Page 108 of How to Train Your Billionaire

“How?”

“Therapy. Lots of therapy. Turns out growing up with parents who treated marriage like a blood sport left me with some baggage.”

“Shocking.”

“I know, right?” I lean forward. “I also learned that running away when things get scary is a defense mechanism I developed to protect myself from getting hurt.”

“And?”

“And I’m done running.”

Frankie sets down her fork. “Hayes.”

“I’m serious, Frankie. I want this. I want to see where this could go.”

“What if it doesn’t work?”

“What if it does?”

We stare at each other across the small table. The restaurant noise fades into background buzz.

“I missed you too,” she whispers finally.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I missed your terrible morning hair and the way you drink coffee like it personally offended you. I missed arguing with you about stupid things.”

“My hair isn’t terrible.”

“It’s pretty terrible.”

“Anything else you missed?”

Her cheeks flush pink. “Maybe a few things.”

The air between us shifts. Charges. Like right before lightning strikes.

“Frankie.”

“What?”

“Can I take you home?”

She meets my eyes. “Which home?”

“Mine.”

The single word carries enough heat to melt steel.

“Yeah,” she breathes. “You can take me home.”

I signal for the check with probably more urgency than necessary.

This time, traffic can go fuck itself.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

The Perfect Date