Page 57 of Billionaire's Coastal Haven

Hopefully not this one.

The doorbell rings again followed by three swift knocks.

Impatient much?

I pull the door open. Landon is on my front porch with two linen sacks in his hands. He’s wearing his ubiquitous cream wool coat. A lock of hair falls across his forehead. I tuck my hands under my arms so I don’t brush it back to see his eyes better. “I said I wasn’t going to your condo.”

“I know.” He brushes past me into my entryway. “I brought dinner to you.”

“Landon, you can’t ignore me when I say no.”

He lifts the bags. “You need to eat.”

“That’s what frozen pizza is for.”

“We can do better than that.” His lips graze my cheek. “You look beautiful.”

“No, I don’t. I look like a bag lady.”

“You look comfortable, and I appreciate you not pretending to be someone you aren’t. It’s a nice change.”

“I didn’t agree to dinner, so why would I get dressed up?”

“Kitchen through here?” He walks down the hall to the back of my house.

My home is a quaint two-bedroom craftsman bungalow I bought with my college fund, since I earned a full ride to the University of Washington. I refused to move back in with Dad after graduation, much to his annoyance.

But what twenty-something woman wants to live with her dad? Only one that doesn’t hope to have a social life.

But maybe that would have kept Landon away.

Too late now.

Landon sets his bags on the counters and shrugs out of his coat. He tosses it on the back of one of the dining chairs and pushes up the sleeves of his Henley. “Bottle opener?” He pulls a bottle of wine out of one of the bags.

“You’re not leaving, are you?”

“Not until we talk.”

“Thirty cabins. Talk over.”

His gaze sweeps over my face and softens. “That’s not what we’re talking about.”

“But you said…” What else is there to talk about? It’s been almost two months since our kiss. I’m never going to admit I think about it as I’m drifting off to sleep. I’ve convinced myself he’snotthinking about it.

So what can we possibly have to discuss?

He wiggles the bottle. “Opener?”

The fastest way to get rid of Landon is to go through the motions. The bottle opener is in the drawer next to the stove. I hand it to him, and he uncorks the wine while I grab two glasses.

He hands me the golden liquid. “To fresh starts.”

I touch my glass to his. “To you leaving me alone.”

“We can be friends.”

“I doubt that.” What would that even look like? The overly insightful compliments he gives always knock me off-kilter. How do we have a friendly dinner when I’m worried the next truth bomb out of his mouth will make me crumble at his feet?