wealth Beck brought back with him when he returned to his hometown. Marilyn exists on the outskirts of that world. She comes from one of the oldest families in Shadow Creek, but they never reached beyond moderate success. But it's enough that she works primarily to amuse herself and her father and gives her the flexibility to turn buying a house into
a production.

  I always look forward to her visits. They keep me on my toes.

  "Good afternoon, Marilyn. Are you doing alright today?" I ask.

  She throws herself down into the chair across from my desk.

  "Thatched roofing," she whimpers.

  I set my pen down. I can already tell this is going to take all of my focus.

  "Thatched roofing?" I repeat, making sure I understood her.

  "Thatched... roofing, Scarlett. I absolutely must find a house with thatched roofing. It speaks to my heritage, and you know how precious my heritage is to me."

  This is the first I've heard of it. I'm not even sure what heritage we're talking about. How many of them thatch their roofs? That's a little snack to toss to the Google monster later.

  "When did you decide this?" I ask.

  She smashes her hand down onto the desk in front of me and slides the magazine page across it.

  "I read this article about channeling your true inner spirit and expressing yourself through your home. If you're not living in a place that mirrors who you are within, it will make your soul shrivel up. Shrivel, Scarlett. I can't let my soul shrivel because I live in the wrong house," she insists, her voice starting to creep up to hysteria levels.

  "And it won't… shrivel, if you have thatched roofing?" I raise an eyebrow.

  "Because of my heritage," she says.

  I nod.

  "Because of your heritage." A long breath slips out of my lungs, but I do my best not to show my emotions in my expression. "Unfortunately, Marilyn, I don't know that many builders these days rely on thatching. It's not exactly the most modern technique, and I'm not sure it would pass inspection. I haven't seen any homes with that particular feature around Shadow Creek. How would you feel about me doing some research and finding someone who could add other details to an existing house that would bring along the spirit of your heritage, but remain in code compliance so you'd be allowed to live there?"

  She sniffles and dabs at a wet glob of mascara perched precariously at the end of one of her long false eyelashes.

  "Do you think that would work?" she asks.

  I nod.

  "Absolutely. The point is the home speaks to you. It's up to you to interpret what that means for you and live it."

  A tremulous smile curves her lips.

  "That could be good," she says.

  I grin. "Fantastic. Why don't we look through the houses I have available right now and the ones I expect to come onto the market soon. You can tell me if something appeals to you."

  By the time we've gone over every potential house in exhaustive detail, and she's weighed every possible way she could make changes that would make them right, the day has dragged to a close. I'm comforting her and guiding her out before she can start the whole process over when the office door opens, and Gavin steps in. Marilyn pauses, staring at him.

  "Hello," he says, almost more of a question.

  "You," she says.

  He tilts his head at her slightly. I can already see this going in an uncomfortable direction, and I give her a tight hug around the shoulders.

  "Thank you for stopping by. I think we made some really amazing progress today. We'll find the perfect one soon, I can just feel it," I say.

  Gavin steps out of the way, and I usher Marilyn out, waving at the door until she's in her car, then turning to face him.

  "She looks familiar," he comments.

  "That's Marilyn, one of my clients. She has been searching for the perfect home for the past six months and changes what she wants almost daily. Today she's looking for a contemporary, gothic-inspired bungalow with at least six bedrooms, a grotto, and thatched roofing."

  "Do any of those words actually go together?" he asks.

  "No," I tell him.

  "Thatched roofing?"

  "It speaks to her heritage."

  "What is her heritage?"

  I let out a sigh.

  "I have no idea."

  "Why doesn't she just design a house and have it built?" he asks. "Wouldn't that be easier than trying to find something that doesn't exist?"

  "You would think," I shrug. "It's fine. She keeps my job from getting boring. Who likes to be wildly successful at their career all the time?"

  I flash him a grin, but he shrugs.

  "Me." Then he smiles. "But good job finding a silver lining. Are you ready to go?"

  "Absolutely."

  We walk out of the office, and I lock the door. The sun is already going down, which is exactly what I wanted. I head toward my car and watch Gavin approach a tiny sports car. He sees me looking, and I tilt my head at him.

  "It's a rental," he explains. "Grabbed it at the airport when I got here yesterday."

  "Do you think that thing is actually going to make it through the snow?" I ask.

  "I wasn't planning on driving it in the snow when I chose it," he says. "But it's done alright so far."

  "We'll see. Follow me." I climb into my car and lead him to my house. He follows me inside, and I point to the living room couch. "Wait here. I have to change. I'll be right back."

