Page 12 of At First Flight (Coral Bell Cove #1)

The walk to the front door feels like I’m walking toward my own death sentence.

My siblings are probably standing just inside the house, peeking through the windows, and Mom is waiting at the door for my knock.

But as I twist the knob and slowly open the door, I’m surprised to find the entryway empty.

Not just empty, but quiet. And in the Wright household, quiet doesn’t usually mean something good.

Ashvi trails behind me as I pass the stairs and head toward the back of the house, where the kitchen and den all reside under one large vaulted space.

“Mom?” I call out as we approach the threshold.

“Surprise!”

The shouts and cheers momentarily stun me, and then I’m quickly taking in the balloons and streamers.

“What’s going on?” I ask and look behind me for my best friend, who has quickly moved herself closer to my siblings gathered in the den.

“Welcome home, sweetie!” Mom says as she wraps me in her arms, my stiff body still in shock from the startling greeting.

“Thanks, Mom. What…um…are we celebrating?”

I glance around the den, blinking against the bright overhead light and the soft glow of home.

Something sweet bakes in the oven, the smell of cinnamon and vanilla wafting through the air like a warm hug.

A banner that says “Welcome Home, Lila!” is strung haphazardly above the doorway, like they didn’t have time to make it perfect but cared enough to do it anyway. A lump swells in my throat.

“Oh, just the fact that you’re home, and you ended up not marrying that horrid man.”

Her light voice is teasing, but I hear the layers beneath it—the relief, the quiet worry she probably carried for years and never voiced.

It was no secret that my family wasn’t exactly fond of Prescott.

But I kept hoping they’d come around. That maybe, once they saw the version of him I thought I loved, they’d change their minds.

But the truth is, they were right. And I was too blinded by the sparkle of the life and career he promised to see what was underneath.

It’s amazing how love can drown out the quiet whisper of your own instincts.

The ones that kept telling you something wasn’t quite right.

That you were shrinking to fit into a life that was never designed for you in the first place.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, voice thick.

Not just for falling for him, but for believing in the lie, for drifting away from the people who truly loved me while I tried to become someone else entirely.

My mom moves closer, wiping her hands on a dish towel before gently cupping my cheek. “Nothing to be sorry about, Lila. We’re just glad to have you home.”

Her words hit somewhere deep, beneath the surface calm I’ve tried to maintain since stepping off that plane. I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Because what do you say when your family greets you with open arms after you’ve disappeared into someone else’s world for so long?

You say thank you. You let yourself be loved, even when you don’t feel like you deserve it yet.

I blink fast, forcing down the tears that suddenly sting. I’d cried enough in Scotland. Enough to last a lifetime. But this feels different. These aren’t tears of heartbreak or fear or shame. They’re something softer, warmer. A beginning, not an end.

So I take a breath and force a smile, letting the air fill spaces in my chest that had been hollow for too long.

I make my way through the small crowd known as my siblings, hugging them and thanking them for being there.

I’m sure they think I mean only for the impromptu party, but I mean my life in general.

Ashvi is the last in that group that I hug, and I make sure to whisper that she’s in for it before I release her with a smile on my face.

“Hi, Dad,” I say as I wrap my arms around the best man I’ve ever known.

“Hey, Sugarplum.” My heart immediately warms as he uses the nickname bestowed upon me when I was three and gave my first ballet recital.

I wore a purple tutu, and the name stuck.

“Glad you’re here.” I give him one last squeeze before following my siblings toward the large kitchen table, where Mom places the steaming lasagna dish.

We disperse toward the same chairs we sat in as kids.

Ashvi takes the spare seat to my right, and as my father says grace, I feel a twinkle of hope that perhaps everything will turn out okay.

In my perfect world, Prescott will move on and leave me be.

There will be no questioning from his family about what happened.

I won’t suddenly find myself stalked by a crazy wife.

And somewhere along the way, I’ll find myself doing my part to save the world.

