Chapter 8
The next morning started exactly how you’d expect when you’re forced to live in a tiny house with a billionaire: with a stranger flown in from New York to fix the Wi-Fi.
I stood there, rubbing my eyes, clutching my coffee like it was the only thing keeping me sane.
I watched as the tech guy—who looked like he should be in a corporate boardroom, not crouched under a router in Topher’s mom’s tiny house—poked around like he was performing brain surgery.
All because Topher had declared the Wi-Fi situation “unacceptable.”
Topher paced behind him, arms crossed. “It’s unstable. I can’t run encrypted calls or high-bandwidth data transfers on a connection that drops to hamster-wheel speeds whenever someone microwaves oatmeal.”
The tech nodded gravely, as if this were a universally accepted tragedy.
According to Topher, the home network was “nonviable for confidential work.”
According to Josephine, he needed to go outside and touch grass.
According to me, I needed stronger coffee.
Meanwhile, Topher was perched at his elaborate computer workstation, surrounded by four monitors, each one displaying some graph or market trend. It was like the command center for a space mission. Only it was tucked into his mom’s cramped living room.
“I don’t know why you didn’t just call the local internet company,” I finally said, my patience wearing thin.
He didn’t even glance my way. “They don’t understand the complexity of my system. This guy built the network for my offices.”
I sighed, taking another sip of coffee, already beyond done with this day. But, naturally, it didn’t stop there.
Next came Topher’s personal chef. Heaven forbid Topher would be required to make his own breakfast. And it wasn’t just any breakfast. Oh no.
It had to be some gluten-free, dairy-free, fun-free concoction that required more ingredients than a five-course dinner.
The chef took over the tiny kitchen, and I had to duck around him to refill my coffee.
And then there was the personal trainer. Yep, Topher had him bring along a rowing machine. I watched, dumbfounded, as the trainer awkwardly tried to wedge the thing through the front door.
As soon as the rowing machine was in place in the already-cramped living room, Topher jumped aboard.
He rowed like a man possessed, while barking questions at his technology guy about backup routers and why his state-of-the-art Wi-Fi system had dared to fail him.
The trainer, standing there like a statue of calm, adjusted Topher’s form, as if this were normal behavior.
As if that wasn’t enough, Topher’s gardener was carrying boxes of holiday decorations back into the house.
The very same boxes he’d spent hours clearing out of the guest bedroom.
The poor gardener was stacking them along the bedroom walls, all perfectly labeled and organized.
At the same time, I mentally calculated how many feet of space we’d have left to sleep in. Spoiler alert: not many.
If I stayed in that house a second longer, surrounded by Topher’s tech crisis and workout obsession, I was going to snap.
“I’m going for a walk,” I announced, though I didn’t think anyone was listening.
The second I stepped outside, however, I regretted it. There, standing right on the front lawn like she’d been waiting for me, stood Ms. Nosy herself, Gladys, in all her floral tracksuit glory.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the early bird!” Gladys chirped, her eyes twinkling with nosiness. She winked as if we were both in on some shared secret. “Out for a stroll?”
I plastered on a smile. “Just needed some air.”
“Oh, I don’t blame you, sweetie.” Gladys nodded like she had cracked the code. “Oh, and by the way, I noticed your curtains were drawn last night. Smart move. You never know who’s watching. Some people around here have no respect for privacy.”
I blinked, trying not to laugh or cry. “Right, well, I should keep walking.”
“Good idea, dear!” she called after me, probably already plotting her next surveillance operation. “Get those steps in!”
As I walked farther down the street, the weight of the morning slowly began to lift off my shoulders. I could hear birds chirping, the distant hum of a lawnmower, and the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze. Breathing in the calm, I let myself finally relax.
I wandered down different streets, letting the sun warm my face as the stress slowly unwound from my body. It felt better than I’d expected. By the time I finally looped around back to the house, I was ready to face the madness again.
But when I stepped inside, I was met with a familiar and exasperating sight: Topher, freshly showered, dressed in a sharp suit, sitting at his elaborate computer setup.
The room was still buzzing with energy from the flurry of people coming and going, the equipment being moved, and conversations happening in low tones.
But Topher’s focus was entirely on his screens, his eyes darting between charts, emails, and whatever else his empire demanded.
He wasn’t furiously rowing this time. No, he’d upgraded to furiously working.
He glanced up as I walked in. “Enjoy your little escape?”
“Immensely. Gladys says hi, by the way. She wants to know if you’ve considered getting a rowing machine that doesn’t take up half the living room.”
“Oh, Gladys wonders about that?” His tone was completely deadpan.
“She also thinks you need to stop stressing and relax.”
Topher paused for a second before shaking his head. “I don’t need advice on life balance from Gladys, thank you very much.”
