Page 6 of The Hookup Situation (Billionaire Situation #5)

He claps me on the shoulder. “You will be. Just go with the flow. Learn to be spontaneous. Follow your heart. That’s the magic of Cozy Creek.

Also, if dinner turns into a disaster, don’t panic.

Call Cozy Pizza; they’ll deliver. Julie’s order is thick crust with pepperoni, mushrooms, and extra black olives. ”

“Thanks,” I say.

He grins. “Six weeks, man. Hope you have the autumn of your life.”

“I hope I do too.”

Zane leans forward and pulls me into a brotherly hug. He holds me tight, and it’s only then that I realize how much I’ve missed him.

“I’ll see you.”

“See you,” he says .

I get in the Range Rover and take the switchbacks down the mountain to the road where the Riverside cabin is.

I follow the gravel to the end until I approach the home.

Calling this place a cabin is ridiculous.

I think it has ten bedrooms and eight baths, and it’s pure luxury with marble floors and countertops.

When I walk in, I admire the vaulted ceilings, exposed beams, oversized fireplace, and a kitchen that puts my state-of-the-art penthouse to shame.

I unpack groceries because, tonight, I’m making one of my sister’s favorite recipes, one I haven’t made in years.

I set the bags on the counter, then wash my hands before I get to work.

Prep goes smoothly until I reach for the bottle of booze, realizing it’s missing.

I walk out to the Range Rover to make sure it didn’t fall out, but it’s not there.

Before I panic, I check the cabinets to see if anyone happened to leave vodka behind, but there’s nothing other than a bottle of unopened tequila.

“Shit,” I hiss, checking the time.

It’s already six o’clock, and the store is twenty minutes away. It’s not enough time.

I stare at the sautéed garlic, onions, and tomato paste, knowing I need the vodka now.

After I release a long sigh, I grab my phone and call Cozy Pizza to order.

By the time I’ve changed clothes and hidden all evidence of my attempt at making a nice dinner, it’s seven o’clock. The pizza arrives on time, and after I tip the delivery guy, I scan the driveway.

At 7:10 p.m., I pour a glass of wine and check my phone. Maybe she’s running late.

After I read the last text she sent me, it only confirms that I deserve to be ghosted.

Unknown

Thinking about you.

I remember I was at a swanky party with Asher and his fiancée, Billie Calloway. I could’ve responded, but what would I have said?

You’ve been on my mind since we met ?

We’d both made it very clear that neither of us was in the right space for a relationship. Friends only. But then she sends me texts like that.

Another ten minutes pass, and I’m convinced she’s not coming.

After I gave her months of silence, I expected us to pick up as friends? How truly fucking delusional and presumptuous am I?

By seven thirty, I swallow down the rest of my glass of wine and refill it. When I open the lid of the pizza box, I notice headlights sweep across the windows.

I freeze and move toward the kitchen window watching Jules park. She sits in her car for a while. She’s officially thirty-five minutes late.

Get out of the car and join me. Please.

Eventually, she does. She’s wearing a brown sweater and tight jeans and carrying a bottle of wine in her hand. She takes her time strolling to the door, almost as if she’s still deciding if she should turn around.

I open the door before she can knock.

“You’re late,” I say.

“You noticed.” She studies me, then smiles. “I was trying to decide if this was a terrible idea.”

“What’s the verdict?”

“Jury’s still out.” She steps past me into the house. “But I brought more wine for us, so I’m committed to at least an hour of fun.”

“Fair enough.” I let her in, closing the door behind her. She smells like wildflowers and a dash of vanilla. “I ordered pizza. My cooking plans fell through.”

Her emerald eyes sparkle, and her red hair glows in this light as she turns to me. “What happened?”

I hear the concern in her voice.

“Turns out vodka sauce needs vodka. Who knew? ”

She laughs, and the sound echoes off the vaulted ceiling. “You forgot the main ingredient?”

“It was a travel day, and I’ve had a lot of shit on my mind,” I admit.

“Clearly.” She sets her wine on the counter and notices the packaging in the trash. “You bought fresh penne from Marcello’s?”

“You know it?”

“Who doesn’t? Fancy.” She touches the package. “You were actually going to cook for me.”

“Of course. But also, don’t sound so surprised. I know how to cook,” I explain. “I can be domestic when needed.”

“Really? I learn something new about you every time we’re together.”

“I’ve missed your fire,” I tell her.

She laughs. “I could say the same about you.”

I slide a plate from the cabinet and hand it to her with a napkin. “I’m glad you came. I thought you weren’t.”

“Truthfully, I wasn’t, but I flipped a coin.” She opens the pizza box and grins. “My favorite. Lucky guess?”

“Zane told me,” I say. “Wait, wait. You flipped a coin?”

She nods. “I even did the best two out of three. Then I did three of five. The answer was clear, so here I am.”

I snatch a piece of pizza from the box and take a bite. Julie does the same.

“Sorry it’s cold,” I offer.

“My fault,” she says, covering her mouth with her hand as she speaks. “You know, the night we met, I thought I’d never see you again.”

The words hang between us as I grab her a wineglass and fill it.

“I thought you were just some guy passing through town. If I’d known you’d keep showing up, I might have kept some things to myself,” she says.

“I’m glad you didn’t. ”

She plucks a black olive off the top of her slice. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

Her voice softens. “Why didn’t you text me back?”

