The Billionaire's Gamble (8 page)

“It’s a nice day out.” The temperature was likely seventy already, but the air was clear and crisp. “I’m going to walk.”

“I’ll see you later, then,” she said. “Just holler if you need anything.”

“I will.”

That day, he found pride in finishing the painting of the main part of the bakery. When Margie came by later in the afternoon, she twirled around the shop with her arms outstretched after seeing it all come together like it had in her dreams. It was so hard not to kiss her senseless—she was so full of light. Not the cold glamour of models coated in diamond jewelry, but a genuine, warm exuberance that made it seem like her very body glowed with it.

She must have felt the pull between them too because she didn’t stay to help him. His dinner that night was a sandwich he bought at Don’t Soy With Me since he couldn’t work up the courage to eat the ramen. Margie was nowhere to be seen when he looked around the coffee shop, and he didn’t ask to see her as he paid for his meal.

When he got back to the house, he inhaled the smell of hazelnuts and apricots. So, that’s why he hadn’t seen her. She’d already gone home. He headed into the kitchen and smiled when he saw Margie sitting on the counter, her head bowed over a legal pad covered in scribbles.

“Did you eat?” she asked.

“I grabbed a sandwich at Don’t Soy With Me.”

He knew he was splurging, but he’d found that while he could live without his fancy cars, surviving on plain, no-frills food was another matter entirely.

“What did you think of the shop?” she asked with a fond smile.

“It’s a nice place. I liked seeing the art on the walls from local painters.”

“I want to do something like that at Hot Cross Buns, but different.”

He thought for a moment. “What about showcasing local foods like honeys and jams?” Then he wondered how pricy those might be. Surely not too terrible.

When she blinked and then gave an enchanting grin, he knew she liked his idea. “Great idea! I’ll have to look into that. Feel free to grab a slice of my newest bread.”

A slice was already waiting for him, and when he sampled it, sure enough, he tasted the sweet and tangy apricots and the crunch of hazelnuts.

“I’m a sucker for hazelnuts,” he said, staggering back playfully.

“Me too.” Then she put her nose back in her legal pad.

“One of my favorite restaurants in Paris makes the best hazelnut soufflé,” he told her. “It’s unlike anything you’ll ever taste.”

She made a humming sound. “Sounds delicious. We’ll have to sit down and talk about Paris at some point so I can soak in all of your suggestions. Right now, I need to focus on my menu.”

“Sure thing.” He poured himself some water. “I’ll leave you to it.”

He ate the rest of his slice on the front porch step as the sun went down.

She opened the door some time later, as twilight was descending. “I’m going to turn in. I’ve been getting up earlier and earlier, trying to ease my way into baker’s hours. Will you lock the front door when you come in?”

He nodded, wishing she’d sit a moment with him. Still, if she did, he knew he’d be tempted to reach for her hand and point out the constellations that were just making themselves known in the sky. “Good night, Margie.”

“Good night, Evan.”

As Cassiopeia drew his gaze, he calmed his mind and let design ideas pour forth like a herd of wild horses.

In the quiet, he found a new contentment.

***

The next day, another challenge on the painting front prompted a new design idea. After learning what a pain in the butt painting baseboards could be, his brain had started designing a wheel-based roller that could paint the suckers by sensing the top of the baseboard and the bottom of the floor. So far, the only designs he’d envisioned while in Dare Valley were his paint mistress and another painting improvement tool yet to be named. But it was a start. He was giddy with excitement.

When Margie swung by around five o’clock, he walked her through his progress.

“I hate baseboards,” he finally confessed. “I’d be happy if I never saw one again.”

She cringed. “I know. I didn’t envy you. Too bad your paint mistress whatnot couldn’t help you.”

Little did she know he was three steps ahead of her.

“How about I order some pizza and help you use your mistress on the kitchen?” she asked, donning the paint smock she’d laid on one of the cardboard boxes that held the cans of paint.

“Unfortunately, there’s only one paint mistress,” he said. “Why don’t you head home and rest for a bit? Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look tuckered out.” He rather admired the circles under her eyes.

She gave a yawn. “I am tired, but it’s a good tired, you know? This is my dream, and I just want to work on it every hour of the day. Right now, I feel trapped between two worlds. I’m trying to create the easiest possible transition for Rebecca at the coffee shop. She’s begun to shadow me, so at least we’re progressing. Pretty soon, she’ll take over.”

“That other chapter in your life will be over soon enough,” he said, striding across the room to her and helping her out of the smock she’d just wrapped around herself.

“It’s been a special chapter,” she said, “one of the happiest of my life. I’m going to miss it, but I keep reminding myself the bakery’s only a block away.”

The nape of her neck drew his gaze, and he fought the urge to trace that delicate skin. She smelled of baked bread and coffee—delectable. “But you know it won’t be the same.”

She turned her head. Their eyes met, and he couldn’t look away from her. For a moment, he couldn’t see anything but the green of her eyes. The sensation was like falling backwards.

“No, it won’t,” she said softly. “Sometimes things happen, and our lives never feel the same way again.”

He had a feeling she wasn’t only talking about her new career change—there was something happening between them, something that both alarmed and delighted him. But he forced himself to take a step back.

She shook herself and headed to the door. “Oops. I forgot my purse.” As she walked over to it, he noticed her cheeks were a little pink. “Thanks for…suggesting I take some time. Don’t work past seven, okay? I don’t want anyone to think I’m a slave driver. You don’t want to chase off my future staff, do you?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

When she left, he sat on the floor in the quiet for a moment. She was so enchanting and filled with light he found it impossible to stop staring at her when she was in the room. But he wasn’t who she thought he was, and besides, he was going back to Paris. Their real lives were as different as could be. He needed to remember that.

