Page 13 of Oops I Fell For The Billionaire Next Door

"And you'll drink it anyway."

"Obviously." She kisses me once more. Quick, firm. Rolls out of bed. "Fix the ratio. Less grounds, more water."

The coffee is bad. She drinks it without complaint, takes her client call on the porch, lands the meeting. I watch through the window while pretending to read industry reports, and the pride in my chest when she closes the deal is bigger than anything I've felt about my own company in years.

That's the week. Trenches and squash arguments and cold feet at six a.m. Her world folding around mine, mine folding around hers. Two separate lives braiding together so naturally I stop noticing where hers ends and mine begins.

Which is exactly how I fuck everything up.

The roof. Her roof leaks in at least four places. She's patched two with tar sealant and determination, but the south slope has damaged shingles that need replacing before winter. She mentioned it once, said she'd get to it when her Nelson client paid the final invoice. Wasn't complaining. Just stating a fact.

Friday morning, while she's in Crimson Hollow meeting with a potential client Margot referred from her restaurant contacts, I call a roofing company from Nelson. Give them the address. Ask for an estimate to reshingle the south slope. Tell them to send the quote to my email.

I also order a tankless water heater. The one she has is twenty years old, undersized for the cabin, and the reason she runs out of hot water at eleven minutes. A replacement costs eight hundred dollars including installation. That's nothing to me. Less than what I spent on the espresso machine sitting in my half-built kitchen. The unit would give her unlimited hot water. She'd never have to time her showers again.

The delivery is scheduled for Thursday.

When she gets home at four, I'm on her porch. Her truck rolls up the gravel drive, the brake pads squealing. She gets out with her portfolio under one arm, face bright. The meeting went well.

"Margot's client wants a full property redesign. Terracing, native plantings, drainage. It's a big one, Beck." She's smiling so wide her dimple shows. My chest does its thing.

"That's amazing."

"Could be my biggest contract yet. If the proposal goes through." She drops the portfolio on the porch table, stretches, rolls her neck. "What've you been up to?"

My mouth opens. Closes. The roofing estimate probably arrived in my email an hour ago. The water heater is arriving in two days.

"Had the roofer come by for an estimate on your south slope."

The smile fades. Slowly, then all at once.

"You what?"

"The shingles are damaged. Before the rain season gets worse, it makes sense to⁠—"

"You called a roofer for my house."

"For an estimate. Just to see what it would cost."

"What it would cost you."

"Desi."

She picks up her portfolio. Holds it against her chest. The warmth is gone. Something cold has moved into its place, and the worst part is I recognize it. The same expression she wore the first day she showed up on my property. Guard up. Wall built. Door locked.

"Did you also fix the stove? Regrout the bathroom? What else did you do while I was gone?"

"I ordered a tankless water heater. It's coming Thursday."

The silence is brutal.

"Cancel it."

"It's already shipped."

"Then send it back." Her voice is steady. Too steady. "You don't get to fix my house, Beck. You don't get to swoop in with your credit card while I'm not home and upgrade my life because it doesn't meet your standard."

"That's not what I'm doing."