A breath releases from me. “I didn’t know what to say.”

“I can accept that,” she says. “But I can’t be ghosted by people who try to call themselves friends.”

I nod. “You’re absolutely right. I should’ve done better, and I apologize. You’ll never have to worry about not getting a response from me again. Apparently, I’ve been needing to work on my human connections, and since I left the city, that has become my new priority.”

“Wow. Thank you,” she says.

We stand in the kitchen, eating pizza and drinking wine, and I feel something shift. The awkwardness slowly melts away.

“God, I’ve been lonely,” she admits as we move to the couch. “Is that weird to say?”

“Not if it’s the truth.” I grab the remote and flick on the gigantic television that fills the wall. “Lately, I’ve felt the same. It’s almost like I’ve been living the same day over and over again; it was a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. Then I lost my shit in a meeting, and here we are.”

Her eyes are kind as she takes another bite of pizza. “I’m happy you’re here.”

“I am too.”

She raises her glass. “To friendship. And answered texts. And remembering the vodka next time.”

“To having the best damn autumn of our lives,” I counter, excited for pumpkin patches and apple cider.

“Amen.”

We clink glasses, and her smile is worth every minute I spent panicking that she wouldn’t show.

“So,” she says, settling in, “catch me up on your so-called life. I need entertainment with my pizza. ”

“Only if you share.”

“Deal. But don’t you dare skip the embarrassing parts.”

I lean against the cushions, careful to keep a distance between us. “Okay, but remember, you asked for this …”

And just like that, we fall into a rhythm, like the eight months that separated us never happened. We’re just two people who found each other again at the right moment. We’re honest and raw. I tell her about work, and she talks about the coffee shop. This is the friendship I’ve been missing.

We talk until the pizza box is empty and the second bottle of wine is almost gone. She throws her head back and laughs at my stupid jokes. Throughout the night, I can’t stop staring at her lips.

“Your turn,” I say after I explain one of my embarrassing relationship moments.

She grows quiet, spinning her wineglass. “My ex-fiancé, Craig , showed up at my parents’ anniversary party with his new girlfriend three months after our engagement ended.” She looks up at me. “Want to know the pathetic part?”

I move closer without meaning to. “Tell me.”

“For about thirty seconds, I thought he was there to win me back. After everything, some stupid part of me thought …” She shakes her head. “Anyway, he just wanted to return my grandmother’s ring in front of everyone.”

“Jules—”

“His new fiancée was wearing a necklace I’d bought him to celebrate our second anniversary.” She laughs, but I hear the pain. “So, yeah, that’s my most embarrassing. Nothing beats being reminded very publicly that you’re replaceable.”

“You’re not.”

“Everyone’s replaceable.”

“I don’t believe that.” I set my glass down and turn to her until we’re facing each other. Our legs briefly touch, and I can see the gold flecks in her green eyes. “Some people leave marks on you and make it impossible to go back to who you were before you knew them.”

She stares up at me. “Do you really believe that?”

“Yeah. You’re unforgettable, Little Red.”

The air between us shifts. Her lips part slightly.

“We’re friends,” she whispers.

“We are friends.”

“Friends don’t look at each other like this.”

“How?” I ask.

“Like …” She sets her wine down and shifts toward me.

We’re too close now.

Neither of us moves.

She sucks in a breath. “Nick, I?—”

The doorbell rings, shattering the moment.

We jump apart like teenagers caught by their parents. Jules smooths her sweater, looking everywhere but at me.

I answer the door to find a woman in her sixties, holding a clear dish.

“Hi! I’m Sheila Galloway. I own the place and rented it to you. Just wanted to come and give you a warm welcome and a fresh pumpkin pie.”

She glances around me and spots Julie on the couch like a typical nosy, small-town neighbor.

“Oh! Julie? I didn’t know you two knew each other,” she says over my shoulder.

“Hi, Mrs. Galloway.” Julie appears beside me, cheeks flushed. “I was actually just leaving.”

“Don’t go on my account, dear. You two continue your date; don’t let me interrupt.”

“It’s not a date,” Jules says.

“We’re just friends,” I add, knowing how rumors start in small towns.

Mrs. Galloway looks between us with knowing eyes. “Well, regardless, enjoy the pie. I plan on winning the pie baking contest with that very recipe. Hope I can count on your vote.” She leaves with a wink.

The door closes, and Julie groans, pulling her keys from her pocket. “Great! Mrs. Galloway will tell the entire town I was here.”

“And? I can’t let you leave,” I tell her, gently pulling her to me. “You’ve had too much to drink.”

Her cheeks are flushed, and she breathes out, “I’ll call Autumn to pick me up.”

“Just stay,” I say. “I don’t bite.”

She narrows her eyes. “Yes, you do.”

“No way I’m letting anything happen to you.”

Her face softens, and she chews on the inside of her cheek. “You’re a bad influence.”

“Undeniably,” I say with a smirk. “But bad influences have the most fun and make the best of friends.”

She playfully rolls her eyes but finally sets her keys down. “Promise to be a gentleman?”

“I always am.” My voice is casual, even as my pulse speeds up. “Honestly, this house is huge. Any bed is yours. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Her eyes swirl with amusement and skepticism. “That sounds like someone’s famous last words.”