Billionaires Dollar Series

There’s no way I can resist that, regardless of my sweats, my lack of makeup, or the cheesy romantic comedy still playing in the background.

“I can do you one better,” I say, reaching for the cookie tin on the middle of the kitchen counter. Removing the lid, I push it toward him. “I saved a few. One for you, if you’d like.”

Ethan stares at them for a long moment. “When did you say your aunt and uncle are coming back?”

“End of August.”

“Is there some way to extend their trip?” His eyes dance as he grabs one of the cookies. “I could get used to this level of neighborly camaraderie.”

I laugh. It’s breathless, both from the compliment and the white lie that has somehow become bigger and bigger. It had seemed so innocent just a few days ago.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I promise, grabbing two wineglasses from the cupboard. “Why don’t you pour and I’ll just turn off the TV…”

He does just that, his voice reaching me in the living room. “I can’t remember the last time I watched a non-animated film.”

“Hey now,” I tell him. “That’s kid-related talk. I thought you issued a moratorium.”

“And I broke it myself,” he says. “How pathetic.”

I slide onto the barstool opposite him. “Perhaps you’re being a tad too harsh on yourself.”

“Here,” he says, handing me a glass of wine. “I very much appreciate the outfit, by the way.”

I glance down at my Washington Polytech T-shirt. “I’m glad you see it that way,” I say. “I wasn’t really expecting visitors.”

“I am sorry about just coming over and demanding company. You can kick me out at any time.”

“Good to know,” I say, making my voice teasing. It’s been a while since I flirted like this-and it’s never been with a man quite like him. There’s virtually nothing about Ethan Carter that’s not intimidating to me, from his charismatic way with people to the tailored fit of his shirt. He has a solid grip on life, it seems. It’s not happening to him-he’s happening to it.

I wish I could feel like that.

He takes a deep sip of his wine. “It is late,” he admits. “It was presumptuous of me to barge in like this.”

“You didn’t barge,” I say. “You knocked.”

He gives a small smile. “Factual. You really are an engineering student, aren’t you?”

“Guilty as charged.”

“It’s been a long time since I spoke to a student,” he says.

I take a sip of my wine. “You were a PhD student yourself, not too long ago.”

He snorts, looking away from me. His hair looks even more mussed than usual-like he’s been running his hand through it repeatedly in the last few hours. There’s a furrow between his brows. “Well, it’s been a solid decade since I finished that.”

“A very productive decade.”

He sighs, looking down at his wine. “Far too productive,” he says. “I feel like I’ve lived three lifetimes in ten years.”

I put my head in my hands, leaning forward on the counter. “You do?”

“Yeah. All the shit that’s happened, the company, the kids…” He shakes his head and gives me a crooked smile. It feels more real than any he’s given me before, somehow. Wry and authentic. “Listen to me. Self-pity is the lowest of emotions.”NôvelDrama.Org © 2024.

I smile. “You’re not being self-pitying.”

“I’m not?”

“No. You just sound tired.”

“That’s it. Tired of talking to all those parents today,” he says, raising his glass accusingly at me. “You were supposed to be there, you know. I was banking on having at least some non-kid related conversation.”

Laughing, I nod at the cookie in front of him. “You’ll just have to accept that as an apology.”

He takes a bite, drawing out the wait, before he gives a solemn nod. “Apology accepted.”

“Good.” I sink back down onto my stool and take another sip of the red wine. It tastes good-rich and heavy. No doubt expensive.

“So,” he says, the green of his eyes inviting. “Tell me about your studies.”

So I do. I launch into the details of my thesis with one of the few people who’d actually understand, thrilled when he asks relevant questions. Ethan Carter, listening to me. Ethan Carter, giving advice. It’s a pinch-me moment.

We’re both deep into our second glass of wine when he shakes his head with a smile. “So the Gardners were hiding a talented systems engineer from me all this time. Who knew?”

The words warm me. “Who knew you were their neighbor?”

“Indeed,” he says, looking down at his hands resting on the counter. There’s no wedding ring on the left one. “I haven’t been much of a neighbor at all in the last few years. There hasn’t been time.”

“The three-lives-in-a-decade thing?”

“Exactly.”

Without the liquid courage, I’d never have been bold enough to ask what I do next. “I can’t help but notice… you’re raising the girls on your own?”

He nods, eyes still on his wine. “Yes. With Maria’s invaluable help, of course, as well as my mother’s. But their mother isn’t really in the picture.”

“I’m sorry,” I say.

But Ethan just snorts. “I’m certainly not. I’m thrilled not to be married anymore.”

“That bad, huh?”

“That bad,” he agrees. “But I got two brilliant kids out of the deal, so I can’t seem to find it in myself to have any regrets.”

I raise my glass, meeting his heavy gaze with my own. There’s more he’s not saying-and his eyes aren’t entirely without bitterness. But I smile, wanting to raise his spirits. “To no regrets,” I say.

“To no regrets,” he agrees, our glasses touching with a soft clink. “And welcome to Greenwood.”

The way he says it makes it easy to imagine him saying welcome home in that same deep, confident timbre. Something in my stomach flutters.