The Billionaire's Gamble by Ava Miles

“I didn’t see you. How long have you been standing there?”
    “Not long,” he said, stepping into the kitchen and holding out his arms. “I…ah decided to change. I didn’t know what one wore to a cinnamon roll tasting.”
    She laughed, long and loud and with such gusto, she threw her head back.
    His heart exploded at the sight.
    “I’m laughing because I was actually wondering the same thing. I…ran upstairs after you…ah…I put the rolls in the oven to look more presentable.”
    Could she be any more adorable in all her nerves?
    Then she ran her gaze over him, leaving lust in her path. “I think you look great.”
    He pointed to his black T-shirt. “Apparently, you and I got the same memo.” And suddenly it felt intimate that they were both wearing black—as if their minds were so in tune they’d reached for the same frequency. Black: the color that absorbed all the wavelengths of light and transformed it into heat.
    Like the heat exploding between them.
    “Seems like we did,” she said as the doorbell rang. “Come on. Let’s see who’s here.”
    When she opened the door, he rocked on his heels as the most adorable twin girls ran inside. Well, ran was an exaggeration. They wobbled with incredible speed and balance, somehow defying gravity.
    “Whee!” one of the girls cried and plowed straight into Margie’s leg, making her laugh.
    The other toddler headed straight toward him, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure what to do. He’d never spent much time around kids. The people in his circle who had children always left them with their nannies.
    Her hair was bright red with small soft curls, and she latched on to his leg and looked up at him with a drooling smile. “Hi.”
    He found himself grinning. “Hi.”
    A tall redhead snatched her away, making the little girl fuss. “Sorry, we usually introduce ourselves before we start mauling someone and drowning them in drool. I’m Jill Hale McConnell, but I mostly go by Jill Hale since that’s how everyone around here knows me. You must be Evan.” Her eyes twinkled. “I’ve been hearing a lot about you. Sounds like you’re pretty handy.”
    Evan liked her immediately. Especially the saucy innuendo she was firing out like microwaves—the form of electronic radiation, not the appliance. “That’s right. I’ve heard a lot about you from Margie. Sounds like you have skills with coffee beans.”
    She planted the toddler on her hip, striking a pose. “Among other things.”
    A dark-haired man approached and extended his hand. “I’m Brian McConnell. Please ignore my wife. She flirts with everyone, and by everyone, I’m including Old Man Beviens who’s nearing a hundred and has ear hair.”
    Jill socked Brian in the arm. “Oh, yuck. I have higher standards than that.”
    The guy leaned in and gave his wife a gentle kiss. “Red, I hope you’ll still want me when I sprout ear hair.”
    “Please. I’ll shave it off so I won’t barf. Just like I do with Grandpa’s.”
    “What’s this?” an older man said, tapping his cane on the hardwood floor as Margie led him inside, one of the twins still attached to her leg. “Don’t be talking about the perils of getting old. You don’t know shit from Shinola.”
    “Grandpa! The girls.”
    “That phrase is as old as dirt. Just like me. They’ll live.” The man thrust out his hand. “Arthur Hale. Good to meet you.”
    “Evan,” he answered. After introducing himself to a few people around town, he’d decided only to use his alias when he had no choice. He felt much less guilty that way.
    The older man peered closer. “Evan what? You look a little familiar to me.”
    He hoped not. From his research on the town, he knew Arthur Hale was a celebrated journalist, and the last thing he needed was for the older man to discover who he was. Not when Margie didn’t know yet.
    “Murray. I’m not from these parts, so I’m sure we’ve never met.”
    His eyes narrowed as he pushed his rimless glasses