6. Ani
Ani
I ’m starting to think that maybe my parents had the right idea. Maybe I shouldn’t be allowed to make decisions for myself. Not if they end up with me nearly burning to death and then blurting out that I’ve never had an orgasm to a stranger who offered me a place to stay for the night.
The second the words left my mouth, I wanted to crawl into the floorboards. I don’t know what possessed me to say it—some awful mix of sleep deprivation and panic and the kind of freedom that comes with realizing you’ve already lost everything.
I don’t even know his name! And now he knows intimate details about my life. This is a disaster. I am a disaster.
I’ve been quiet my whole life. My family raised me to be polite, pleasant company. And the moment I find a small amount of freedom, I word vomit all over the poor man. He must think I’m unhinged.
But he’s been incredibly kind. He hasn’t shown any tight-lipped pity or used a patronizing tone I’ve heard a thousand times before.
We get up to go inside, and he just opens the door for me, as if this conversation was completely normal.
It doesn’t help the situation that he’s incredibly handsome and I think I’ve developed my first crush since I was a teenager. What the hell is wrong with me?
He has that kind of face that shouldn’t be allowed to belong to someone so kind.
Boyish in a way, even though I’m guessing he’s at least forty.
He sort of looks like the scowly one—I wonder if they’re related.
His dark hair has just a few strands of gray in it and is cut short.
He has a beard too, which is a little overgrown.
I follow him into the house, wishing I had at least brushed my hair this morning when I got up.
The cabin is warmer now. Jonah stands in the entryway, just a step into the main room, holding a mug. When he sees us, he offers it to me without a word. The steam curls toward my face as I take it, grateful for something warm to hold on to.
“Thank you,” I say.
Jonah gives a small nod, then gestures behind him to the kitchen. “We’d like to talk for a minute. If that’s okay.”
My chest tightens.
That tone—I know that tone. Neutral. Controlled. It always means something is about to be taken away. It’s the voice my father used when he told me I wouldn’t be going to Paris with my college friends after graduation. The voice my mother used when she told me the engagement had been finalized.
They’re going to ask me to leave.
I know they only offered me the night. It would be incredibly presumptuous of me to expect them to let me stay longer.
I just…have nowhere else to go. I have nothing and no car to take me somewhere else. And I don’t want to call anyone.
Panic rushes in. I shift the mug in my hands and try to breathe through the anxiety. I feel unsteady on my feet. I close my eyes.
Someone is touching me. One hand is on each side of my face, and the fingers are warm against my skin.
I open my eyes. It takes a second for the shape in front of me to settle into something solid. Jonah.
He’s closer than I realized, but I don’t feel overwhelmed. He’s present without pressure. His hand moves to my cheek. I lean into it before I can stop myself.
The movement seems to catch him off guard. There’s the smallest flicker in his expression, something unreadable, quick. But he doesn’t pull back.
“You’re safe,” he says, and the words land solidly in my chest. “This isn’t bad news. No one’s asking you to go. We want to help.”
The panic doesn’t leave all at once. It fights to stay—tight in my ribs, shallow in my breath, sharp at the edges of my vision. But eventually my breath steadies.
Jonah lowers his hands. He doesn’t say anything else, just nods toward the hallway, giving me space to choose. I go with him.
He said it isn’t bad news, and I want to believe him.
The kitchen is bright with mid-morning light.
The windows are open just enough to let in the cool edge of the mountain air.
Mae sits at the table with her legs tucked under her, one hand curled around a spoon.
The scowly one is nearby, setting a glass of juice down beside her.
He glances up when I walk in but doesn’t acknowledge me beyond that.
Mae looks at me too. She’s changed her clothes, now wearing a long-sleeved shirt with a faded dinosaur print. She doesn’t smile or speak. She just watches me for a beat before returning to her cereal.
I wonder whose daughter she is. She doesn’t really look like any of them, but I know it doesn’t always work that way. I’m the spitting image of my mother, barely any of my father is visible in my face.
The scowly one straightens up and crosses his arms over his chest. His expression is unreadable. The sweet one walks in behind me, slipping around the table to lean against the far counter.
No one says anything right away.
I grip the warm mug in my hands, waiting for one of them to talk.
Jonah clears his throat. “We talked this morning,” he says. “About what might come next. For you.”
I nod once, though I’m not sure I’m ready for what follows.
