Chapter 25
Different With You
Coleman
Ipull up to the house slower than I need to, letting the engine idle as I stare at the front door like it might bite.
I’ve had meetings with millionaires. Sold homes worth more than most people make in a lifetime.
But walking into Remi’s parents’ house — knowing my daughters are inside without me, knowing her entire family is about to size me up like I’m auditioning for a damn role — has my pulse racing like I’m nineteen again and about to get my ass kicked by a dad with a shotgun.
But if Remi trusts them… then I trust her. With everything.
I step out of the car, adjusting the cuff of my button-down, trying to look more confident than I feel. I make it to the steps before the door swings open—and I stop dead in my tracks.
A wall of men greets me.
Six of them.
Six.
All tall, broad, tattooed or scruffy in that protective older brother kind of way. And in the middle? Her dad. Just as solid, just as intimidating—but with the calm that tells me he’s the kind of man who doesn’t need to raise his voice to be heard.
He smiles, but there’s weight behind it. “Sorry about the welcome committee,” he says, voice easy but firm. “Word got out that Remi was going on a date, and I couldn’t stop them once Oliver opened his big mouth.”
I remember a few of their faces from the night I picked Remi up at the bar, when she was drunk and beautiful and mine for just a moment. That night I’d been too focused on her to register their presence. Now, their eyes are on me like they’re measuring my worth with every blink.
“I get it,” I say, managing a nod. “I have two girls and I'll probably bring a damn army too.”
Her dad chuckles, then sobers. “Anyone who’s raising those two amazing girls of yours… is already a good man in my book.” He looks me straight in the eye. “But don’t screw it up. Treat my girl right.”
I swallow down the knot in my throat and give him a short, honest reply. “I intend to.”
He gestures me inside, and the testosterone wall breaks enough for me to walk through. I barely have time to take in the warm wood floors and framed photos before I hear the thunder of feet.
“Dad!” Paige launches herself at me like a rocket, her arms wrapping around my middle. I crouch instinctively, tucking her into my chest.
“Hey, Button,” I murmur, brushing a kiss against her temple. “Missed you, baby.”
Payton lingers a few feet back, always guarded. But when I open my arm to her, she steps forward like it’s a decision she’s made with intention.
“Hey, Bug,” I say softly, pulling her into the hug and holding both of them tight.
And then I see her.
Remi stands in the hallway, simple tank top clinging to her like it was made for her, jeans hugging her curves in a way that should be criminal. Her hair’s soft and curled around her shoulders, lips painted with the softest pink. My lungs forget how to work.
Jesus Christ.
She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
I barely register the sea of brothers still watching me like hawks. I cross the room like I’ve been starved, stopping in front of her and lowering my voice.
“Hey, beautiful.” I brush my knuckles down the side of her face, my fingers aching to linger. I almost kiss her, would have if her eyes didn’t dart to the side — to the girls.
I glance too.
Paige is beaming, her entire face lit up like a damn sunrise. Payton’s smirking, lips twitching like she’s watching something she hasn’t decided if she approves of yet.
I step back just a fraction and look between them. “You two gonna be alright for a few hours?”
“Yes,” Paige chirps. “Honey said we get to eat popcorn for dinner!”
Remi’s mom, I assume. Of course she has a nickname like that.
Payton shrugs. “Pops said he’s teaching me more moves tonight.”
My brow furrows. “More moves?”
She nods. “Fighting ones.”
Remi smirks behind me, but I keep my face neutral and say, “We’ll talk more about that later, Bug.”
Remi slips her purse over her shoulder, eyes meeting mine again — like she’s waiting for me to say something, to decide if this is real.
It is.
It’s the most real thing I’ve ever felt.
And tonight, I’m going to show her.
I hold the door open as she steps into the car, and my eyes catch the sway of her hips in those jeans—God help me.
I get behind the wheel, adjusting the mirror, pretending I’m not glancing at her again. She’s looking out the window like the trees have all the answers she’s too afraid to ask me. Her fingers toy with the hem of her tank top, twisting the fabric around in soft nervous circles.
“You okay?” I ask, voice low.
She nods once. “Yeah.”
That’s a lie. But I don’t push.
Instead, I let the silence fill the space between us as I drive. Not the kind that feels awkward—but the kind that feels like something's building. Quiet tension. A charge I can’t ignore.
Dinner’s at a small Italian place tucked off the main strip—low lighting, cloth napkins, a bottle of wine waiting on the table. It’s quiet. Intimate. The kind of place a man takes a woman when he’s trying to prove something.
When we sit, she looks around and raises an eyebrow. “You’ve brought dates here before?”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
She gives me a pointed look. “You don’t date, huh?”
“Not since Stella,” I answer honestly.
Her lips part, surprised. “Really?”
I nod. “There’s been no one... until you.”
Her eyes dart down to the table, and I watch her pull in a breath.
When the waitress appears, we order. She picks something simple—ravioli and salad—and I go for my usual. There’s a moment when the waitress walks away and Remi finally looks at me—really looks at me—and I see it in her eyes. The walls. The fear.
I lean forward. “Remi.”
She lifts her chin.
“You keep looking at me like I’m going to disappear.”
Her throat bobs. “I’m not.”
“You are. Every time I get close, you flinch—like you’re already preparing for the fall. And I get it. I do. But I’m not going anywhere.”
Her eyes glisten. She looks away again.
“Remi.”
“I just...” she whispers. “I don’t want to be something temporary for you. Something easy. Something convenient while your girls need help. Because when the dust settles, when they’re back in school, when life evens out... you might realize I’m too loud, or too much, or too—”
I cut her off. “You’re not too anything. Except maybe too stuck in your own head.”
Her laugh is small, a little watery. “I’m trying, Coleman.”
“I know.” I pause, letting the moment breathe. “So let me try, too.”
Our food comes, and we eat in mostly silence after that, but it’s not heavy anymore. It’s thoughtful. Like we’re both turning things over.
Halfway through dinner, she makes a face at me for picking olives off my plate, and I smirk. “What?"
“You’re picky.”
“I’m consistent.”
“You’re a little annoying,” she says, grinning.
I lean in, voice rough. “You liked me annoying last night.”
Her eyes flare, cheeks flushing as she stabs a ravioli. “We’re not talking about that.”
“We’re not?” I tease.
“No. Because if we talk about it, I might say it was a mistake. And then you’ll threaten to spank me again in the middle of this restaurant.”
I chuckle, setting down my fork. “You’d like that too much.”
She shakes her head, biting her lip to hide the smile that’s breaking through. And in this moment, she’s the Remi I first met—fiery, fast-talking, stubborn as hell. But underneath it all, soft. Scared. Hopeful.
When we walk out of the restaurant, I open her door again and catch her watching me.
“What?” I ask, hand on the frame of the car.
She shrugs. “You’re not what I expected.”
I lean in a little closer. “Good. I want to be different with you.”