Rosabel and the Billionaire Beast by Catelyn Meadows

Author:Catelyn Meadows
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cortney Pearson

12

Rosabel was moved to discover how much Duncan loved his grandma. Moment by moment, she started to get more of a feeling of who he was. He’d never shown much emotion on the surface—or at least not the softer side. He wielded the tougher, masculine, manly emotions and brandished them like a sword at every one of his business ventures. But when it came to matters of the heart, Rosabel suspected Duncan kept those close.

People probably misinterpreted his behavior just like she had, which explained why Duncan had very few friends. She wondered if even his family misunderstood his way of dealing with things. That could be why there’d been a rift between them for so long.

She found herself softening toward him at this discovery. Not that this in any way warranted the way he’d treated her and dozens of others, but knowing him better brought a new level of understanding, and that always changed people.

This newfound understanding of Duncan readjusted things within her as they walked together along Eureka Springs’s sidewalks, stopping at the antique shop, a quilt shop, a comedy club, and even pausing at the approach of a psychic reader who offered to foretell their future for free, to which Rosabel politely declined.

Deep down inside, Duncan cared about things. He’d worked hard at his business the best way he knew how; he’d donated to charities just like his parents had. Little pieces Rosabel had always noticed started clicking into place. She thought of a book she’d read once, about love languages and the ways people expressed and received love.

“I think you’re a gifts kind of guy,” she said as they passed a large window labeling the beautiful brick building The New Orleans Hotel. The building did, in fact, look like something that belonged in New Orleans, with its multi-level brick interrupted by iron balconies above.

“What does that mean?”

“That’s how you show you care. You like to buy things for people. I’m sorry about what I said before. I guess I always thought you thought you could just buy your way into anything, that having more than another was some kind of power struggle for you, but that’s your love language. Giving gifts.”

He scowled. “You say that like there are other … love languages.”

“Sure,” she said. “There’s acts of service. Physical touch. Mine is words of affirmation.”

“Words of … what?”

“I like to be told I’m pretty. Please and thank you. To be complimented when I do a good job.”

“You do a good job,” he said. “No—you do a great job.”

Her cheeks heated. “That wasn’t an invitation.”

“I’m serious.” He paused near a sidewalk sandwich board with a white painted frame surrounding a chalkboard and the words “It’s the little things” scrawled with calligraphy. The neighboring shop was labeled Little Things Souvenirs and Gifts. He gestured to it, opening the door and waiting for her to enter first. “I could tell after a single day I’d never find a woman as capable as you.”

“If coffee-making is my only skill, then that compliment is severely lacking.

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