  Closed in my bedroom, I toss aside my pantyhose and dress and shimmy into fleece-lined leggings, thick socks, and boots topped with an undershirt, a long-sleeved shirt, and a sweater. Brushing my hair out of its workday bun, I pull on my favorite pink and purple stocking cap and walk back out into the living room. Confusion clouds Gavin's face as he evaluates me.

  "You look... cozy," he says.

  "And you don't. Do you have anything warmer?" I look over his cashmere coat and ridiculously expensive shoes. "And less... stuffy?"

  Gavin looks almost offended as he runs his hands down the front of his coat.

  "This isn't stuffy," he protests. "But, no."

  I laugh and head out of the house, grabbing my coat as we go.

  "Come on. We'll figure something out. We'll take my car."

  There are a few things you can rely on about Shadow Creek. Filene will have a new flavor of fudge in her glass display case every Monday morning, and seasonal options change bi-weekly. Elise, the mail carrier, will stuff your dog full of biscuits if you don't pay attention. And, with very few exceptions, everything shuts down as soon as the sun goes down if there is a single snowflake. Sometimes hours before the sun goes down.

  Which brings us to standing in front of Dave's Outerwear Store, staring through the window into dark displays.

  "You'd think someone who sells outdoor supplies would be a bit more rugged in the face of weather," Gavin comments.

  "He's probably sitting at home making s'mores in his living room," I grumble.

  Just as I say it, a light pops on in the back of the store, and a shadow passes through it on the way to the small office. I pound on the window with my palms and shout in to Dave. It works. He appears back in the light and then comes to the door with widened eyes, holding half a candy bar in one hand.

  "Scarlett?" he asks through the window.

  "Open the door," I say, pointing toward it.

  "We're closed," he calls through to me. "It's snowing."

  I nod.

  "I am aware."

  Beside me, Gavin pulls out his credit card and flashes it to Dave.

  "Would you mind opening up just for a few minutes?" he asks. "I'm visiting from out of town and didn't pack a wardrobe prepared for this type of weather. I'd greatly appreciate it."

  Dave disappears from the window, and a few seconds later, the door opens, and he gestures for us to come inside.

  "Do people always do what you say?" I tease as we step in.

  "We'll find out," he says.

  Despite my layers, a shiver ripples along my skin.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Gavin

  Dave is more than happy to let me buy warm clothes and boots, along with a few other pieces to have in case the weather doesn’t let up. I thank him and promise to swing back by with any hot weather needs if I find myself back in Shadow Creek during the summer. He�
��s still grinning when he locks the door behind us. I tuck the clothes I took off and my bags into the back of Scarlett’s car and climb in. I expect her to head further into town, but instead, she turns around and starts in the opposite direction.

  “I thought we were going to the escape room,” I say.

  Scarlett looks over at me and laughs softly.

  “I don’t think we would need to be quite this prepared to go to an escape room,” she says. She glances over again, and her eyes travel along my new clothes. They are a distinct departure from what I was wearing when I got to her office this evening. “Besides, it looks to me like you already escaped.”

  “Fair enough,” I chuckle. “So, where are we going?”

  "I told you, we're going on an adventure. February snow is special, and we're going to enjoy it."

  I don't know if that should be exciting or unnerving, but she doesn't elaborate. I sit back for the rest of the ride. It's not long, and soon she pulls to a stop at the base of a hill. I noticed it the first time I came to Shadow Creek. It stands out against the rest of the landscape, the only elevated area near the town.

  From this close, the base of the hill looks rough and jagged, almost like a bunch of rocks were piled up to make a platform for the slope above it. The snow conceals most of the hill, but it looks like the upper part of the hill is smoother, likely covered in grass.

  At the top is an old, empty mansion. It’s huge and sprawling. The kind of thing you’d expect in a movie.

  "Is this it?" I ask.

  Scarlett grins and takes off her seatbelt. Without saying anything, she gets out, and I follow her. She’s already starting up the hill when I walk around to the front of the car. Hurrying to catch up with her, I walk along in silence for a few seconds.

  “This is one of the oldest houses in Shadow Creek,” she finally says, nodding toward the mansion. “It was built more than a century ago by the McVey family. They weren’t locals, but one of the wealthy families who used to come here to summer. They liked the fresh air and beautiful scenery. They often said the slower pace was a nice break from the chaos of the city. The first couple generations of McVeys were well-known in Shadow Creek. The wife would come in spring to prepare the house and stay through until early November. For six months out of the year, this was her home. Her husband came up on the weekends for much of it, then stayed for a month at the end, bringing his wife and children home with him when it was over.”