Love Redesigned (Lakefront Billionaires #1) by Lauren Asher

“We should be mutually exclusive.” The thought of him being with anyone else makes my stomach churn.

“We already established that I don’t like sharing.”

“Obviously, based on the way you acted like a jealous caveman around Evan, Dan, and anyone else who stared at me for longer than a few seconds.” My eye roll gets interrupted by a pillow smacking into the side of my face.

Julian laughs, only to profusely apologize after I pretend he hurt my eye.

“Ow.” I stick out my bottom lip and sniffle.

“I’m sorry.” He kisses my temple, right above my “injury,” only for me to break out into a fit of laughter.

His hand moves from cupping my cheek to wrapping itself around my neck. “You played me.”

“You have no proof.”

His fingers press into the side of my neck.

“Fine.” I crack. “I did! But it’s not my fault you’re so gullible.”

He gives my neck one last squeeze before he gives my shoulder a shove. I fall back onto the mattress with a wince.

Panic flashes across his face as he reaches to help me sit up. “Shit. I’m so sorry. Are you okay? I should have been more carefu—”

I fix my sling. “Relax. It was an accident.”

His face pales. “On second thought, we should wait until you’re cleared by a doctor before doing anything else.” He takes a large step back.

“That’s not for another two weeks!”

“I’m not going to risk you getting hurt again.”

My heart does a betraying dive straight into enemy territory, exposing my weakness.

Him.

I’m not sure how long this thing will last between Julian and me, but I plan on making the most of it—and him—until the time comes for me to leave.





CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN


Dahlia


It’s easy to spend the rest of the morning in our own little bubble while picking up the party supplies and driving back to Lake Wisteria. With Julian playing our favorite songs from high school while I belt out the lyrics at the top of my lungs, time flies as we drive back to town.

I’m hit with a weird feeling when Julian removes his hand from my thigh, and I mourn the loss as we drive toward the park where the Harvest Festival is being set up.

We both stick to opposite ends of the park while we help his mom with anything she needs for tomorrow’s event. Julian holds true to his promise of not touching me in public, although I do catch him staring at me a few times with a strange expression on his face.

I wake up Saturday pleasantly surprised by the way I’m buzzing with excitement rather than feeling heavy with dread. It’s a positive sign I plan on sharing with my therapist during our next session, and one I plan on taking full advantage of today as I head to the Harvest Festival for my morning shift.

Not many people are interested in buñuelos at this time of day, so I entertain myself by watching Julian struggle his way through running the champurrado booth.

“All good?” I ask when he curses at himself in Spanish.

He wipes his face with the back of his hand. “Perfect.”

“Hey, mister. Hurry up! I’m losing my patience here,” a ten-year-old hollers from the back of the line.

I laugh as a few others start a chant.

“Thank God I’m never having children,” he mutters under his breath.

“No?” I’m surprised I can manage the word with how tight my throat feels.

“Don’t tell me you want them after listening to these guys all morning.”

I take a huge bite out of a buñuelo despite my stomach rolling while Julian makes his way through the line of children at a snail’s pace. A few of the kids find their way over to my booth after they pay him, and I set them each up with a mini buñuelo and a suggestion to dip it into the drink Julian made.

“That’s disgusting.” Julian’s nose twitches.

“You haven’t tried it.”

A kid follows my advice, and his eyes light up. “This is awesome!” He holds up his hand.

I high-five him before turning to Julian. “Told you so.”

“No one likes a know-it-all.”

“I wanna try!” The blonde girl I saw with Alana pops out from behind a group of kids and passes me a hundred-dollar bill.

“Umm…one second.” I open the cash register and attempt to gather enough bills together to give her change.

“Don’t worry about that.” A deep male voice has me turning to find the blond guy I’d seen with her before.

What was his name again? Al?

I hold the crisp bill in the air for him to see. “She gave me a hundred-dollar bill.”

“Save it for college.” The little girl winks.

While I’m flattered she thinks I look young enough to attend college, I’m mildly concerned that she hands out hundreds like singles.

“Are you Alana’s kid?” I throw some batter into the fryer.

“Yup! I’m Cami.”

“You know my fiancée?” the man—possibly Al—asks.

“Yup. The three of us went to high school together.” I point my thumb back at Julian, who scowls at the man across from me.

“You didn’t tell me that, Julian,” Al says.

“You didn’t ask,” Julian replies with a bored tone.