Chapter 3 #2
There’s a long pause. Not uncomfortable, just heavy.
Like the silence between people who are strangers but also…
not. Not really. Remy and I cross paths plenty.
We’ve spent holidays with our family group, and I’ve seen him and Junie often.
He’s just never really talked to me like this before, and I’ve never been in his space like this.
Willa and Tate have told me about Remy’s legendary pizza nights; however, I’ve never received an invitation. I’ve always been on the fringe with Remy. He keeps me at a distance, and I’ve always wondered why.
“Look,” I say, breaking the quiet. “I didn’t mean to overstep. So I’ll pack up and head over to Willa’s. It’s late, but I don’t think they’ll mind letting me crash on their couch until morning.”
He blinks as if I’ve spoken another language. “You’re not going anywhere. It’s freezing out there.”
He says it in that low, steady voice, firm and no-nonsense, the kind that does not need to get louder to make you listen. The words slide under my skin and heat coils low in my stomach.
Okay, Remy.
Apparently the quiet, broody tree farmer has a commanding streak, and my body is very much on board. Noted. Fantasies updated accordingly.
“I don’t want to impose,” I repeat, unsure of how this is supposed to go.
He doesn’t answer, just looks around the room. At the folded laundry. The clean counters, empty sink.
“Where are your bags? He asks.
“Doesn’t matter. I’m just going to walk to Willa’s. I’m sure she can just give me a ride to my mom’s…” I turn and a hand gently holds my arm and keeps me in place. My skin tingles under his hand.
“Bags,” he demands, staring at me, not giving in.
“They’re by the door. I know you don’t really like me,” I continue nervously, running my mouth like an idiot.
He freezes, and I continue… “I can just head out. I’ll figure it out.”
“What did you just say?” he asks.
“I…I’m just gonna go. It’s fine. Tell Junie I had so much fun tonight, and I’m sorry I couldn’t stay.” I turn toward the hook where my coat is hanging.
“Why do you think I don’t like you?” he asks, searching my eyes.
I stare into his and take a deep breath. “I don’t know, Remy. I’m just gonna go. I’m sorry for the mix up.”
“You should stay,” he says, voice low. “I have a guest room. It’s not fancy, but it’s clean and it’s got a full-sized bed. Finn stayed there before he moved to town.”
I blink. “You sure?”
He nods once. “Yeah. It’s late. No reason for you to wake up Willa and Tate.”
I open my mouth to say something, but he’s already stalking toward my bags. He grabs the heaviest one, picks it up like it’s nothing, grabs the rest without a word and heads down the hall.
Just like that. No argument or a thank you. Just Remy, alpha hottie Bennett, carrying my bags like a man on a mission, leaving me no choice but to follow.
The guest room smells of cedar and stale energy. Not bad, just...untouched. Like time paused here a while ago and no one pressed play again.
It’s cozy in the way before someone moves in. Blank walls. A full-sized bed tucked under a sloped ceiling. A little bathroom with a white curtain around the old-fashioned claw foot tub. There’s a heater in the corner, already humming to life as soon as Remy flips the switch.
“I haven’t been in here in a while,” he says. “The heat usually kicks in after a few minutes.”
I nod, hugging my arms close. “It’s great. Thank you.”
He disappears into the hall and comes back with a stack of folded linens in his arms. They look freshly laundered, crisp and warm from wherever they’ve been hiding. So, Remy does do laundry. He hands them to me, and for a second our fingers touch.
It’s barely anything. Just skin brushing skin. But something flickers through me. I thank him quickly and glance away, trying to ignore the sudden heat crawling up my neck.
He says nothing, just watches me. And when I glance back up, I see it.
Not annoyance or frustration, but loneliness.
It’s there in the tired set of his jaw. The quiet ache hiding behind those gray eyes.
There’s sadness in him, too. The kind that settles deep.
But underneath it...something else. A pull I can’t quite name.
I tilt my head, surprised by how much I want to understand him. What is he carrying that makes him so lonely? Why do I feel like I want to know more about him?
“Ideally, I’m out the door by six most mornings,” he says, voice low. “Junie’s bus comes at eight-ten. Are you okay with getting her up and out?”
I nod, relieved that he’s letting me stay on. “Of course.”
He gives a quick nod back, like that’s all the confirmation he needs.
“Thanks…for everything,” he adds, and just like that, he’s already moving toward the door.
I watch him go, with the way he fills the doorway without even trying, his shoulders broad and his posture tense. Even his walk has weight to it, like he’s bracing for something that might never happen.
And then he’s gone, the door clicking gently behind him.
I’m alone again. I let out a long breath and set the linens on the bed. The mattress squeaks a little as I strip off the stiff old sheets and replace them with the soft flannel ones he gave me. Snowflake print that’s faded, but cozy.
The heater rattles in the corner, yet it’s still cold.
I find an extra quilt in the closet and toss it on top of the bed, then add another. It feels like nesting. Like carving out a pocket of warmth in a life that’s still unsettling.
The shower is a little too chilly, but I crank the water up, anyway. The pressure’s decent, and the mirror fogs in seconds, and I wrap myself in a towel and brush my teeth with my feet curled against the cold tile floor.
When I finally crawl into bed, I’m wearing layers and burrowed under enough blankets to survive a blizzard. My phone buzzes once on the nightstand, but I ignore it. The silence is heavier now.
The heater hums, and snow falls outside the window in slow, patient rhythms.
I close my eyes, not sure what tomorrow will bring. Not sure what this job is becoming or how I ended up in Wisteria Cove with a single dad and a little girl who already feels like someone I’m meant to take care of.
But I know one thing. That man is carrying too much. And for the first time in a long time, I think maybe I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.