Page 51 of Billionaire's Coastal Haven

It’s who you want to be.

How can he possibly know that?

How can he tell me who I want to be when he doesn’t even know me?

Idon’t even know me.

How can he be right?

I want to be the kind of woman men pursue with passion and single-minded focus.

No, that’s not right. I don’t wantmento pursue me. I want one man. One with golden skin and green eyes who bakes me cinnamon rolls, even if he is the last man on earth I am allowed to have.

What started as a wayward kiss has bloomed into an irresponsible crush. After our moment on the beach this morning, that crush is a forest fire driving me to seek refuge anywhere but Landon’s arms.

How can he have so much faith in me when no one else does?

How does he see me as worthy of sonnets when the rest of the people in my life can barely describe me with the words that fit on a post it note?

It doesn’t matter. He’s temporary. His ego is wounded. He’s spouting lines to get me to give in and make him feel like he isn’t a failure.

I pinch the bridge of my nose to shake off my pensive thoughts. Dad and I are having brunch at the Red Wood today. Family tradition dictates the meal on the last Tuesday of the month since mom passed away, and this is the first time since Dad’s heart attack that he feels well enough to pursue the tradition.

Dad is already at a table in the center of the room with several of his friends when I arrive.

He insisted he was well enough to drive himself, so I gave him his freedom.

His face brightens when he sees me. “Hey, Baby Girl.” He hefts his bulk out of the chair and scoops me in a bear hug, then shoos Jim Harrington out of a chair. “I was starting to worry. You’re never late.”

“My swim took longer than normal today, that’s all.” As did reorganizing my face so Dad wouldn’t be able to read Landon’s effect on me.

His forehead pinches. “Still don’t like you in that bay.”

“It’s good exercise.” I poke his belly. “Join me and you’ll look a little bit less like Santa Claus.”

“I prefer my jolly disposition, thank you very much.” He pushes my chair in after I sit down. “Now tell me all about the Reeves estate. You’ve been quiet the last few days.”

“No. The doctors said you need to lower your stress levels. We are having a family brunch, not talking business.”

“It’s more stressful not knowing.” He leans forward in anticipation, but I don’t give in. They said no stress. My silence means no stress.

“What can I get you?” our waitress asks.

Dad unfolds his laminated menu. “Breakfast platter.”

“Uh-huh.” I take the menu and point to the heart healthy section. “He will have the egg white and spinach omelet with whole wheat toast. No butter, strawberry jam on the side. Black coffee and orange juice, please.”

He flicks his napkin and puts it in his lap. “I can order my own food.”

“Doctor’s orders—because you do not get to have another…” I wiggle my eyebrows because he knows I can’t sayheart attackin the middle of a restaurant surrounded by friends who know more about us than they should. “Not on my watch.”

Dad hands the waitress both our menus. “Change that whole wheat toast to banana bread, love.” He drops his glare to me. “I can still eat that.”

“No butter.” I order the same meal as Dad to support him.

He is a man who does not like change, but if I hope to watch him bounce grandbabies on his knee, he needs to eat better and exercise. I also need to convince him he needs to officially retire, but that’s a fight for another day.

“Mayor Winslow, what a pleasant surprise.” Lucky pops up at my shoulder like a demented jack-in-the-box. Too many teeth in a smile that doesn’t reach her wide eyes. “Hey, Zoe.” My name tumbles from her mouth likean afterthought.