Rescued By the Billionaire by Lisa Kaatz

Epilogue

“So what’s going on with Leah?” I asked, taking a sip of my coffee.

It had taken a while, but I’d finally found the perfect location. With its exposed brick walls and original antique ceilings, the bones were right. It took $100,000 of renovations and a couple of calls to an exterminator - ugh - to restore the old place to its former glory, but after four months of contractors coming in and out of the place every day, it was finally restored. It wasn’t open to the public - yet. But the espresso machine had arrived yesterday, and Abby was dying to give it a test drive.

I hadn’t had one of her cappuccinos in months. After the first sip, I knew I’d made the right decision. It was funny how certain aromas or tastes could bring back memories. One of Abby’s cappuccinos brought back memories of the day we first met. Of the first time I heard my name cross her delicious lips, soft and full of wonder and sweet innocence.

“Dumped her,” Harrison said, downing his double shot of espresso in one gulp. I shook my head. The man was like an animal. No appreciation for the art of high quality coffee whatsoever.

But he had helped design the new logo and curate the artwork that was now arriving from local artists every other day. Between him and Abby, they’d picked out everything from the backsplash tile to the light fixtures to the font on the menus. Their relationship had fallen into step as easily as anything. They bickered like brother and sister, and loved each other like it too. Once or twice, Harrison had jokingly threatened me - “If you hurt that girl, I’ll have to hurt you back” - which was the highest compliment Harrison had ever given a woman I was with.

“Dumped her,” I said, raising a brow. “I thought you liked her?”

I’d never liked Leah much but humored Harrison wherever I could when it came to women. He rarely stuck to the same one for long anyway, so when Leah first came around, I figured it was just a matter of time before she disappeared, gone like all of the ones before her.

Yet she’d stayed around for nearly three months, like a parasite that refused to be removed, siphoning money from Harrison at every turn. We’d double dated with them one more time before Abby put her foot down, pronouncing as we got in the car after a dinner date with them that, “That woman is poison. Poison, Lincoln.”

And that had been the end of the double dates.

I looked up at the painting behind the large, newly restored coffee counter. It had been one of the first things we’d put up, by an artist that had rapidly become my favorite one. Muted charcoal contrasted with vivid color pencil across the paper, lines sweeping and whimsical as though lazily done in a few quick strokes. Yet when you stood back, you saw the full picture. A sunny autumn day. A cafe table with a latte and a notebook on top. The view, out to the sprawling lawn and the large marble columns of a familiar college building.

“She won’t shut her mouth about Abby,” Harrison continued, rolling his eyes. “Every other day it would be like Abby this. Abby that. She was stalking your girl on Facebook, man. It was getting really weird. Like, real weird. It was like she was jealous or something. Did you know I caught her Googling you, too? Like, multiple times? She said it was a pop up on her computer and she didn’t mean to click it, but how stupid does she think I am?”

I grunted.

“I can’t be with a chick who has a thing for my brother,” he said with a shudder. “No thank you. How do I know she’s not fantasizing about you when I’m giving her the D?”

“Please stop calling it that,” I groaned.

“Anyway,” Harrison ignored me, leaning back in his chair. “There’s this new girl I met at a bar in Uptown. She seems pretty cool. Long black hair. Nose ring. Tattoos everywhere. And I mean everywhere.”

“Please shut up.”

“She’s a graphic designer at one of those little agencies,” he said with a grin. “Anyway, can you believe she didn’t know who I was at first? I met her and put the usual charm on her. You know. And when I’m done, she looked at me, rolled her eyes, and said ‘No offense, but that’s the most boring fucking story I’ve ever heard.’ And then she just...walked away.”

“She sounds great,” I laughed.

“No, see, that’s the thing,” he said, sitting up in his chair and slapping the table. “She is great. It was so hot, dude. I see now why you were so obsessed with Abby like you were. Fucking amazing. It’s been so long since a girl didn’t know who the hell I was, much less not care once they found out. If this thing with her doesn’t work out, I think I’m going to start flying to Nebraska or some shit to find women. Somewhere where they don’t have cell phones and the internet and stuff.”

“Nebraska has phones and the internet,” I pointed out. “We have a client based out of Omaha, remember? How do you think they email us?”

“Yeah, okay, they’ve got internet,” Harrison said, waving a hand. “But they’re not reading People Magazine’s 100 hottest bachelors and shit. They’re too busy growing...like, corn, and stuff.”

“Right. Corn. Because that’s all that Nebraskans do,” I said.

Harrison shook his head.

“You know what I mean, man,” he said. Then he looked out the window.

Abby was on the other side, an apron slung low on her curvy hips, the pockets full of window markers. She was on a ladder, writing the name of the coffeeshop - “ART COFFEE” - in bold, bright, swirling letters.

“Things are still good, huh?” Harrison asked in a low voice, a rare serious moment. “Like...still going good?”

“Yeah,” I said, looking out and watching her with him. She climbed down the ladder and turned to her box of stencils, searching for the right one. A woman walking a dog passed by and stopped, reading the half-written letters on the window. Abby crouched down and pet the dog behind the ears, looking up at the woman and saying something to her, smiling.

“Yeah,” I said again, glancing up at Harrison and reaching into my pocket. “It’s going really good.”

“Holy shit, man,” Harrison said when I opened the ring box, careful to make sure Abby was still turned away. “You’re sure about this? I mean, you’re sure sure?”

“I’m sure,” I said, shutting the box and putting it back in my pocket. “I’ve been carrying it around for weeks. Bought it on an impulse. I just saw it and thought it looked like it belonged to Abby. Now I’m just waiting for the right moment.”

“And when is that going to be?” Harrison asked with wide eyes.

“I think I’m going to take her back here tonight,” I said slowly, looking back at her painting behind the counter. “You know, the upstairs studio is pretty much finished. She thinks we’re still putting up drywall, but it’s all done except for some built in shelves we’re putting in over the weekend. I want to surprise her.”

“And propose to her up there?” Harrison asked, pointing to the ceiling of the coffeeshop.

“That’s the plan,” I said, looking back at Abby now. The woman was talking animatedly to Abby while her dog lay on the sidewalk, face up, taking in Abby’s generous belly rubs.

“Damn,” he said. “Never thought I’d see the day when my big brother wanted to settle down and get hitched. You know, after the whole ‘all women are soul-sucking succubuses’ phase you had.”

“Succubi,” I corrected absentmindedly.

“Huh?”

“Multiple succubuses are called succubi,” I said.

“Whatever.”

“You’ll be next, you know,” I said, nodding at him and taking another sip of my coffee.

“Like hell,” Harrison laughed. “I’m a free man, Linc. Player forever.”

“Maybe Miss Tattoos will change your mind,” I suggested.

“Doubt it,” he said.

The dog walker was walking away now, and Abby was waving her a goodbye. Then she turned and smiled at me over her shoulder, her red hair sparkling in the sun, her almond shaped eyes lighting up that golden honey color that took my breath away.

“You never know,” I said to Harrison. “It’ll hit you when you least expect it. And then you’re a goner.”