Chapter 2
I Only Pack One Book
Remi
Istare at the front door after he leaves.
Coleman Raines.
Tall, serious, completely unreadable. Like a human brick wall wrapped in a suit.
What the hell just happened?
I blink down at the half-empty iced coffee on my windowsill, still sweating into a coaster that says Good Vibes Only. I sip it like caffeine will fix the sudden tightness in my chest.
It doesn’t.
I spin in a slow circle, eyes scanning my apartment like I might find the answer hiding between my throw pillows or jammed into the record shelf. Instead, all I see is how small it feels now. Cramped. Safe. Mine.
And I just told some man I barely know that I’d pack it all up and move into his house by Sunday.
What. The. Hell. Was. That?
I reach for my phone before I can second-guess it and hit Lacey’s name. She answers on the second ring.
“Hey, girl! Did he come by? How did it go?”
“Lacey,” I whisper, dragging a hand through my hair. “I think I just made the biggest mistake of my life.”
“Oh no,” she says instantly. “What happened?”
“I agreed to move into a stranger’s house. A stranger who looks like he hasn’t smiled since Y2K. A stranger with children.”
She snorts. “They’re ten. They’re not wild raccoons.”
“They might as well be!” I pace the living room. “I’ve only met the girls once, Lacey. Once! At the dance studio, remember? They were both wearing unicorn pajamas and sizing me up like I was a substitute teacher they planned to take down before snack time.”
“They liked you,” she says, way too confidently.
“Did they? Or were they silently judging my sparkly nails and plotting my emotional demise?”
“Remi—”
“And Coleman,” I groan, flopping onto the couch. “He’s so… cold. Like emotionally constipated. He spoke in full sentences but somehow still made me feel like I was on trial for murder. And he just announced it was a live-in position like that was no big deal.”
“You didn’t know?”
“No! You never said anything about it being live-in! I thought I’d be coming over after school and heading home at night like a normal human being with boundaries!”
Lacey’s quiet for a second. “They weren't live in before. Did you ask him for it not to be?”
I scowl at the ceiling. “That is not the point.”
“The point,” she says patiently, “is that Coleman is a good man who’s trying to do his best in a crappy situation. And those girls? They’ve been let down by everyone except him. They don’t need perfect. They need you.”
“Why me?” I whisper. “Why am I the one you called?”
“Because you don’t flinch,” she says. “You don’t run when things get messy. You stay. You fight. You make people feel safe just by being yourself.”
I sink deeper into the couch, a knot building in my chest.
“I don’t know if I can fix this,” I admit.
“You’re not supposed to fix it, Rem,” she says. “You’re just supposed to be there.”
I stare at the ceiling for a long second.
Then the photos on the corkboard—me with my camp kids, with Penelope and Lacey, with my mom and dad at graduation.
“You really think I can do this?” I ask.
“I know you can.”
I nod slowly, even though she can’t see me. “Okay.”
“You’re gonna fall in love with them,” she adds, soft but certain. “Even the cold one.”
I laugh, but it catches in my throat. Because that’s the part that scares me the most.
I throw a hoodie into my overnight bag. Then a pair of leggings. Then a Taylor Swift t-shirt I’ve had since the Red era that’s more hole than fabric but feels like armor anyway.
I stare at my bookshelf, then grab exactly one dog-eared romance novel and shove it into the side pocket like I’m not walking into the emotional Sahara with only mascara and sarcasm to protect me.
I zip the bag and sit down on the edge of my bed, surrounded by… nothing else.
I should be packing more. A real suitcase. My desk lamp. My sketchpads. At least a second pair of shoes.
But I don’t.
Because I’m not sure I’ll last the week.
Coleman didn’t say he thought I’d fail. But he didn’t need to. He watched me like I was already slipping out the door.
And maybe I will. Maybe I should.
The girls are older than the kids I usually work with. Smarter. Sharper. They've seen things most adults I know haven’t survived. And Coleman?
He’s a locked door. And I’ve never had a key that fit a man like him.
The front door opens with a click. I don’t have to look up to know it’s Matthew.
He walks into the room carrying a bag of takeout, his dark hair still damp from a shower at the gym, his black baseball cap from when he played in high-school backwards on his head, his brows already pinched like he’s preparing for war.
“You’re leaving?” he asks immediately, eyes narrowing at the half-packed bag.
“Temporarily,” I say, brushing hair off my face. “Don’t freak out.”
“That’s a suspicious way to open a conversation.”