That night, he went to an Irish pub in town called Hairy’s and had a beer, staying out until he thought she would be asleep.

But moments after he unlocked the door of the old Victorian, she crept into the hall. “Where were you? I went by the shop when you didn’t come back after seven. I’ve been worried.”

Something sharp and warm moved through his chest. “I went for a beer at the pub. I…thought you could use some time alone.”

The slope of her throat moved when she swallowed. “I know you don’t have a phone you can use here, and maybe I’m being a mother hen, but…can you call me next time or use someone’s phone to text me?”

He wanted to ask her if she’d ever asked Martin to provide her with his whereabouts, but he already knew the answer.

“People here are nice,” she rushed on, “and they’d be happy to let you make a call.”

He wanted to smooth the frown line between her brows. So, the little time they’d spent away from each other hadn’t changed anything. He still felt an incredible pull to her, and clearly, so did she.

“I will next time. I’m sorry I worried you.”

She clutched her hands. “It’s just that you’re new in town, and… Well, I’m going to turn in now that I know you’re safe and sound.”

He bid her goodnight, and let himself outside again, more than a little off balance. Other than Chase, no one ever worried about him. His mother meant well. She’d just never understood him, so he’d given up trying to explain himself to her a long time ago. And his father had never contacted them again after the divorce.

How long was a month?
he asked himself as he sat on the front porch again with his friends—the constellations, his thoughts, and his design ideas.

A long time.

For the rest of the week, he painted, savoring the quiet focus it gave his mind. Sometimes Margie would swing by to help him after her other job was over. Other times, she would go back to the house to do more test baking.

He didn’t stay out again without telling her, and she didn’t say anything about worrying about him again.

The next week, he continued to paint her bakery, bringing her vision to life.

Coming home to the smell of fresh-baked bread each night made his stomach growl pretty much constantly, but he would usually make a quick dinner, sometimes of the dreaded ramen, and then get out of her way unless she was chatty. So far she hadn’t been as chatty, and he knew it wasn’t only because her mind was on her new bakery.

She’d pulled back a little as well.

He and Martin ran into each other a few times, but they didn’t speak much since the graduate student didn’t hang out in the common rooms when he was home, which was rare. And that was just fine. He wasn’t here to make friends, even though in truth, he didn’t have many real friends except for Chase. Sure, he partied with a lot of people. Heck, he could command the most sought-after invitations in Europe, but he wouldn’t call any of those people if he needed to express this thoughts.

By Thursday, Evan had perfected his Paint Prep Mistress and sent his high-tech design and mock prototype to his head of research and development. Chase was blustering about his use of company manpower, but Evan was managing it. He’d hired Chase for his business sense, after all, and they’d always agreed business and R&D were like oil and water when it came to innovation. Evan had to run with the inventions coming to him because he knew they were leading him somewhere. He just wasn’t sure of the destination yet.

The only parts of Hot Cross Buns he had left were the bathrooms and the kitchen. He was going to paint the bathrooms first. The kitchen would probably take him a few days since Margie wanted him to paint the concrete floor as well. She was pleased he was so meticulous, but he knew she wished he would work a bit faster. To him, it was more important to do it right.

Once he finished the kitchen, he was going to head out front to give her exterior a new look. She’d chosen to go with a black and violet paint combination that would match the bakery’s new sign, which was currently sitting in the middle of the main floor, waiting to be hung.

On Friday as he was leaving for work, she slid him a slice of the freshest rye bread he’d eaten since Berlin and asked if he thought he could handle hanging her sign once he finished painting. Of course, he agreed. He helped her set up a few things in the dining room for the cinnamon roll tasting later that night, and then they were off.

When she dropped him at the bakery that morning, he headed to the local hardware store. Wayne Smith was quickly becoming his handyman chum. For every question he asked, Wayne had an answer, so when Evan asked what kind of screws he’d need to hang Margie’s sign, Wayne led him to the screw section in the bowels of the hardware store.

When he returned to the bakery to begin painting the kitchen, he’d barely stepped inside before he heard a knock on the front door. While curious spectators had stopped and peered into the shop before, no one had ever rapped on the glass door before. He swiveled on his heels. Rhett Butler Blaylock and Jane Wilcox were outside. He jumped to his feet and walked over to the door to open it.

“I’m afraid the bakery isn’t open yet,” he said dryly. In truth, he was surprised they hadn’t come to see him sooner.

Jane gave him a look and handed him a long white paper bread bag. “Funny. We thought we’d drop by and give you one of Brasserie Dare’s baguettes in case you were homesick.”

Now he really knew they had something on their minds. “Thanks,” he said, taking the bag. “Good to see you.”

“How about you let us in for a spell, Evan?” Rhett said amiably.

“Sure.” He stepped back, giving them room to enter, and then closed the door behind them. Nerves were tickling at his belly all of a sudden.

“How’s it going?” Rhett asked, hooking his thumbs in the pockets of his cargo shorts.

“Good,” he answered easily, setting the bread on his backpack. “Margie’s been great, and I’ve found a new calling in painting.”

No one laughed.

“Dare Valley is a wonderful town,” he continued, trying to sense their mood. “It’s been good…to find a new routine over the last couple of weeks. Don’t get me wrong, I hate to lose at poker, but I’m really glad I ended up coming here.”

Jane studied him as intently as when she’d sat across from him at that fateful poker table. “We’re happy to hear that, Evan. According to Margie, you hang the moon.”

He could hear the question a mile away. “Something on your mind?”

Rhett kicked at the plastic on the floor. “We don’t think you’ve gotten fresh with her.”