Page 7 of Falling for Mr. October

Do I truly look the same? Am I as unremarkable to him as this old, creaky house?

Finally, he says, “I’m up here because your grandmother asked me to see what was taking you so long.”

A half laugh spills out of me. “That was quick.”

“What was?”

I shake my head, bemused, and run a finger across my bare ring finger. “I broke off my engagement about a year ago, and she’s impatient. She’s trying to play matchmaker.”

Truthfully, I would have married the asshole if Kitty hadn’t saved me. You have to be the worst kind of snake in the grass to have your own flesh and blood, not to mention a sweetheart like Kitty, warn people to run from you.

After I checked her vitals one morning, she gripped my wrist, the pressure surprisingly strong, and said, “My darling girl, my great-nephew asked you to take care of me because he was hoping you’d spy on me. He thought you’d feed him information about who I was leaving all of this to.”

All of this being her considerable fortune.

“Kitty, he wouldn’t do that,” I objected, but she gave me one of her classic bless your heart looks, and after that, I paid more attention to the way he talked about her.

It wasn’t the fond way you’d talk about a beloved great-aunt. No, he was hungry. The Gallaghers had plenty of ancestral money, but Kitty had married a wealthy man and never had any children.

When he flat-out asked me if I knew what was in her will, I told him the truth: she planned on pouring the majority of her money into a fund for the town’s children and elderly. He looked me in the eye and said, “You have to help me convince her not to do that.”

In other words, she was absolutely correct about him.

Kitty was a woman of her word, and she established the fund she’d spoken about—and surprised me by appointing me the executor. But her will has been stuck in probate for nearly a year, so I haven’t been able to do anything with it.

The Gallaghers have slowed down the process as much as possible, filing legal objection after legal objection. It doesn’t matter to them that this was what Kitty had wanted, or that she didn’t forget her family in her will.

Rhett’s tried to make me buckle, too, by taking shots at my family, and when that didn’t work, he bought The Rotten Apple days after I took a job there. He made it out to be a romantic gesture to win me back, but I knew the truth. He still wanted to control me, and he wanted access to that money.

Of course, my grandmother is sick over the whole thing. She’d thought the world of Rhett, right up until he showed his true colors. Now, she’s taken to throwing pretty boys at me as if they were candy.

Giovanni’s not the first. She took a shine to one of the young men who delivers packages, and for a week, we had near constant deliveries until I caught on.

Giovanni looks embarrassed, which is adorable, damn him. “Oh. Well. I’m not really⁠—”

Laughter gushes out of me. “Oh my God. You think I’m interested in you?”

“What’s wrong with me?”

Now, I’ve offended him, but I can’t help smiling. “You’re not my type. Besides, you completely sidestepped the question of why you’re here in North Carolina. I don’t buy that you came to protect your grandmother from a big, bad home health nurse.”

“Why not?” He cocks his head, smiling at me. He’s probably used to smiles paving the way for him, but they won’t soften me. “If the nurse is anything like you, it would be a worthy cause.”

I glare at him.

He lifts his hands, his eyes sparkling now. “Don’t try to kill me again. My grandmother needs me.”

“Sure she does. You know, you don’t really strike me as the selfless, giving type.”

The sparkle goes out of his eyes. “And I suppose you are?”

“So I’m told. Is that why you’re here? You figured you could hand your grandmother’s care over to me?”

I’ve clearly hit a nerve, because his expression instantly hardens, his jaw resembling marble. “No, that’s my job. I’m going to take care of her. She needs to be with family, not some stranger.” Silence lingers between us for a moment before he adds, “I heard you used to be one of those death nurses. Taking care of people on their way out. Nonna doesn’t need someone fussing over her constantly to see if she’s declining. If you ask me, that kind of thing makes people go faster.”

“I didn’t ask. But I’d argue it allows them to pass peacefully in the comfort of their own homes.” I just barely avoid rolling my eyes. Plenty of people, mostly men, have said the same to me.

“Nonna’s doing fine. She doesn’t need someone putting ideas into her head, telling her she’s got dementia.”