I scroll.
Pause.
Scroll again.
Well damn.
I half-expected the list to be nonsense, but I stand corrected. There are exactly three beautiful Black men on it, two of whom live right here in Cinnamon Grove.
It shouldn’t surprise me. Cinnamon Grove has become a hideaway for the elite. A small town tucked within the sprawl of Atlanta that houses a little bit of everyone, from the modest to the incredibly wealthy. One of whom is Ares Beaumont.
Former pro athlete turned media mogul. Founder of the Beaumont Sports Network—BSN. Net worth: obscene. Reputation: ruthless in business, mysteriously soft where his daughter is concerned.
Ares Beaumont recently stepped away from the spotlight to “focus on family,” which is billionaire-speak for something broke him open. He’s known for being intimidating, emotionally guarded, and devastatingly fine. Single. Allegedly reformed. The women in the comments are unwell.
“Damn,” I say out loud.
“Mmm hmm. I told you!”
Then there’s Eros Beaumont. Business partner and younger brother to Ares. Co-founder of BSN. Charismatic. Volatile. Brilliant. I’ve heard about him. The man who can charm a room and then set it on fire five minutes later. Divorced. One child. Currently “working on himself,” which feels like a warning label more than a promise. Still single. Still dangerous. Still rich. Absolutely not my type.
My thumb scrolls again and—
“Oh,” I whisper.
“What?” Tim calls, but I barely hear her.
Because this profile doesn’t look like the others.
No stiff suit. No smug power pose. No arrogant grin. The headshot shows a man seated at a drafting desk, sleeves rolled, hair pulled back, attention fully absorbed by whatever he’ssketching. The moment feels stolen. Like he forgot, or didn’t care, the camera existed.
Eli Shaw.
Founder and CEO of Shaw Industries and RootHaus. Sustainability-focused manufacturing. Quiet millionaire. Reclusive by design. Known for avoiding publicity and society pages altogether. Rarely photographed. Even more rarely linked to anyone romantically. Described as “the most eligible taste-maker no one can seem to pin down.” Rumored to live off-grid part of the year. Values land stewardship, longevity, and impact over flash. Single. Very irresistible.
I stare at his name longer than I mean to.
Three Black men on the list.
Three wildly different kinds of power.
But only one of them does anything to me. Only one holds my attention in a way I don’t have language for yet.
I exhale and hand Timantha her phone back. “They’re nice to look at, I’ll give you that. But you already know how I feel about rich men.”
She shakes her head, clearly exhausted with me and my refusal to date men who make my annual salary before breakfast. “Yes, Maxine Palmer. We are all painfully aware you prefer ‘down to earth.’ Unlike the very attractive, very rich man named Nyles who lives in your building.”
“I hate that I ever told you about him,” I groan. “You’re never going to let that go.”
“It’s not about letting anything go,” she says. “It’s about the fact that you work nonstop, take care of everyone else, and somehow convince yourself you’re not missing out on anything fun.”
“I’m not missing out,” I say. “I’m just…postponing things.”
Even as I say it, I can’t quite articulate what I’m postponing. Or what I’m waiting for.
Timantha lifts a brow. “And when you’re done postponing—do you see Nyles waiting for you at the finish line?”
“No,” I say quickly. “Even though we hung out again last night.” I don’t add that he helps me sleep sometimes. That part stays private. “He’s just…not it,” I say, as I practically assault her computer like it’s personally wronged me.