But as I scoop out the pasta dish and take my first bite, letting the familiar sounds of my family fill the void deep inside me, I have that all-too-familiar feeling that luck isn’t on my side, and my world is about to be flipped on its axis, again.

“Oh, Lila, since you’re home for a little bit, I have the perfect job for you. The poor children just lost their mother.”

“I don’t know, Mom. That’s not really what I’m doing right now.”

Mom reaches out with a gentle hand and rests it on top of mine, clenching the form with all my might. “I understand. It was just a suggestion. I thought it may help you keep your mind off everything for a while.”

From my other side, Ashvi asks, “How old are the kids?”

“Poor things, five and three.”

God, they’re so young, and Mom is right. If anyone could relate to them, it would be me. Falling back into the nanny trap is so easy because I love it, but it isn’t the plan I see for my life.

“That’s so sad,” my little sister, Hadley, says from across the table. “You don’t have anyone who can fill in?”

“Unfortunately not. Everyone has their current positions, and then the summer slots are filled until a few come home from college. I suppose I’ll see if I can help out instead.”

“Mom,” I utter sternly, head tilted in her direction. Mom’s been slowly cutting back her hours until she can officially retire. Her best friend, Andrea, has been doing the same until they can leave the business to someone capable of continuing their legacy.

“It’s okay,” she mumbles around a piece of bread she tore from the loaf, dipping it into the tomato sauce on her plate. “It was a last-minute request, and normally, we’d turn it down, but the man seems desperate.”

“Hell, I remember how desperate I was,” Dad says, reminding us all how the situation was very similar to him twenty-four years ago.

The guilt gnaws away at me through the remainder of the meal, and by the time Ashvi and I are ready to head back to her house and drink that much-anticipated bottle of red wine, I feel like every ounce of me has been fed through a wire strainer.

As Mom and Dad hug me, offering to let me stay in my old room on their farm, my resolve slips away.

“Mom?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“Maybe you could send me the information about the nanny job? I’m not promising anything, but you’re right. It may be nice to keep myself occupied for a while.”

“Oh, thank you, Lila.”

“It’s not a yes, Mom.”

“Of course,” she says, her thrilled smile growing with every second. “I’ll send it to you once I get the kitchen cleaned up. Love you, sweet girl.”

“Love you too, Mom. Dad.”

We’re only a few minutes into the twenty-minute drive back to Ashvi’s house, nineties R&B, Ashvi’s current obsession, blaring from the speakers.

A girl group sings about how the man is never going to get it, and I smile, leaning my head against the window as the sun finally drifts beyond the trees.

Soon, the smell of salt water will penetrate the windows, and the sun will last well into the evening.

But for right now, I’m happy being in my small town, with my best friend, listening to songs far older than us.

“You did a nice thing,” Ashvi says as we pass the local elementary school, suddenly reminding me that I’ve likely sold myself as someone’s housemaid, not just a nanny, for the next six months or more.

“Yeah,” I mumble, still not feeling so great about the decision, but knowing I’m helping someone who probably feels as helpless as my dad had all those years ago. “What game are we playing tonight?”

It is a tradition that wine drinking includes playing a ridiculous game together. We usually end up with Clue or Yahtzee. Scrabble and Monopoly have been banned since we were in junior high.

“Oh, without a doubt Clue. I’m hoping somewhere along the way you slip up and tell me what’s really going on with you.”

Groaning, I turn away so she doesn’t witness my epic eye roll. The last time we played Clue, I finally got it out of Ashvi that she’d slept with her economics professor. Thankfully, it had been after she passed his class.

“You’re on, but only if you agree to two bottles of wine. I’m going to need it.”

“Deal,” my best friend says with a mysterious gleam in her eye that is absolutely not from the shimmery reflection of streetlights. Instead, it came from her overzealous, competitive nature.

“Yeah. Definitely going to need two bottles tonight.”