The Broke Man I Loved Was a Billionaire

HARPER'S POV

On my third morning at Rosa's, I found Adrian trying to rescue a pancake with a screwdriver.

"Please tell me that's clean."

"It's clean."

"Why aren't you using a spatula?"

"It broke."

"And the obvious replacement was a screwdriver?"

He studied the pan. "I was improvising."

"You were committing a crime."

I took the pan off the heat. The pancake had welded itself to the bottom.

Adrian leaned back in his chair.

"Rosa said women liked a man who could cook."

"Rosa lied."

"She does that when she's bored."

I laughed before I remembered to be careful.

Then I looked at him.

He was smiling.

He had a crooked front tooth, barely noticeable until then. It made his face less severe. More dangerous, somehow.

I looked back at the pan.

"Do you have eggs?"

"Two."

"Milk?"

"Enough."

"Flour?"

"In the tin marked sugar."

"Of course it is."

We ate scrambled eggs on toast. I cut a piece before sliding his plate across the table.

"You don't need to do that," he said gently.

"Sorry. Habit."

"Someone at home?"

"My mother, when she got sick."

He put the knife down.

"What was her name?"

"June."

"Did she cook?"

"Badly, except for three things. Lemon cake, chicken soup, and the potatoes she refused to explain."

"Sounds suspicious."

"She said a woman needed secrets."

"Did she keep many?"

"She pretended she didn't know I stole her lipstick at sixteen."

"What happened to the lipstick?"

"Vivian broke it."

The name spoiled the room.

My phone began vibrating against the counter.

I knew who it was without looking.

Adrian followed my glance.

"Would you like me to leave?"

"No."

"Would you like to answer?"

"No."

"Then you don't have to."

I opened Nolan's message instead.

Your things are taking up space. If you want them, stop hiding.

Beneath it was a picture of my suitcase outside his front door.

"I have work clothes there," I said. "My laptop. Mom's recipe box."

"Would Rosa go with you?"

"She shouldn't have to."

"That wasn't the question."

I stared at the suitcase.

"I can't see him."

"Then ask someone else to arrange it."

"Who?"

"A lawyer. An advocate. Someone whose job includes difficult people."

"They cost money."

"Some offer an initial consultation. The hospital advocate may know where to start."

I breathed out.

"You always make things sound smaller."

"Only when they can be made smaller."

"And when they can't?"

He glanced at the untouched half of my toast.

"Then we eat first."

I called the advocate after breakfast.

Adrian washed the dishes badly enough that I could hear Rosa correcting him from outside. For the first time in days, a conversation in the next room had nothing to do with what I had ruined.

By Friday, I had a consultation scheduled, a replacement bank card, and thirty seven dollars left after buying a phone charger.

Rosa found me counting it.

"I have a proposition."

"I can wash dishes."

"You'll regret offering that. I'm catering the sailing club supper tomorrow. Their organizer quit, and the seating chart looks like a hostage demand."

"I used to do events."

"I know. You mentioned it."

"Before I got fired."

"Did they fire your hands?"

I blinked.

"Your eyes? Your ability to count chairs?"

"No."

"Then come look."

At the boathouse, folding tables filled the open room. A handwritten list lay beneath a jar of pencils.

Adrian sat by the window, untangling strings of lights.

"Don't hire him," I said. "He cooks with tools."

"Unfair," he said. "Some of my tools are culinary."

Rosa pushed the list toward me.

"I can pay a hundred and eighty dollars. Small job. Honest rate."

"I wasn't asking for charity."

"Good. Because I wasn't offering any."

I picked up a pencil.

The guest list had three people named Bell, two who could not sit together, and one who needed room beside his chair.

"Which Bell is yours?"

"None. All trouble."

I began drawing.

For twenty minutes, I stopped checking my phone.

Adrian watched as I moved the table nearest the door.

"Why that one?"

"The space is wider. People won't have to squeeze past someone to get outside."

He looked at the route from his chair.

"Thank you."

"I wasn't only thinking of you."

"I like that better."

The lights brightened when he plugged them in. Half the strand went dark immediately.

"That's encouraging," I said.

"I'm building suspense."

Rosa left us to argue while she checked the kitchen.

Adrian held up a small cardboard box.

"Could you reach the spare bulbs?"

I fetched it from the shelf.

He shifted to make room beside the window, and his left foot bumped the table leg. His breath caught.

I put the box down.

"Tell me what helps."

"Wait a moment."

So I waited.

No touching. No fussing. No insisting I knew best.

When the pain eased, he looked embarrassed.

"Usually it's better behaved."

"Mine, too," I said.

"Your foot?"

"My entire life."

His mouth curved.

"Can I ask something?" I said.

"You can ask."

"Do people push your chair without warning?"

"Occasionally."

"I almost did yesterday."

"You stopped."

"I thought helping meant doing things before anyone asked."

He considered that.

"Sometimes. Sometimes it means asking first."

"Nolan hated being asked. He said I should know what he needed."

"What did you need?"

The question caught me.

"I don't think he ever asked."

Adrian passed me a bulb. "I'm asking."

I held the small glass shape between my fingers.

"To have a bad day without someone keeping score."

"All right."

"You can't promise that."

"I can manage today."

Outside, a fishing boat moved past the window. I watched it until the tightness in my throat eased enough for me to answer him.

"Today would be good."

We finished the lights in comfortable silence.

Then he asked, "What would you do if someone gave you an empty room and a budget you could actually work with?"

"How empty?"

"Completely."

"How big a budget?"

"Don't frighten me."

I leaned against the windowsill.

"I'd ask what they wanted people to feel when they walked in."

"That's the first question?"

"Not flowers. Not napkins. Why are they gathering?"

"What if they didn't know?"

"I'd help them find out."

He set the last bulb into place.

"What would you want?"

The answer came before I could protect it.

"That someone was glad they came."

Adrian looked up at me.

The room grew very quiet.

Then Rosa called that she had burned the onions, and the moment broke.

I went to help.

Before I reached the kitchen, Adrian said my name.

I turned.

"For the record," he said, "someone is."

That night, I wrote the seating cards at Rosa's table.

My phone lay beside my elbow. I had muted Nolan, but Vivian's number still lit the screen.

I hope you're not making some poor man responsible for your problems.

A second message arrived.

You always did need an audience.

I looked through the window. In the cottage next door, Adrian was trying to hang the repaired lights without getting them caught in his wheels.

He looked up and lifted one helpless hand.

I put the phone down.

Then I went outside to help him.