Page 62 of Billionaire's Coastal Haven

Zoe owns several dozen vinyl records, mostly boy bands from the 2010s, but tucked in the back I find an old Reba McEntire album that suits my needs.

Setting the needle, Reba’s rich voice carries through the house.

“Really?” She steps around the corner and sips her wine. She took her hair out of its bun, and the cascade over her shoulder makes me want to pull her close again.

She doesn’t realize how beautiful she is—or how much I wish I was the glass in her hand and she was pressing her lips to mine.

She embodies a peacefulness that’s addictive. Why doesn’t she realize that about herself?

Just breathing the same air lowers my blood pressure. I forget about the prospectus I owe my dad or the merger our shipping company needs to finalize.

All that exists, in this moment, is her. No distractions.

I’ll delay every step of the Reeves project if it means more nights like this with her.

I lift my shoulder. “It was the only country album that you had.”

“And you’re a big fan?”

“It’s different from all your other albums.” Since it’s unique in her collection, I wanted to see what she’d say when she heard it.

“I wouldn’t have guessed you are a Reba fan.”

“Why is it the only one?”

“It was my mom’s.” Her expression clouds, her eyebrows draw together, and her jaw tightens. “When Dad was getting rid of everything else, I kept it. She liked to listen to this record when she baked cookies in the afternoons.”

What wouldn’t I have given to come home to freshly baked cookies every day? “My mom doesn’t cook.”

“You mentioned her chef.”

“My mom burned water and was banned from feeding us a long time ago.”

“Ouch.”

“What she lacks in culinary skill, she makes up for in business acumen. I learned more about international trade from her than I did from my dad. Like you, she’s the brains of the operation.”

Zoe’s cheeks flush. “There’s a lot of love in your voice when you talk about her.” She settles on the arm of her sofa.

“She’s an amazing woman. You two will get along.”

Zoe sputters into her wine glass. “That’s presumptuous. What makes you think I’ll ever meet her?”

“She’ll be at the grand opening. Won’t you?”

“Yes.” Her answer is long and drawn out, like she’s looking for a loophole.

The simple answer isn’t enough anyway. I don’t imagine Zoe meeting my mother as Rainwater Bay’s assistant mayor. I want to introduce her as my girlfriend, but Zoe is skittish, and I won’t scare her with that fact.

A bowl with several boxes of playing cards decorates the coffee table. I pick one up and flick open the package. “Interesting centerpiece.”

“They’re pretty.”

I flick through the cards in my hand. A picture of the Seattle Space Needle decorates the backside. The other decks have similar landmarks, beaches, and forests. “Travel souvenirs?”

“Yes.”

“What’s your favorite place you’ve ever been?”