Charmed by the Billionaire (Blue Collar Billionaires #2) - Lemmon, Jessica Page 0,30

look before checking for traffic and jogging over to me.

I can either run away or stand here and listen while he tries to make me feel better about what I just witnessed. Instead, I smile and pretend like the chill seeping into my bones doesn’t exist.

“Hey! This is a surprise!” I say cheerily. He’s still scowling when he comes to a stop in front of me. “I should have listened to my first instinct and bought two matchas. Here you are, and I only have the one.” I elevate my cup. “I can go back and pick one up for you. I know you like coffee better than matcha, though. Would you prefer a cappuccino?”

“What are you doing here?” he interrupts my inane, and possibly insane, monologue.

“Matcha latte.” I hold up my cup. “What about you?” My tone loses some of its chirp.

“I know you saw me with Trish.”

Crap. This is the problem with lying to your best friend. They can tell you’re doing it.

“Is that who that was?” What can I say, I’m committed to my path.

“You know it was. She—”

“You don’t have to explain.” The sad part is, I mean it. I don’t want him to break up with me when we aren’t dating. I don’t want to see the pity in his eyes when he tries to let me down easy. “You and Trish were close. As close as I’ve ever seen you to anyone.” It’s miserable to admit but no less true. Worse, I remember vividly how she had his undivided attention when they dated. She’s smart, savvy. Fun. “I imagine it’d be easy to fall in with her again given you broke up so recently.”

“Six months ago.” His expression is unreadable.

“Has it been six months already?” My high-pitched tone betrays me.

“You know it has been.” He takes my hand in his. “Come on. We’re going somewhere we can talk. I’ll buy you breakfast.”

“But—”

He leads me to the corner to a restaurant called Your Daily Brunch. He releases my hand to open the door for me, but I don’t move.

“I’m sure they wouldn’t like it if I took this inside.” I hold up my matcha. “Why don’t I finish drinking it while you grab a table?” I read somewhere that nodding while you speak tricks the other person into agreeing with you even if they don’t. My tactic fails miserably on him.

“And let you drive off to parts unknown? Forget it. If the staff complains about your matcha, I’ll deal with it.” His hand wraps around mine again. Less than one minute later we’re seated by a window in a cozy corner at the rear of the restaurant.

The waitress doesn’t bat an eye at my matcha. She takes our orders and leaves us alone. Meanwhile, Benji is staring a hole through my head. I can feel it. I finally look at him, but I am not letting him speak before I get in at least one preemptive strike.

I lower my voice but speak loud enough so he can hear me over the din of diners. “Let’s call yesterday a one-off. It’s already weird, and you promised if it was weird we could forget it happened and go back to normal.”

“Wrong. I told you I wouldn’t forget.”

“But you did agree to go back to normal.” I point at him. “I won’t stand in the way of you and Trish patching things up, especially when she—”

“Her mom’s dying.”

I blink. “Her—what?”

“Her mom. She’s dying. Terminal cancer. They only gave her a month. Trish doesn’t have any family in town. She found out yesterday and needed someone to talk to about it. When she called again this morning, I picked up and she was crying and asking for advice. I drove over to be here for her. I didn’t want to do it over the phone. That’s it. That’s all.”

My heart melts.

He’s such an epically kind person.

“I’m so sorry to hear that.” And I am. Truly. My mom and I may not be the most stellar example of mother-daughter camaraderie, but if she was sick and dying it would leave a scar. A deep one. “Poor Trish. Do you want me to send flowers? Or a fruit basket? Or if she’s leaving town to visit her mom, we could send a Starbucks gift card for her travels.”

When I tip my head to look up at him, he’s smiling. Soft, easy. “You’re always thinking of everyone else, aren’t you? Even when I offer to give you something, you’re worried about my