“I got a nanny job. Live-in.”
He stops. “Since when?”
“Since Coleman Raines dropped that little bombshell on me mid-interview and I panicked and said yes like a very mature adult with no impulse control.”
He scowls. “The real estate guy?”
“Yeah. Apparently he’s friends with Lacey and Penelope. He has twin girls. Ten years old.”
“The ones with the psycho mom?”
I wince. “I wouldn’t call her psycho, but yeah. The girls have been through some stuff. He’s gone through three nannies in three months.”
“So you’re next in the rotation?”
I shoot him a look. “Wow. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“I’m serious, Rem. This sounds sketchy. Why does a billionaire need a live-in nanny for two ten-year-olds? That’s weird.”
“It’s not like that,” I say quickly. “He just… works a lot. And the girls need structure. And—” I groan. “I don’t know, okay? I didn’t expect it either. One minute I was pouring coffee, the next I was agreeing to move in and make sure two emotionally complex Swifties don’t burn the place down.”
Matthew drops the takeout bag and sits beside me, bumping my shoulder with his.
“You don’t have to prove anything,” he says, softer now. “You’ve got a good heart, Rem. Too good. Don’t let anyone use that.”
“They’re kids, Matt. I’m not worried about them using me.”
“Then who are you worried about?”
I don’t answer. Because I don’t know how to explain Coleman Raines.
How I felt him before I even understood what he was saying. How silence has a sound when he’s the one holding it.
“I’m just giving it a shot,” I say instead. “If it sucks, I’ll come back.”
He gives me a long look. Then sighs and pulls me into a hug, wrapping one arm around my shoulders like he used to when I was five and afraid of thunderstorms.
“You call me if anything feels off. I’ll be there before you can blink.”
“I know.” I smirk. “You and the rest of my linebacker-sized brothers will show up like the opening credits of a mafia movie.”
“Damn right we will.”
I lean my head on his shoulder, just for a second. Let myself breathe.
Because if I’m being honest… I’m scared.
Of failing. Of being too much. Of not being enough.
But somewhere in the back of my heart, something small is whispering that maybe—just maybe—this is where I’m meant to be.
Even if I don’t believe it yet.
The front door creaks open with all the fanfare of a horror movie.
I stand there on the threshold, my duffel slung over my shoulder and a pink tote bag that says Don’t Make Me Adult Today in the other.
So far? Not a single warm welcome.
Coleman walks into the foyer and stands in one of those brooding dad poses—button-down sleeves rolled up, jaw tense, arms crossed like he’s trying to physically hold the world together. Or maybe just himself.
“You’re early,” he says.
“I figured being on time would be basic,” I shoot back.
The corner of his mouth twitches.
One point for me.
He steps aside and gestures me in. “Room’s ready. Upstairs, third door. You can get settled later. The girls are—” A door slams somewhere down the hall. “...home,” he finishes.
Great. My Converse squeak slightly as I step over the threshold and into the silence. This house feels like a museum. Everything in its place. Clean lines. White walls. Air that tastes like money and grief.
Before I can get a full look around, two sets of footsteps appear at the top of the stairs.
Payton.
Paige.
Both in matching oversized sweatshirts and leggings, looking like they just stepped off a mood board for “Suburban Tween With Trust Issues.”
Paige’s hair is in two messy buns with glitter scrunchies. Payton’s wearing all black, as usual, with arms crossed and expression flat.
I smile. “Hey again.”
They stare. Not a word. No “hi,” no “cool bag,” no “yay, you’re the new adult in our lives.” Just blank silence and twin-level frost.
Paige whispers something to Payton. Payton doesn’t blink.
They turn, almost in sync, and disappear into the hallway like two tiny mafia enforcers who just decided I wasn’t worth the trouble.
Oof.
Coleman exhales next to me. “Sorry. They’re not always like that.”
I look at him, but I’m not mad. Not even a little bit. “They are exactly like that,” I say softly. “And it’s not because they’re rude.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“It’s because they’re smart,” I go on. “And they’ve learned that every time they get used to someone… they lose them. So ignoring me is safer. Easier.”
He goes still. Something flickers behind his eyes.
“They don’t want to get attached,” I add. “And I don’t blame them.”
He swallows. “You don’t have to stay.”
I laugh once, tired but real. “I’m not going anywhere. Not yet.”
And then I sling my bag higher on my shoulder, square my tiny frame, and march up the stairs like I belong in this house full of ghosts.
Because deep down, I think I do.