“Work, work, work,” I muttered, shaking my head. “You’d think your company would implode if you took an hour off. I mean, that’s Gladys talking.”
He smirked but didn’t look up from the screens. “Kathleen, you may not understand the concept of ‘work,’ but some of us know that taking time off can cost you opportunities.”
His words hit a sore spot, but I refused to show it. “You know, Topher, some of us know that all that ‘never stopping’ can cost you the things that matter.”
He hesitated for a moment, his fingers pausing on the keyboard. Then he nodded. “I’d rather be overworked than have regrets.”
I swallowed hard. “Trust me, I know all about regrets. And sometimes, no matter how hard you work, you can’t get back what you’ve lost.”
Topher’s expression shifted. For once, he didn’t have a sharp reply or a quick comeback. Instead, he lifted his eyes, and there was something almost gentle in the way he looked at me. It was as if, in that moment, he was seeing me differently, realizing there was more to me than he’d first assumed.
But before he could speak, the front door creaked open. In walked Josephine, much earlier than expected, escorted by a nurse.
“Mom!” Topher jumped up from his fancy ergonomic chair the moment he saw her. His voice was warm, happy, and full of relief. “I would’ve picked you up myself. I’m so glad you’re back.”
Josephine waved Topher off, her eyes narrowing as she took in the chaotic scene unfolding around her.
“The nurse you hired brought me back, and I’m glad she did because.
.. what is all this?” She gestured toward the living room and kitchen, where ingredients were scattered on the counters, random equipment was piled up, and the tech guy was still crouched near the router.
“I just got out of the hospital. I need peace, not a three-ring circus.”
Topher smiled sheepishly. “We just tried to make sure everything was set up for you.”
“Set up for what? A parade? I don’t need a chef or whoever that is”—she pointed to the tech guy, who froze like a deer in headlights—“making a mess of my home. Everyone out! Now.”
I bit my lip to keep from laughing as Topher scrambled to get everyone moving.
“Okay, okay, guys, you heard her. Time to go.” He waved them out. The chef started packing up his gear, the tech guy scrambled to unplug something, and even the gardener was trying to escape quietly, broom still in hand.
The house emptied, and even the nurse, who had been lingering in the corner, left, though she promised she’d come back at least once a day. Josephine finally sank into her armchair with a relieved sigh, closing her eyes for a moment. “Now, we have something to discuss.”
Topher and I exchanged puzzled looks.
“What’s up?” Topher asked.
Josephine opened one eye, giving us a mischievous grin. “Now that I’m settled, we can talk about the next holiday. Halloween is coming up.”
“Halloween?” Topher asked, raising an eyebrow. “Isn’t it a bit early to worry about that?”
Josephine shook her head adamantly. “Oh no, it’s never too early for Halloween. The entire neighborhood looks forward to my decorations. It’s a tradition. And it’s a contest.”
“A contest?” I repeated, already feeling the pressure.
“Yes, and I’ve won five years in a row. I can’t let the Hendersons take the title just because I’m under the weather this year,” she said with a determined gleam in her eye.
Topher smirked. “So, you’re saying the neighborhood won’t survive a year without your Halloween display?”
“Precisely,” Josephine said, her expression serious. “They rely on this house to set the bar. You can’t just put out a couple of pumpkins and call it a day. It needs to be... spectacular.”
Topher looked as uneasy as I felt. This wasn’t going to be a small task.
“Well,” I said hesitantly, “I guess we’ll have to step up our game then.”
Josephine nodded with satisfaction. “Good. Because if the Hendersons win, they’ll never let me live it down.”
Topher chuckled. “Alright, we’ll make sure they don’t steal your crown. But you’re sure the neighborhood wouldn’t let you take a year off?”
“Not a chance.” Josephine looked exhausted all of a sudden. “I think I’m going to lie down for a few hours.”
Topher’s demeanor shifted instantly. He jumped to help her up from the chair. “Come on, let’s get you into bed.” He guided her gently toward the bedroom. His hands were steady, his touch gentle, as if every movement was made with her comfort in mind.
I lingered in the doorway, watching as he carefully settled his mom into bed.
“You’re too good to me, Topher,” she murmured as she patted his hand. She sighed, clearly exhausted but at peace, the lines on her face softening.
He smiled down at her, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face in such a tender gesture that it caught me off guard.
She patted his hand. “I’ve missed you. It’s nice having you at home. Would you two make me dinner? Together?”
“I missed you, too,” he said softly. “Now rest. We’ll take care of dinner.”
As he stood up to leave, she flashed one last small smile. “You always take care of everything, don’t you?”
He chuckled lightly. “Not everything, but I’m learning.”
A little tug pulled at my chest. There was a tenderness in Topher I hadn’t expected—a side of him that showed how deeply he cared for his mom.
I never thought I could soften toward an annoyed, pampered, billionaire workaholic. But apparently miracles do happen.