Page 21 of Accidentally Marrying the Billionaire

“Oh, that was low. But I promised my wife I wouldn’t touch you. Just know this, that woman in there.” I point to the hallway where she disappeared. “Is walking sunshine. I knew the moment I saw her that I wanted her. Unlike you, I won’t be such a fool as to let her go.”

Kurt opens his mouth, but whatever he was going to say dies when Evelyn reappears, hauling two suitcases and a laundry basket stuffed with books.

"That's everything?" I ask, already reaching for the heavier suitcase from her.

"I think so." She pauses, looking around the living room one last time. Her eyes land on the infamous couch—a perfectly ordinary gray sectional that I now hate on principle.

"You okay?" I ask quietly.

She nods. "Yeah. It's just weird. I lived here for over a year, and I don't... feel anything. No sadness. No nostalgia." She shrugs. "It's like leaving a hotel room."

That tells me everything I need to know about what these fourteen months were for her.

"Evelyn," Kurt says, and something in his voice shifts. Softer. More calculated. "Maybe we should talk. Just the two of us. Get coffee sometime. We didn't really get closure."

I keep my mouth shut. This isn't my call to make.

Evelyn tilts her head, considering him. For a second, I see a flicker of the woman she must have been when they were together—uncertain, people-pleasing, worried about causing conflict.

Then she straightens her shoulders.

"You broke up with me three months ago and asked me to sleep on the couch because you 'needed space to think,'" she says calmly. "You criticized my cooking, my clothes, my lesson plans, and the way I organized the dishwasher. You told me I was predictable and boring, and when I cried, you said I was being dramatic."

Kurt's mouth opens.

"I don't need closure from you, Kurt. I just needed to get my stuff." She hoists the laundry basket higher on her hip. "Also, you still owe me sixty dollars for that electric bill from November."

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning.

"I'll Venmo you," Kurt says weakly.

"You'd better." She turns toward the door, then pauses. "Oh, and Kurt? I reorganized your spice cabinet before I left. Alphabetically. You're welcome.”

And then she winks at him. Fucking winks.

I think I might fall in love with her right then and there.

We're halfway to the car when I lose it.

The laugh erupts out of me—loud and uncontrolled and probably audible from the house. Evelyn shoots me a look, but she's smiling too, that real smile that lights up her whole face.

"Alphabetically?" I manage.

"He always complained that he could never find the cumin."

"So you passive-aggressively organized his kitchen."

"I like to think of it as a parting gift." She dumps her suitcase in the trunk. "Also, I may have hidden the cumin behind the paprika."

I stare at her. "You're diabolical."

She shrugs. “I teach kindergartners. You learn psychological warfare early."

I pull her into me and kiss her right there in Kurt's driveway, where I'm almost certain he's watching from the window. It's petty and possessive, and I don't care even a little bit.

When I pull back, her cheeks are flushed. "Was that for his benefit or mine?"

“Mine, actually.” I open the passenger door for her. “Aren’t spices normally organized alphabetically?”