“We know you don’t have anything with you,” the sweet one adds. “No way to get back on your feet right now. So we were thinking...”
He trails off and glances at the scowly one, who doesn’t look thrilled to be part of this conversation.
He exhales through his nose and turns toward me. “We need help with Mae.”
The girl doesn’t look up.
“We’ve got coverage most days, but between shifts and call-outs, it’s getting harder to keep things consistent. We’ve been looking for someone to help out. Someone we trust. And it’s not exactly easy to find people willing to drive up this far for part-time work.”
Jonah steps in again. “You need a place to stay. Mae needs someone here. We thought—if you’re willing—it might work for all of us.”
It takes me a second to process what they’re saying.
“You want me to be her nanny?” I ask.
“Basically,” the sweet one says. “You’d stay here for free. And we’d pay you. Not much, but enough to get you started. You’d have time to figure out what comes next. And you’d be safe here in the meantime.”
I blink. It’s not what I expected. Not even close.
“I don’t have anything,” I say before I can stop myself. “Not even clothes.”
“We’ll take care of that,” the sweet one says. “Not a problem.”
I glance toward Mae again. She’s still focused on her bowl, but I catch her watching me from the corner of her eye.
“Do you want that?” I ask, my voice lower now.
She shrugs and lifts another spoonful of cereal.
“That’s a yes, in Mae language.”
I grip the edge of the counter to steady myself. It’s a lot to think about. But the offer is more generous than I could have imagined. And it’s not pity or charity. It’s a real job. A job and a place to stay.
It doesn’t make sense.
“Why me?” I ask.
Jonah answers without hesitation. “Because we trust our instincts.”
“Okay, but I need one more thing.”
The scowly one huffs in irritation. “And that is?”
“I don’t know your names. I mean, I know Jonah, but not…” I trail off, gesturing vaguely toward the other two.
The sweet one grins. “Finn,” he says, pointing to himself. “And this ray of sunshine is my big brother Boone.” He puts a beefy arm around Mr. Scowly.
“Finn. Boone. Okay,” I say. “Thank you.”
Boone’s arms stay crossed, but his voice shifts. “If it doesn’t work, we’ll help you find something else. No pressure. But we thought you deserved the choice.”
That word lands hard.
Choice.
It’s the one thing I’ve never had.
I swallow against the lump rising in my throat. I can’t cry again. Not in front of them.
Boone studies me for another beat. “Is there anyone you need to contact?”
I shake my head before he finishes the question.
My lips press together, and I hold them there.
Eventually, I’ll have to make that call. Face what I ran from. But not yet.
“I’m a vegetarian. Will that be a problem?”
“Why would that be a problem?” Finn sounds baffled. “Just makes you cheaper to feed. You can eat whatever you want.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Mae finishes the last spoonful of cereal and drops her spoon with a soft clink. No one moves to clean up right away.
The room holds still for a moment longer, like we’re holding our breaths to see what comes next.
Then Finn pushes off the counter and nods toward the hallway. “You should rest. I’m sure you didn’t get much sleep last night. We’ve got more to figure out, but nothing that can’t wait a bit.”
He says it in the same tone he used on the porch. Like everything’s going to be just fine.
And that, maybe more than anything else, keeps me from falling apart again.
I’m alone. Like, actually alone. I’ve been in the guest room for almost two hours, and no one’s checked on me. I’m not used to that. Back home, someone would have knocked at the thirty-minute mark just to let me know I was being watched.
I’ve done nothing since the kitchen conversation except lie on the bed and try not to think. Eventually, I pulled the blanket tighter around my shoulders, curled up against the pillows, and let my body rest, even if my mind refused.
The hum of a truck outside snaps me out of the half-sleep I didn’t realize I’d slipped into. Doors open, voices echo through the hallway, and then footsteps head in my direction.
The door opens without a knock, and I sit up quickly, my heart beating fast.
“Delivery!” Finn says, grinning, arms full of shopping bags. He’s balancing a cardboard box under one elbow and something soft under his chin. “Hope you weren’t sleeping. I guess I should have knocked.”
I blink. “What?—?”
“Clothes. Essentials. And a few extras.” He tosses the bags on the bed. “It’s not much, but it’ll get you through the week. And if anything doesn’t fit, we’ll swap it. No big deal.”
He talks while unloading the bags: shirts, leggings, a zip-up hoodie, socks, a toothbrush, and a plain box of tampons that he sets down without even flinching. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.